

Inferno Burning

A Novel of Our History's Future
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

INFERNO BURNING: BOOK THREE

First Edition. September 2019.

Copyright © J.T. Marsh 2019

Written by J.T. Marsh

Published by Queensborough Books
Isaiah 61

1 The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;

2 To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn;

3 To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.

4 And they shall build the old wastes, they shall raise up the former desolations, and they shall repair the waste cities, the desolations of many generations.

I

1. New Beginnings

In the middle of the night, not the night after the rebel Elijah had proclaimed the founding of the new People's Republic but a few weeks later, Valeri's roused from his restless sleep by the unmistakeable sounds of a country tearing itself apart; the subdued thud of distant explosions, the rattling of gunfire, all seeming to become more and more distant but never seeming to cease. From his vantage point, Valeri looks over the streets of a section of city not altogether far from Westminster itself. For the past few weeks, this old block of flats has been his home, his home and the homes of a few hundred other fighters pledged to serve in the new army of the People's Republic only so recently proclaimed. Valeri's deep in thought when an interruption brings him back into the now. "Brother Kovalenko," says another fighter, "we're moving out." Valeri nods, then follows the young man out into the street. Although the red-and-gold flag of the People's Republic flies over Westminster, the fighting men and women of the Popular Front have work to do. The rest of their men have begun to muster. The streetlights provide adequate illumination. Valeri takes up his spot in their formation, in the front row, almost centre. "Brothers and Sisters," says Sister Simpson, still Valeri's superior in the loose and altogether informal group he serves as a member of. Sister Simpson says, "we are now members of the army of the new People's Republic. I am not your officer, but your Sister. You are not my men, but my Brothers." Although Valeri has been serving under Sister Simpson for some months already, to hear her speak in such terms, with such force and vigour never ceases to inspire in him a confidence and a certainty in the war they fight. "Now," says Sister Simpson, "we must head into battle once again, for the enemies of our new People's Republic gather to destroy what we've built and to prevent us from growing anew."

For Valeri Kovalenko, it's almost inconceivable that he should be here, now. It was only a few years ago when he'd been an ill-tempered young man working himself tired and sore every day to earn someone else profits. Now, in revolutionary Britain, he still works himself tired and sore every day, but now he works himself tired and sore every day to liberate himself and so many like him from someone else's profits. It's this thought that gives him the courage and the strength to serve in the new army of the People's Republic, even as he feels all the fatigue of war throughout every part of his body. His stomach feels like a cavernous pit, seeming to him empty more often than even half full. His eyes are a pair of screws twisting painfully into his head for all the nights of little to no sleep. His feet seem on the verge of becoming numb, as if to become little more than extensions of his boots. But how he feels so alive! "We are to head out on the attack," says Sister Simpson, "and destroy the enemy who holds the countryside nearby. With every man giving all that he's got to give, no one can stand in our way." The screens have been filled with news of nationalist factions who have rejected the new People's Republic, and it's to these factions Sister Simpson is referring. A great cheer rises from the men, even Valeri shouting his approval as loud as his lungs will allow him. Although Valeri hardly knows any of the fighters assembled, already the camaraderie of the men is on full display, the scene conspicuously filmed by some of the Popular Front's apparatchiks nearby for broadcast to all the world's screens. "But first," says Sister Simpson, "we have been tasked with a very special mission, by none other than our leader himself, Elijah." A wave of excitement sweeps through the men, Valeri included. Although he's tired and sore all over, the dark essence which guides the revolution here in Britain and around the world empowers him in a deeply spiritual way, creating in him the ability to persevere through the pain and fatigue, to be capable of things he never could've thought possible in his old life. Once the young, ill-mannered malcontent, still young and ill-mannered but now beginning to learn to be a soldier of the revolution, gaining discipline and courage with every passing day. He listens intently to Sister Simpson, as listens every other man present.

"We must secure the existence of the new People's Republic," says Sister Simpson, "and in so securing the existence of our new People's Republic we'll liberate the remaining parts of Britain still consumed in impoverishment and oppression." A wave of excitement sweeps across the men again, with Valeri among the men who cheer their approval. Despite his renewed enthusiasm for the revolution Valeri still has much to learn before he can become the soldier of the revolution he needs to be. They've all heard of the mass killings, the lynchings of the wealthy or at least the wealthy-looking and the reprisals against crowds of striking workers, but most unsettling of all is the wave of anti-Semitic violence still underway in parts of Britain outside the control of the new People's Republic. Although Sister Simpson bravely declares solidarity with their Jewish brothers and sisters, Valeri and the other men assembled are acutely aware of the difference between saying one thing and doing that very thing. As they travel to a nearby rallying point and then climb into the backs of waiting lorries, Valeri considers his future, not by way of conscious thought but in the corners of his mind, devoting some spare mental capacity to the predicament facing him and all his brothers and sisters in the revolution.

Although Valeri has been through much more than he could've imagined over the past three or four years, still it seems astonishing and inconceivable to him that he should, now, count himself among the soldiers fighting for a new tomorrow, as part of an army on the cusp of something truly historic, something far greater than any of them could've ever imagined. But the army which he fights as a part of is only beginning to realize its way forward, the rebel Elijah's declaration of the founding of the new People's Republic having laid out a new path for them all. As Valeri sits in the back of one of their lorries, he steels himself against the task before them, talking with his brothers and sisters in arms all the way into the field. The faces sitting around him in the back of the lorry are faces he's never seen before, but somehow Valeri recognises each of them, recognizing in each of them a familiar sensibility, the way their eyes seem never to lose their whiteness. They speak very little to one another as they ride towards their next station, a city unknown to Valeri but one which has already become intimately familiar with the nascent revolution. Many of the fighters under Sister Simpson have been made to join the ranks of the Popular Front's fighting forces only recently, and are inexperienced, a fact which will bear itself in the heavy casualties they're to suffer over the next several months.

Still in the back of his mind are thoughts of the people he's lost only in recent weeks, his former brothers Tonya, Roger, and even the younger Michael O'Connor, each of them in his life only for some months before being killed in action with the enemy. Thoughts of these, his dead brothers, linger only in the back of his mind, allowing the force of his thoughts to remain in the here and now. It's a skill he's learned over the past several months, a skill he's come to hone only over the past several weeks, the ability to focus his thoughts on the task immediately before him even as so much has happened in his life over the past two or three years, enough to drag most men into a pit of relentless self-loathing and despair. Valeri Kovalenko is the son of ordinary workers, and it's as the son of ordinary workers that he is become an avatar for the working class revolution even now reaching for its success.

The lorries carrying him and his brothers have been appropriated for the Popular Front's use, as have so many other pieces of equipment and machinery across the territory held by the Front. The Popular Front still relies on a coalition of concerned parties to form the bulk of its support. All the various factions, the churches, labour union locals, the universities commandeered by their students, and most importantly the many, many worker's councils set up to govern factories, they pledge to follow the banner of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front, to send representatives to a new assembly once the future of the People's Republic is secured. But this is a long way off. There's much pain and much suffering left for all of them to live through, but live through it they all will, if only by ways even the most grizzled of veterans could've never expected. Suddenly, as if to punctuate the moment, Valeri feels a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, as the lorry he's riding in comes to a halt. There're voices shouting. One very authoritative voice can be heard to shout, followed by the unmistakeable sound of Sister Simpson's voice, the commander of one unit negotiating by way of a shouted argument with the other. "...Check the road up ahead," Sister Simpson can be heard to say, her voice clearer as she approaches the back of the lorry. Soon, they're on foot again, marching along the side of the road, slogging through a sudden snowfall, shivering, chattering, but making progress.

As for the city, it's not been repopulated, the flow of refugees from Britain's cities following the nuclear firestorm on the continent continuing unabated. Although London has been ravaged by continuous fighting since the revolution began in earnest, still there're many buildings, many storefronts and apartment blocks left undamaged but now unoccupied. After another stop, this one much longer, there's more shouting, Sister Simpson this time seeming to stand right outside the lorry Valeri's in while she shouts with someone also unseen. Valeri's among the first out of the lorries and into the street, with the sight of a suburban block to greet them. Although it's only early-November, winter has arrived in full force, the fields on either side of the road coated in a fresh layer of snow, lending a peaceful, almost ethereal atmosphere to the march, seemingly altogether out of place in a country where blood flows like a river through the streets of every city and town.

Like every other young man who's come of age in mid-twenty-first century Britain, Valeri has become used to the seasons alternating between blistering hot summers and sub-arctic winters, but despite becoming used to these changing seasons he can never steel himself against them. "...Keep it moving now," says Sister Simpson, from the other side of the lorry, stopping at the rear to order Valeri and the others into the back again. Soon, they're moving, without Sister Simpson having told them their exact destination, knowing only as they do that they're headed out to fight off some unknown enemy who seeks to challenge the rule of the new People's Republic. They've all known of the nationalists in Cardiff and Edinburgh, as well as the sectarians in Northern Ireland, all of whom remain hostile to the new People's Republic, but none of them know of the impossible evil that lurks just outside the urban areas which the new People's Republic controls. "You'll march all the way if you have to," says another of the Popular Front's apparatchiks, not Sister Simpson but another below her rank. "Don't fear," says Valeri, speaking as much to himself as to the others marching alongside him, "there's nothing we can lose that compares with what we'll all gain." And he means it, he means it, even as he's not entirely sure what it means. Locally, working men and their families come out to see the marching men, some looking to be enthusiastic on the Popular Front, others seeming to be forlorn, having been caught unawares by the sudden movement of the Popular Front through this area.

But crisis looms. Facing the new government is the question on what to do with regards to the British Army on the continent, an army whose loyalties remain uncertain. Many men in the army want to follow the banner of the rebel Elijah and his new People's Republic, but virtually all the officers view the new regime with antipathy, their loyalties instead lying with the remains of the Provisional Government or one of the various flags that've been flown across Britain in recent months. In truth, it seems to many people even living in the areas firmly under the control of the Popular Front that the new People's Republic is uncertain in its motives, uncoordinated in its actions, even here in London the Popular Front struggling simply to survive for all the hardships. The chronic food shortages, already having come to plague Britain and most other Western European countries for decades, have now become so severe as to produce fresh corpses in the streets, with every new series of battles the fragile supply lines strained past the breaking point.

Now the rebels will be forced to seize hidden supplies of food and fuel, hidden as those supplies are by businesses now controlled by mid-level functionaries bent on achieving the highest possible profits for their wares no matter the deaths that might occur in the meanwhile. It seems to Valeri so far from the heady days of the revolution, when the streets would fill with throngs of demonstrators demanding the ouster of one parliamentary coalition or another, days of rage against one particular injustice or another. But Valeri, Valeri is only an ordinary man, given to dreaming as he is of larger ambitions in life, of a beginning so new and so radical even he can't conceive of it. Suddenly, there's shooting, fire seeming to come from everywhere at once, the suburban street degenerating into a new battle. They don't know who's shooting at them; two fighters are killed in the enemy's opening volley, although most of the enemy's opening volley scatters harmlessly across the road. After Valeri's dove for cover with the others, he can't make out the enemy down range. "Where are they?" he asks. "Down range," says another fighter. Valeri says, "but I can't—" He's cut off by a burst of gunfire cracking rapidly, so close as to deafen him temporarily. But it's not the enemy shooting now, it's the undisciplined bursts fired in retaliation against the enemy's initial volleys. They don't know who the enemy is, they only suspect the same forces they've been fighting against for so long as being behind this same attack on their positions.

But the seizure of secret stores of food and other supplies has yet to begin in earnest, even as bands of rebel fighters across the country have been liberating what stores they can. Now, as Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson's command head to battle, all that Valeri can think of is the chance to avenge the deaths of his friends so recently killed. But then he notices movement ahead. "Contact!" says Valeri, pointing his rifle at the gunmen, squeezing the trigger, rounds cracking through the air as he feels the draw of battle once more. To Valeri, time seems to slide into slow motion, every breath drawn in and pushed out, every slam of his heart against his chest, even the tensing of his stomach and the knotting of the muscles in the spot on his back between his shoulders. Paradoxically, these have become painful sensations so familiar he's come to crave them. "Are they Home Guard?" asks another trooper. "Don't know," says Valeri. "I'll let Sister Simpson know," says the other trooper, who turns to face the other way. Valeri recalls his lessons from Sister Simpson, learned over several months, and he holds his fire. When the enemy's fire has slackened, Valeri and the others look down range, and see the street clear and peaceful, but for the distant sounds of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting. With Valeri leading the way, they move laterally, ducking into an alley to outflank the enemy, whoever the enemy might be.

"Ahead," says Valeri, pausing to drop behind the cover of a brick wall. "They're occupying the cross street," says one of Valeri's fellow fighters, a woman named Charlotte Ryan. Valeri nods and says, "we can take them." But Sister Simpson won't have it, her order coming down the chain of command for them to find another way around. It's not even clear who these enemy troops are, in the confusion of battle only scant glances and distant looks permitted. In the aftermath of the People's Republic's founding and the decapitation of the old, hated Provisional Government, too many factions have come to vie for too little power, the great bulk of the countryside controlled by a patchwork of different leaders, their allegiances owed to a confusing array of flags. "We must withdraw," says Ryan, the younger woman at Valeri's side heeding the order from Sister Simpson even as Valeri is consumed in the vague but seemingly all-powerful compulsion to stand and fight. Still Valeri is given to the mannerisms and the impulses of the ill-mannered malcontent he'd always been.

But Valeri's band of fighters will have their own chance to seize stores of hoarded food and other supplies, which'll place them in the same situation as so many. Even as the wealthy men and the companies they control work feverishly to hoard anything of value in order to later sell at extreme prices, the forces set into motion by the revolution will soon see the Popular Front liberate these stores. With the sounds of distant gunfire fading in over the cityscape, Valeri and the others in this ad hoc unit head for battle, each and every man as unsure of himself as ever. But in their unsurety each of them can find a camaraderie. From their disparate backgrounds they form a new army. "Take that position!" says another of Valeri's superiors, a burly man known to him only as Brother Solomon. Without hesitation Valeri leaps forward, holding his gun by the muzzle in one hand, using the other to grab the fence as he vaults over it. He lands on his feet, then in one, two, three strides he reaches the soldier, knocking the man down with the butt of his rifle to the man's head. In the background there's the sound of gunfire cracking loudly, along with the shouting of voices angrily.

"Don't stop shooting," says one of Valeri's fellow soldiers, a somewhat older woman named Lynn Jackson. She appears at his side, her stride only a half-pace behind his, and she raises her rifle to shoot further down the street at a barricade. It seems the enemy had been expecting this attack, quickly withdrawing to positions further down the road. It matters little to men like Valeri and to women like Lynn where the revolution's next battle takes them, so long as they get to keep on fighting. Although Valeri has become a soldier in this, the newest of armies, he can hardly think of himself as a soldier, still obsessed, still clinging as he is to the notion of himself as an ill-mannered malcontent. It's nothing major, nothing immediately obvious, as he and the others in this group of soldiers take one position, then the next, then the next.

"This street is clear," says another of Valeri's fellow soldiers, a young man named Stephen Potter. They've advanced a kilometre from their starting positions, from the spot where they'd disembarked from their lorries and set out on foot. Although Valeri doesn't recognise this particular spot, he's seen it before, the urban stretch that reaches around a bend in the city seeming oddly familiar to him. But for men like Valeri, this new fight is altogether unlike any they've fought before, with forces much larger than they can fathom watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. "They've been moving in for weeks," says Stephen, "we're not going to outflank them now." But Valeri says, "we've got to secure this hill," then pauses to take a breath before saying, "those are our orders." It matters little to Valeri where exactly the orders come from, save that they must come from their superiors in the Popular Front. Their real objective has become abundantly clear to Valeri: they must secure the revolution's future. This involves their storming these enemy positions and striking out at enemy gunmen, teams of enemy gunmen who haven't taken up with the forces of the Popular Front. The rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front have proclaimed the Home Guard and its Provisional Government overseers defunct, but many Home Guard units continue to run amok throughout the country. Whether loyal to some new local or national authority that's sprung up in place of the Provisional Government over the past months or to an authority that no longer exists, these units pose a lethal threat to the new People's Republic and to the fighting men and women of the Popular Front.

Still, as Valeri and the others who fight in the revolution march, their enemies gather strength, their enemies aligned with the hoarders of food and other stores. The immediate challenge facing the newly-formed People's Republic is not to survive but to assert itself against the many threats to its existence, against the loose coalition of forces rising from the ashes of the old regime in places where the Popular Front wasn't able to assert its control. In New York, the figure known as Lucius, only Lucius, continues his work, this figure Lucius a man who seems at all times to be something more than what he is. Where Elijah offers war, Lucius offers peace, each committed to a path diametrically opposed to the other, each brooking no interference, no negotiation with the other. For the time being, the internal machinations of these larger forces is left as a sideshow, their looming spectre to impose itself on the struggle of the Popular Front only with time. "Let's get on with it," says Valeri, seeking to encourage the other fighters even as he struggles to push himself forward. "I'll see if I can get the others to come," says another fighter, whose name Valeri still hasn't learned. "Be quick," says Valeri, clutching his rifle, looking down the way. They'll have it, and they'll overtake this enemy position, only to encounter another, then another, each encounter part of the Popular Front's new campaign to establish its rule over the lawless expanse that makes up most of Britain after the disintegration of the old Provisional Government.

As Valeri looks out from across an open field, he shivers slightly, a sudden sensation rooting itself in the scene. It's as though this winter's season has momentarily become harsher, the winds stiffening and the chill suddenly chilling further, leaving Valeri and all his brothers and sisters a small taste of the brutal weather to come. "It's time for us to go now," says Potter, "we better get going." And Valeri agrees, marching forward, under the direction of Sister Simpson heading towards the next engagement with a sense of cautious optimism. Although they weren't able to dislodge this particular enemy from their position, the larger struggle, to establish the survival of their new regime, promises to achieve a lasting liberation for them all. They've fought their way out of London's outer environs, even as unrest continues to spiral out of control throughout the country. They come across some miscellaneous spot along the edges of an open field, and they put down for the night. "I can see them," says Valeri, looking across the open field, "but they can't see us." By the time this night is through, they'll have traded fire with this next enemy position, in the confusion of the night the enemy forced to withdraw by the volume of fire deployed by Valeri's and another band of Popular Front fighters.

But something darker is in store for the new People's Republic and for the working man whose revolutionary cause the People's Republic serves. While men like Valeri Kovalenko concern themselves with the grinding work of advancing the working man's nascent revolution, these larger forces continue to gather strength, soon to clash with this new beginning. By the time Valeri's seen his part through, the whole world will have changed, forever. As Valeri treads across the frozen field, cautiously advancing towards a new position, he realizes his place in larger events, as he's been reaching for something, anything at all, throughout his life. Soon, there's battle. There's always a battle somewhere, if not between armies over terrain then between competing schools of thought over the minds of young men exactly like Valeri Kovalenko, whether they realize it or not.
2. Indiscretion

On the front lines of the revolution, Valeri Kovalenko faces a new challenge, unlike any he's found in his life. After witnessing the declaration of the People's Republic in Westminster, Valeri had been among those ordered to burn the Palace of Westminster. As a funeral pyre for the old regime, not only the hated, defunct Provisional Government but for all governments that'd come before it, it'd been a fitting end for the Palace to be consumed in flame. The burning took place at night-time, the street outside illuminated a sickly orange-and-gold by the fire licking skyward along the palace's sharp, angular edges, seeming to snake along every contour, as if the fire itself seeks to fill every crevice, every little groove in the building's façade.

While Valeri and the other men chosen for the task had stood back to watch their handiwork, others followed suit, crowds gathering in the streets of the small city of Westminster to watch the old regime burn. Although Valeri'd long ago lost nearly everyone from his old life, the life of the ill-tempered malcontent, he'd yet to gain the full range of experiences and sensibilities that should come from the changing course of the revolution. "Are you ready?" Sister Simpson had asked, standing just behind Valeri as they both watched the Westminster Palace burn. "I'm ready," Valeri had said. "Remember what I taught you," Sister Simpson had said, "you can never be ready. Your training and your study can never be complete. But you'll do what you must, what you're called on to do, no matter whether you're ready or not." This time, Valeri accepted the criticism, learning to look inward and judge himself as still falling short, as always to fall short of the man he ought to be. But it's in the falling short that he's to realise his own personal way forward.

With the People's Republic having been proclaimed all across Britain, the new government has its authority challenged by the many factions having risen in areas outside its control over the past several months. A patchwork of authorities seem to have imposed themselves on the countryside throughout England. And everywhere in Greater London there's the sound of bombs bursting and gunfire rattling, having become to men like Valeri simply the background noise, comforting in a cruelly ironic sort of way. A new uprising is coming, one which'll seek to succeed in freeing those parts of Britain still under the jackboot of one flag or another, but before this new uprising can take place much is left to happen. In Cardiff and Edinburgh, nationalist elements who've proclaimed the independence of their own states refuse to recognise or even acknowledge the new People's Republic in London, while civil war between nationalists and unionists in Northern Ireland rages. In all three provinces, the Popular Front is vanishingly weak, although it has its apparatchiks and its sympathisers in each. A vast army must soon emerge from this loose coalition of forces, emerging not of its own accord but of a conspiracy that reaches across the world. This conspiracy, still in its infancy, has risen and will continue to rise as a direct response to the emergence of a new stage in all our historical development, the change represented in the declaration of the new People's Republic in turn provoking a renewed campaign against it.

But all this is beyond the comprehension of young men like Valeri, young men like him instead given to fighting only the battle in front of them at any given moment. "There's nowhere for these people to go," says Valeri, speaking to himself as much as Sister Simpson. "They'll find whatever they need," says another trooper, a somewhat older man named Michael Freeman, "they'll live in the rubble if they have to." But most of London remains eerily empty and quiet, with the sounds of battle distant, for now. "The Popular Front will restore order under the new flag of the People's Republic," says Sister Simpson, speaking to the whole lot of them at once, "but the revolution will take us elsewhere." With that, they're on the move again.

Elsewhere, not altogether far from the city of Birmingham, a young man named Christopher Jenkins works in a munitions factory. He finishes his shift today tired and sore all over, as he's felt tired and sore at the end of every shift at every job he's ever worked. Theirs was among the first factories to be occupied by its workers even before the new People's Republic had been declared, and many of the workers have moved their families into the factory's grounds. As he leaves his workstation after twelve hours on the job, he passes through the main building which houses the offices. After the managers had fled, the workers had repurposed the offices into residences for their families, and it's this purpose these offices continue to serve. Christopher has no family, so he has little reason to enter these premises. But when he turns to head for home, he's interrupted by the sudden arrival of the Popular Front's men. "Don't you wonder what's going to happen to your family?" asks a fellow worker, a young woman named Helen Reed. "I've got no family to speak of," says Christopher. "Everyone's got a family somewhere," says Helen.

To this Christopher says nothing. They watch as the Popular Front men enter the offices and appear to head for the offices once used by managers but now used by the representatives elected by the workers to the factory's council. It's been only a few days since the Popular Front had last swept through the area, and already they're returning in force, here not to establish their own rule anew but to sow the seeds of rebellion fresh. "I do have somewhere to be," says Christopher, walking with Helen towards the factory's canteen for an afterwork meal. "Take me with you," says Helen. He looks her up and down, giving her a once-over before agreeing to have her at his side. He's headed not to their lodgings in a nearby block of flats but to the nearby church that's been taken over by a rogue ministry, the local expression of the general turn by the British working class towards a revived spiritualism, in reaction against the stodgy, lifeless church the rogue ministry's displaced.

Still the threat of nuclear annihilation hangs over them like the permanent darkness of an arctic winter's night, a third of the stars in the night's sky having fallen to earth since. Although Valeri is aware they could be killed in another nuclear strike, as is every other soldier in the revolution, this awareness has overtaken him and left him behind. It's not that he doesn't fear death; all men fear death, whether they're willing to admit it or not. No, it's that Valeri has come to learn his way through to his part of the working class' impending future. "Advance into the street," says Brother Feinstein, directing Valeri and some of the others, "and tell me what you find." With the others, Valeri steps forward, like the others unsure what to do and how to do it, thinking only to obey the command as he's come to learn. Although Valeri is still young, next to many of the men and women among the troops he's a grizzled veteran, this new army having come from the motley assortment of volunteers who'd been in London.

"Fire team Alpha," says Brother Feinstein, this time shouting across the distance, "move in and secure that position." Valeri steps forward, with a handful of others advancing into the street without hesitation to occupy a cross street, this position offering a temporary rest for them. "We'll keep on fighting until we've freed every last man, woman, and child in Britain," says Valeri. Despite all the personal growth he's experienced since choosing the revolutionary path, still he has much to grow before he can become the revolutionary he seeks to be. He still thinks of Britain as the ultimate prize for their struggle. He still fails to comprehend the larger picture, the struggle which should guide the army of which he is now a part to victory. He hasn't begun to forge any kind of real relationships with any of the brothers and sisters at his side; he knows some by name, others only by the look of their faces or the sounds of their voices. "We have got to fight for what we believe in," says Valeri, speaking among a group of his brothers and sisters, "so long as we do this, we can never lose." Inwardly, he reflects on the struggle he's led up to this point, and at least some small part of him wishes he could speak with someone, anyone at all about it. As he mans the position, so ordered by Brother Feinstein, he can't help but imagine he'll be compelled to keep quiet his inner thoughts forever. In this, he demonstrates the growth he has yet to accomplish.

On the other side of the country, in a railyard somewhere just outside Nottingham, a young woman named Julia Roberts doesn't finish her shift but begins a new one. She's taken to working at night, when most of the trains come through nowadays. There's not a lot of work to be done tonight, with most of the country's war industries having idled and crippling shortages of fuel having forced transportation shutdowns. Tonight, tonight, Julia takes up her station just inside the main yard, near the big diesel tanks which haven't been more than a third full in many months. She meets with several other workers at her station, and it's here that they plan for the coming shift. "A train's coming through carrying a full load of fuel," says Julia's lead hand, an older man named Fred White, "and we've got to make sure it gets through this yard without incident." As they've all come to know, it's going to be a tall order. In this part of the country the rule of the Popular Front is hardly assured, and the utmost secrecy is critical if they're to avoid any attacks on their positions.

Still, other issues abound, issues far more personal. At the end of their crew talk, Julia approaches her lead hand and asks him a question. She asks, "have you got any more work available?" Although they've formed their own provisional committee to govern the yard, there's still far more workers than work to be done, which forces their committee to make tough decisions on an ongoing basis as to who they must turn away from among the crowd of workers who show up every day. But Fred only shakes his head. "I need to feed my family," says Julia. "I know," says Fred, before turning away. Even as they've flown the flag of the Popular Front and given themselves over to the rebellion, still there's work to be done and practical considerations to grapple with.

But larger forces are beginning to align. At a crossroads in history, all men are pawns, acting unwittingly at the behest of forces vastly more powerful than any could imagine, even Valeri's own consciousness having only begun its ascent to such a loftier state of mind. As he travels with his new brothers and sisters he learns the life of the professional soldier, distinct from the amateur fighter he'd been, or the ill-mannered malcontent before even that. As Valeri is coming to understand, every step forward, however arduous and painful, is an opportunity to learn something new. "Fire team Alpha!" shouts Brother Feinstein. Valeri and the others responsible for his gun step forward. "Secure the position!" shouts Brother Feinstein, again. Valeri and the other three step forward, jumping into the yard and stepping into the building through the front door, finding the block's rooms empty. Ascending the stairs, Valeri's the first onto the roof, reaching the corner overlooking the street and giving the closed-fist signal to Brother Feinstein.

Soon, Valeri and the other three begin setting up their position, Valeri setting their machine gun on the corner, a perfect vantage point to fire down the street. Here they'll remain for a while, enough time for Valeri to continue his ruminations on the finer points of his own personal growth from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's yet to be. "We're going to keep fighting," says Valeri, when a group of locals present themselves to his position, "under every last square inch of Britain is free." He speaks with a sort of grim determination that doesn't come naturally to him but which he's learning as well as he can. "Bring us whatever food you have to spare," says Valeri, "and you must inform us if there are any enemy agents in your midst." Afterwards, Valeri posts a copy of the Popular Front's rules to a nearby square, with the networks down electronic copies unavailable. This accomplished, there's little for Valeri and the others to do but assume their positions and wait, wait for an attack they don't know might never come. From their vantage point, they view the motorway, already Valeri able to imagine the enemy advancing along their field of fire. Although Valeri's heard of the killings and the lynchings—he's seen the executions of the few officials from the Provisional Government after the seizure of Westminster—still he can only recall the sight of that dead girl, her face still emergent from within a mass of undifferentiated, discoloured flesh all belonging to a group of ordinary workers killed for various offences, some of their offences imagined, some real. As Valeri directs the locals to a nearby church for safety, he can't help himself from asserting a boldness, a wick of fear curling up inside him even as he muscles a stoic look onto his face.

In the city of Sunderland, a man named Joe Hill doesn't work, the war having left this part of the country completely destitute. It wasn't all that long ago that the whole lot of them, his friends and his family would've found work wherever they'd looked, although the wages they'd made would've been barely enough to feed themselves. After Joe and the others in his neighbourhood had taken to the streets in support of the Popular Front's uprising throughout the country, they'd been beaten back, in this part of the country the forces of the former Home Guard attacking them. It'd been weeks of pitched street fighting, with many deaths among Joe's friends and family. The Popular Front's forces had been very weak in this area, and could offer only the feeblest of support. Eventually, Joe and his neighbours had withdrawn from their positions near the south end of the Wearmouth Bridge, regrouping on the other side of the River Wear. It's here they remain, even now, after the hated Provisional Government has been dissolved and its Home Guard fractured into many different fighting forces. Now, on the main road running south, Joe and a few of his lads man the barricades, expecting an assault at any time. But it doesn't come. "I hate this blasted waiting," says one of Joe's friends, a young woman named Nina Schultz. She'd taken in with the young men and women who'd formed the core of the most recent uprising.

"We can't attack, but we can't defend either," says Joe, "and the whole thing's going to be lost sooner or later." Still the crowds have mostly dispersed. A hardcore cadre of students and unemployed workers remain. When next the local authority manages to gather its strength and muster its forces against them, they'll have no chance of a successful defence. "But we can live to fight another day," says another, a young man whose name no one knows. Although it's only been a few weeks since the collapse of the hated Provisional Government, the workers here who'd taken part in the uprising face an uncertain future. By the time the local authority's able to reassert itself, these few will have yielded the public square, Joe, Nina, and the others returning to their homes. But their cause is not yet lost. As they retreat, Joe says to Nina, "we'll be back." And it's true.

One of Valeri's brothers manning the gun, a young man named Stephen Potter, whose life Valeri has only begun to understand. What immediately strikes Valeri about Stephen is the way the young man seems to never tire, no matter how long it's been since he's slept, no matter how restless a sleep they're permitted. It makes Valeri acutely aware of himself and of the limitations his own body imposes on him, the way his hunger pangs never seem to go away even after he's eaten. "...Second watch will be up in four hours," says Stephen, "hopefully this good weather will hold." It's now the middle of November, the skies are clear, although it's bitterly cold. "All things considered I'd rather have another snowstorm than nuclear missiles," says Valeri, referring to the threat of nuclear annihilation that could materialise at any moment. Although the tenuous truce between warring powers on the continent holds, at any moment those powers could find themselves warring again. Valeri thinks on it sometimes, realizing he could be killed at any time, just as the nuclear exchange on the continent only months earlier killed tens of thousands in the blink of an eye.

It recalls a moment Valeri experienced in the period immediately before the successful assault on Westminster, when he'd personally shot dead some surrendered Home Guard troops. Although Valeri's no murderer, his mouth waters as he recalls the sensations of having taken to that field out in the countryside beyond Birmingham and executed those few Home Guard troops who'd refused Elijah's personal offer of clemency. Already there're executions carrying out in the territory under the control of the new People's Republic, and Valeri knows in his heart these executions are targeting only the criminals they've managed to get their hands on so far, with many more criminals having evaded their detection. It'll be only a few more days "I want the chance to be the one to put a bullet into the heads of the criminals," says Stephen Potter, not on that night but a few nights later. "I've been there," says Valeri, recalling for Stephen the two separate occasions on which he'd served as executioner, the latter of the two at the personal order of their leader, Elijah. "I envy you" says Stephen, "I've never even met Elijah."

But not all working class men and women across Britain are fortunate enough to be able to take part in the revolution. Some still live under the jackboot of the old regime, only with a new flag flying from the local government's hall. In the city of Norwich, the uprising which ended the old Provisional Government couldn't succeed in establishing the rule of the Popular Front, and the old Home Guard has re-formed under the banner of the local authority. A young woman named Marilyn Carter works by day at a plant which manufactures material for the army, and by night she stays in her little flat which she shares with four other workers. Although the work is erratic given the disruption caused by the revolution, still they have no choice but to keep on working whenever it's demanded of them. After a long day of work, Marilyn turns in, reaching home just before the nightly curfew begins. "They didn't say whether they'll be able to pay us tomorrow," she says, speaking with one of her flatmates.

"They owe us a lot of money," says her flatmate, a middle-aged man named Dan Murphy. It's become common for wartime difficulties to force individual persons into odd domestic situations, such as these vastly different people to be all living in a single flat. "It seems everything gets worse," says Marilyn, "no matter what." It's in this sensibility that's to govern the actions of the local workers and their yet unformed councils, when next they try at joining the revolution. Armed men come around the next day, some of the same men who'd been roped into service in the Home Guard only recently. They make a show of brandishing their rifles, then head into the plant. A few men are dragged out. Marilyn's there to see it, and she recognises the men dragged out as known trade union leaders. The new regime has determined to harshly crack down on the trade unions and others who would cast their lot in with the new People's Republic. Here, no one can oppose them. Marilyn watches as the armed men take away their prisoners. She's motivated to return to work the next day by her own hunger. But her next move will bring her into her own state of conflict not with the bosses but her own family. She'll return to find them all gone.

It gives Valeri a deeply psychological satisfaction to have had so intimate a hand in the development of the rebel Elijah's forbidden gospel, as he's coming to the slow but steady realization of himself as an agent of the future Elijah seeks to bring about. "You may be right," says Stephen, replying to Valeri's comment about preferring snow to nuclear fire, "but we've got no choice in what kind of weather we have to deal with." Valeri nods, grimly agreeing. He feels the winter's chill in his bones, the frigid cold penetrating his leather coat, reaching into his body, seeming to draw the heat out and radiate it into the open sky. "Do you think we'll ever see our families again?" asks one young soldier, a woman named Aretha Cordoba. She's only been fighting for a short time, some weeks, as she's among the most recent crop of volunteers culled from London's outer environs. Her fresh face and her youthful vigour seems strangely familiar to Valeri, even as he's only a few years older.

"I want to keep on fighting until there's nothing left," says another soldier, a somewhat older man named Mark Sanders, taking in from among the larger group of men, "they've already killed everyone I've ever loved, I won't let them get away with it." And to this Valeri can only nod his grim assent, having become stood into himself. Although Valeri is still given to ill-tempered outbursts whenever confronted with an appropriate happenstance, now he's learning to be more considerate and thoughtful, if ever he could. "I'd just as soon not have to make war on anyone," says Valeri, speaking to himself as much as to either Sanders or Cordoba, "but if we've got to fight then I'll keep on fighting until we've won. And we will win." But this doesn't seem to reassure the younger woman, Cordoba looking as though she's more unsure of herself than ever.

A young man named Roy Cook doesn't work, consigned as he is like so many millions of Britons to a lifetime of hardship and borderline starvation. He's lived most of his life on the streets of London's working class districts, and he's seen many of his friends killed or disappeared in recent years. As he lives in the part of Greater London from where the Popular Front draws its most ardent supporters, among the homeless, the destitute, the street-walking prostitutes and the drug addicts, the most pathetic and wretched among the working class. After the chaos and the destruction that followed the first failed revolution Roy had been forced by circumstance to live with three others he hardly knew, the working class districts in London and throughout the country seeing a flow of refugees not altogether unlike the flow into the liberated zones only recently. "They're going to need volunteers," says his friend. "I'm not going to volunteer," says Roy. "Why not?" asks his friend.

But Roy doesn't reply, not right away. As the final night passes in a week filled with death in the streets, men like Roy have little left to do but live through the night again. But when Roy next turns up at the church, he sees the rogue priest whose ministry has taken over for the old church which has long ago vacated the premises. "All are called to humble themselves before God," says the rogue priest, "and all will have to answer for the banner of heaven." As Roy has determined to avoid military service, he takes up with the rogue priest at this particular church, in the process becoming something entirely unlike what he'd set out to be. Roy has his own family, his own friends, the whole lot of them having been scattered by the revolution across the country. Now, as he steels himself against the task of surviving through this early period, he begins working at the church. Here, he'll shelter the wounded, learning the skills of a nurse in a long and winding path that'll see him become something other than what he is. And he's not alone. A small cadre of men and women are turning up around this time at nearly every church across the country, seeking to build a new coalition, one which shouldn't supersede but should, in time, expand to encompass the better part of each of the factions in the Popular Front. In time, Roy and his friend will count themselves among those who take up against their would-be leaders, in so taking answering the call of the rebel Elijah for a new wave of uprisings against the old.

"I'm sure you'll see some of them again," says Valeri, choosing not to tell Aretha of the fate of his family. "What about you?" asks Aretha, speaking to Valeri personally. For a moment, the question causes Valeri to reflect on all that he's lost in giving himself over to the revolutionary struggle, but only for a moment, in this moment the part of Valeri still given to flights of fancy taking over. He's not like everyone else in this new army, and it's precisely this unique character that makes him exactly the same as all the rest, ordinary in his being extraordinary. As they march towards a new position not far from the old, Valeri says to her, "it doesn't matter who I see again. It only matters what use can be made of me between now and the day I die. And I intend to make sure there's a lot of use to get out of me for a lot of years." To Valeri, his younger comrade seems reassured by this, but only momentarily. This revolution is far from over. Valeri knows this much. But elsewhere, the simmering resentment unleashed by the long and winding path the revolution has taken soon breaks into an entirely new form. Although most of the country's wealthy men had long ago absconded with their ill-gotten wealth, some have been caught up in the rapidity of the working man's nascent revolutionary struggle, and it's these men who'll be made to bear the earliest of the Popular Front's efforts to exact punishment, in punishment the ultimate in justice to manifest itself by way of the new regime. But this, too, is a fiction, the younger Cordoba embodying a kind of strength which Valeri and others of his temperament lack. She's come to fight alongside Valeri through a long and highly improbable course of events, driven by forces neither of them could fathom. Although Valeri has had some small hand in the changing character of the rebel Elijah's forbidden gospel, he still lacks in the maturity and perspective he'll need if he's ever to become better than he is.

In the immediate aftermath of the rebel Elijah's declaration of the People's Republic, much changed, but little of this change is immediately visible to the men in the streets, to the foot soldiers fighting at the leading edge of the working class revolution. Now, the rebel Elijah continues to develop his forbidden gospel, extending his offer of clemency even to the nationalists in Scotland and Wales, to the unionists and their republican foes in Northern Ireland, and to all the people who owe their sympathies mistakenly to those nationalists. As with his previous offers of clemency to the men in the Home Guard, at first the men in each of these factions reject Elijah's offer of salvation by grace, but Elijah had expected this. And still the wanton violence, the lynchings and the reprisals continue throughout the country, in provincial towns and in larger cities outside the control of the new People's Republic. Wherever the men of the Popular Front reach into a new area, whether in coordination with a local uprising or simply by seizing territory, they find a new assortment of bodies, sometimes tossed into ditches, sometimes left in piles wherever they were killed. Although Valeri has seen blood spilled, even before he'd taken up with the revolutionary struggle, still the sight of such death provokes in him revulsion. On their way out of London's outer environs, the men under Sister Simpson come across a new site, an old church surrounded by a cluster of larger buildings, the whole town seeming to have settled under a pall of gloominess.

This isn't to be their final destination, merely a stop along the way, a convenient place to put down for the night between battles. "People are dying out there," says Valeri, "and we ought to rescue as many of them as we can." Of course, Valeri means not only to save the working class of Britain but to deliver them by their own hand from oppression, although he'll never be fully satisfied as to the final outcome. "I have a brother," says Lynn Jackson, "and I won't know what's come of him. Whenever I have a spare moment I try to send a message to him, but I haven't received a reply in weeks." A burst of gunfire in the distance draws their attention, but only for a moment. Valeri says, "you'll see your brother again, I'm sure of it." But of course this feeble reassurance can't comfort Lynn, nor should it, even Valeri acutely aware of the futility of such words. The true horror that should lie in wait for them all will only reveal itself with time. They've come across killed civilians, with many of their recently-recruited fighters having been motivated to join by the mass killings perpetrated by the enemies of the Popular Front throughout the country. Valeri will never forget the sight of so many people killed, their rotting corpses having formed a mass of discoloured flesh. In particular that dead girl, who can't have been more than twelve years old, among a group of refugees they'd come across only a short time after their murder by the troops of the now-defunct Home Guard.

But if ever there should be an event to bind people together, then this revolution could be such an event, bold and daring as it is. It's as though the revolution itself has come to assume a character all its own, without hindrance or let. Marching through the urban area, Valeri and the others come across evidence of the war, while the conversation underway among them continues in fits and spurts. They won't know when, but this loose and disparate assembly of foot soldiers are at the vanguard of this new stage in the ascendant revolution. As Valeri brings one foot down in front of the other, each carefully and deliberately measured paced seeming in time with the beat of his heart, it occurs to him that any of them could be struck down at any moment, something he's surely known all along even if he's been unaware of it until now. Like all other working class men and women, Valeri is at the mercy of forces vastly larger than he could conceive of, forces far more profound than the nuclear weapons which threaten them all. "Do you regret where you've come from?" asks Stephen Moore, seemingly able to sense Valeri's unease. The young man, unbeknownst to Valeri, has always had a certain talent for empathy. His talent, like Valeri's doggedness and tenacity in his pursuit of justice, is come to serve the Popular Front, in the way all are called to serve.

"Of course I don't," says Valeri, sparing a momentary thought for his dead mother and father, recalling their deaths in the failed uprising which took place throughout Britain and across Western Europe so many years ago. "Then you see a problem with where we're headed," says Stephen. It's later now, a few hours later, and after breathless action they've put down for the night, taking up position surrounding that old church. "No," says Valeri, "I don't even know where we're headed." A pause, allowing the moment to be punctuated by a distant explosion, muffled, the sound seeming to fade in through the darkness. "No one really knows," comes another voice. Valeri turns to see Sister Simpson, having come in from her temporary command post to inspect the men before she's to put in for the night. "I don't want to think about such things," Valeri said, "let's focus on the task at hand." Sister Simpson nods knowingly.

Elsewhere, the economic catastrophe that'd preceded the revolution's beginning has taken a turn for the worse. As the extreme hunger and critical shortages of basic foods and other supplies has finally reached its inevitability, there are many ordinary men and women throughout the country who must take what they can. The rationing which has been imposed on so many in these times of war can only worsen, even as an abundance of food and fuel continues to be hoarded by in so many warehouses and stores across the country. Although Valeri and all the other men and women who fight among the ranks of the Popular Front have become accustomed to the shortages of all but the most common of staple foods, what lies in wait will test them in ways they could've never foreseen. The inconsistent rationing, the dispensing of too much food in one place and not enough in another, will soon come to pose a lethal threat to the survival of the new regime, with deaths from the consequences of starvation and malnourishment—a surge in epidemics and acute suffering—having become facts of life. The revolution has grappled with these facts; yet it persists, as it must, in order to survive.

But Valeri won't have to suffer much longer, as a sequence of events is in the works that'll permit him and the others to sustain themselves will soon be unleashed by the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front. After they've been marching all day, Valeri and the others have only a small store of food to eat. After they'd eaten this small store, Valeri's still hungry, something which he's loathe to complain about openly even as some of the others do. "I won't take food from women and children," says Valeri. "You might have no choice," says Stephen. They'd raised the possibility of finding food among the local population, a suggestion first mooted by the older woman Lynn Jackson. "If it comes down to it," she'd said, "we'll have to take what we need to win the war, and not an ounce more." Still, as prices for basic foodstuffs remain higher than any of them have ever seen, Valeri contemplates the possibility of seizing stores of hoarded food not from ordinary working people but from mid-level functionaries taking orders from the very wealthy men whose interests the revolution seeks to destroy. "It won't be some young mother's cupboards that we take food from," says Valeri. This prompts the others to agree. But they're not entirely right. Although there are many such stores of food, warehouses filled from top to bottom with hoarded food, it won't be only these warehouses they'll have to seize if they have any expectation of winning their revolution.

Around the world, the leaders of men took notice of the declaration of the new People's Republic, each of them correctly sensing it as the harbinger of a new age. The slogan of the Popular Front, no surrender, has become the slogan of the new People's Republic, recited by the Popular Front's apparatchiks in speeches to every assembly of workers, by every rogue priest ministering to the faithful after having taken to the pulpit, by every student elected to lead the students who've seized their universities. But the great bulk of Britain's population remains uncommitted, looking either to the Popular Front or to the various factions coalescing in opposition for guidance and stewardship through these dark, dark times. Still, as Valeri and the others secure this last position and eagerly anticipate the next in a series of battles, all they can think of is the chance to begin anew. After Sister Simpson has come to serve in a new capacity, she no longer leads a small and rag-tag group of rebel fighters, instead having found herself commanding a much larger force, with much greater discipline required from top to bottom. Still, she likes to visit among the men and women, each time making a point of adopting the mannerisms of a people's leader. "Sister Simpson," says Stephen, "it's difficult to sleep on a night like this." For them, this is a rare moment of tranquility on an early-winter's night, even the harsh cold and the darkness giving them all pause. "I'm still grieving over the deaths of my friends," says Valeri, referring to the recent loss of Tonya, Roger, and even the younger Michael. "We all have someone to grieve over," says Sister Simpson, "at least your friends died fighting for justice." To this Valeri can only nod.

"The failure of the old regime needs to end," says Sister Simpson, "and we'll be the ones to end it." She speaks as if to dissuade any among her fighters from losing faith in their chosen path, even as she knows full well none of them are at risk of losing faith. "It doesn't end just because we've seized Westminster and declared our People's Republic," she says, continuing to speak to the little group of fighters Valeri's sitting with, "and it won't end for so long as we all live. What we've started, it won't stop until every last man, woman, and child on Earth is free. The rebel Elijah teaches us that this will happen, and that it's inevitable, but that it'll take far longer than any of us could live." Although Valeri and the others all come from vastly different backgrounds, the common thread that runs through all of them is a lifetime of deprivation and indignity. In the fading light of this winter's glowing sun, it seems as though the thick, grey clouds form an after-worldly mist. The causes of so many people having died or been made to suffer due to starvation are multiple and nuanced; there remains much food to eat, but little of it is offered by merchants and large companies to the people who hunger. So much food continues to sit in warehouses across the country, even as so many people hunger because they lack the food necessary to survive. It'll fall to the forces of the Popular Front to remedy these inequities, a task which Valeri will find much more difficult than he could've ever imagined.

But in the distance, there's still the sounds of battle fading in from the distance, subdued but unmistakeable. "You're not soldiers," says Sister Simpson, "not yet. You've all been forced by circumstance to become something you're not. In this way you can see that you're all, in fact, what you're not." This strikes a receptive audience in Valeri and the others, each having been made receptive by the roundabout and highly improbable turn of events which have brought each of them here, now. "Get some rest," says Sister Simpson, "we head out at dawn." And with that, she turns and leaves the whole lot of them, making back for her temporary headquarters. It's only been a few weeks since they'd stormed Westminster and decapitated the old Provisional Government, and now Valeri can see in them all a changed spirit, seeing as he's come to not with his eyes but with his heart. It's becoming clearer to Valeri where they're headed, that they're on the move with an eye towards attacking into the heart of enemy territory, but such a man as Valeri can't imagine what's to come. He thinks on what Sister Simpson has come down to say to them, and he arrives at the decision to adopt this point of view. He arrives at this decision quietly, even silently, yet with the conviction of a young, newly-frocked priest.

Still, memories remain fresh of the executions of the King and the rest of the royal family, found and killed as they'd been while attempting to flee the country. Neither Valeri nor any of the others had been personally involved, but they'd seen the images of the King's lifeless body as well as the bodies of the rest of the royal family stripped of their clothes and thrown in the ditch. The rebel gunmen who'd happened across the royal family had been given the order, and they'd carried it out with the express intent of broadcasting it to the world. At the time, Valeri had thought of the event as only the killing of a political figure, lost as the larger significance of it was on a man as him. But now, with the world turning against the rebel Elijah's new beginning, Valeri is starting to become attuned to the true meaning of events such as these. As they turn in for the night, Valeri recalls the image of those broken, lifeless bodies in the ditch and he feels his appetite for justice grow anew. If he should be chosen by the dark essence which guides the revolution to be an agent by which such justice could be dispensed, then he'll be immensely gratified. But it won't be so simple. It can never be so simple. As justice for so many centuries of oppression and degradation must be dispensed widely, all Valeri can do is look for the next opportunity to avail himself of the opportunities which the revolution will afford a man as young and intemperate as him.

And now, with the working man's ascent to revolution, all they can expect is a daily survival, their own lives having been given in exchange for a small piece, a stake in a future they all must build together. But not all is as it seems. While the Popular Front and its new People's Republic struggles through this awkward, in-between time, events will transpire farther away than Valeri's ever been, events which have been gathering momentum since even before the People's Republic was founded, before the war on the continent began, even before Valeri's mother and father were killed in that failed uprising so many years ago.

3. Secret Hollow

Although the People's Republic has been declared to cover all Britain and Northern Ireland, its authority remains confined to a patchwork of territory constituting less than half of England. They've got Greater London and its immediate surroundings, plus a quadrangle encompassing Liverpool to Manchester and on to Leeds in the north, Birmingham to Leicester in the south, along with miscellaneous pockets in cities and towns throughout the country. Scotland and Wales are firmly in the hands of ethnic nationalists, although the Popular Front and its People's Republic has supporters in both countries. Northern Ireland remains in the grips of civil war, the old paramilitaries from both cities fighting among each other, but also within themselves. The bulk of the committees set up by the workers to govern their own work are pledged to follow the banner of the new People's Republic, and have been instructed to choose a representative from among their own to liaise with the Popular Front.

All this Valeri learns through the regular reports filtering in by way of the screens, in the spare moments when duty permits. As he's come to see himself as a soldier of the revolution, sometimes he catches himself recalling the long and convoluted path he's taken to arrive at the place he is. It's oddly disconcerting to him, the way memories have a way of reconfiguring themselves, in the dark crevasses of the mind the tendency emerging of his subconscious to trick him into believing things that were never true. As they march from London, Valeri and the others see death throughout the countryside. There's little chatter among them; few words can describe the tension they feel among themselves. "It's incredible," says Stephen Potter, "all those people..." Valeri nods his assent, marching as he is closely behind Potter, close enough to clearly hear the young man. "I've seen it before," says Charlotte Ryan, "we've all seen it before." Still Valeri says nothing. "I've never seen it," says the younger Aretha Cordoba. And finally Valeri says, "you'll see a lot worse," then looks over at the bodies before saying, "I'm sure you already have as well." In this Valeri stands tall, feeling a vigorous spirit in him, the same he'd felt when unsure of himself only some months earlier.

But the immediate task facing the new People's Republic is not one of lofty ambitions but that of survival. Many young men and women have given their lives for the young state, but they know not of the state of so many fractious unions within the warring factions. The Popular Front derives its strength from the coalescing of so many disparate factions, the universities, the churches, the trade unionists, and so many more into a single force. At its core, that force is commanded by the union formed out of the old Worker's Party and the old People's Party, in turn this union led by the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples. Elsewhere, Valeri is assigned in with a group of rebel fighters, organised into a battalion under the banner of the new Army of the People's Republic. The several weeks since the People's Republic had been declared have seen much activity for Valeri, with him and the rest of the fighters under Sister Simpson grouped in with others into a battalion-sized unit deployed in defending London, now in the hands of the Popular Front. The evening skies burn a deep, dark red, like the colour of blood spilled from an open wound.

A little further afield, a young woman named Nancy Baker works as a schoolteacher, having found her way into the good graces of a local school district just before the revolution began in earnest. Although many schools have shut down or otherwise ceased to operate, many of them remain open, as does the primary school where Nancy Baker teaches. They've all heard of schools being subjected to bomb and gun attacks, whether by the gunmen of the Popular Front or by the various and sundry militia and private armies that've cropped up to oppose the new People's Republic. After the last wave of attacks on their positions, Nancy huddles with her fellow teachers and with their pupils in their improvised bomb shelter made out of the school's basement. She says to the others, "it doesn't matter to me who comes through." A fellow teacher, an older man says, "I haven't seen much." They're all too old to remember much. Every day of their lives has seen hunger and hardship. But their lives are to see greater hardship still in the years, even in the months to come. The next time Nancy emerges with the others into the school's main hall, finding it exactly as they'd left it on the inside. But outside there're the remains of a massacre, with bodies strewn about the pavement, some slain on the steps outside the school's walls. "We'll stay in the shelters for the night," says the school's headmaster, prompting Nancy to head back underground.

Although the skies are clear it's far too cold for anyone on the ground to be warmed much by even the direct sunlight, leaving Valeri to shiver and shudder every now and then when a moment of weakness overcomes him. As the battalion moves away from Westminster along a motorway, they move by night, the cover of darkness affording them at least some measure of protection from aerial attack. Still inwardly mourning the deaths of his friends and brothers, Roger and Tonya among them, Valeri muscles a stoic look onto his face, his body reducing to the level of an object, a machine he can manipulate according to his own needs. This internal tension between the man he's beginning to understand he must become and the man he's been all along can't be resolved so easily, and it'll require a superhuman effort on his part, one which'll take many months or years. "If they won't stop fighting then we'll make them stop," says Valeri, referring as he is to the enemy, whoever the enemy might be. "I've always been against war," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "but if it takes a fight to stop the criminals and free the working class, then I'll fight until the very end." This exchange comes as they've put down, taking a new position outside Greater London. He doesn't know it but Valeri's been through this city before, in the days only some months earlier when he'd been part of a band of fighters under Sister Simpson's command. "Take your position," comes the order, from some miscellaneous functionary between Valeri and Sister Simpson, "there." The functionary points up the road, and right away Valeri and the others set off, occupying a shophouse overlooking the street. From the roof, Valeri says, "it's perfect."

Their new position: the old market town of Aylesbury, on the road between London and Birmingham. Valeri recalls having passed through the town in their march towards London, but can't recall whether they'd passed through on their earlier escape from London. From the roof Valeri looks down the road, deducing it a good position from which to control a key intersection. It doesn't occur to Valeri and the others why they've been ordered to take up these positions, here and elsewhere throughout the small city of Aylesbury, but events will soon make their objectives clear. Word comes down from Sister Simpson for Valeri and the others to make garrison wherever they've been positioned, using whatever facilities there are to commandeer. It just so happens that this old, two-storey shophouse had been abandoned by its previous occupants only weeks earlier, from the discarded personal possessions Valeri guessing the last occupants families taking refuge from the killings. It's been years since this particular set of shophouses held any open shops, though Valeri and the others have no way of knowing this.

"We can sleep in the flats on the top floor," says Lynn Jackson, arriving on the roof after having inspected the building. Elsewhere, a middle-aged man named John Collins lives and works by the rise and fall of the tides of war. At a small shop on the edge of the city of Coventry, John manages the limited stock of wares they receive on a weekly basis. Men like him continue to lean on the old way of things, assuming as he does that the revolution will end and the chance to build his business again. After all, John reasons, the big companies that controlled so much of Britain in the years before the revolution still exist, in one way or another. But when next the power fails and the cold of winter begins to threaten even all of John's reasonings won't save him or any of the workers left. "Company's coming," says his fellow manager, a slightly younger man, "and it looks like they're coming with help." John nods, and has the shutters closed over the front of the shop, as if to make the place look closed. It's not enough. "I've got three or four left over," he says, giving the rebel men exactly as much as he thinks he can get away with. But when a group of workers from the nearby mill arrive and demand a portion of his stock, he lies and claims he has nothing left. But the workers won't have it. One of the workers says, "and to each according to his need." They ransack his shop and take what they can find. John'll have to abandon the shop and take in with some refugees, in so short a time his status as a middling merchant destroyed.

"Hopefully we won't be here very long," says Valeri, "and we won't have many nights to sleep." They set up their gun on the roof, then settle in for the night, Valeri taking to sleeping not in one of the beds but on an old sofa, even as he can scarcely sleep for all the thoughts running through his mind. "First watch is over," comes the voice of Lynn, she and two of the others shouting down from the roof. Soon, Valeri's up the ladder, through the fire escape, and out onto the roof, the night soon passing without trouble. The city seems altogether quiet, with the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs distant, only barely distinguishable against the constant urban noise. Valeri and the others are to dig in and wait for their next orders, in the meanwhile the movement of forces around the country seeming lost in the action. But action will come sooner than Valeri could've expected, sooner than any of them could've expected. While Valeri and the revolution's other foot soldiers concern themselves with fighting the war on the ground, larger forces continue position themselves for the next phase in this war. Most of the leaders of the now-defunct Provisional Government fled Westminster before the Popular Front's successful seizure of the city, and most of those that'd fled went on to leave the country altogether.

But in Westminster, and in some of the other areas seized by the Popular Front in the successful decapitation of the hated Provisional Government, some were captured and now sit in jails. These men are a hodgepodge of mid-level capitalists, responsible over the years for an array of crimes associated with the impoverishment of many. If Valeri were here, he'd volunteer to be their executioner when the time'll inevitably come. Still further away, a young woman named Margaret Morris lives and works in the coastal city of Grimsby. As the city is still controlled by a local authority loyal to a recently-declared authority, the self-proclaimed English Republic which controls only a small territory along the North Sea coast, she wonders when the war will end. The killings and the reprisals which'd characterised life under the last days of the now-defunct Provisional Government have abated here in Grimsby, but the evidence remains. Margaret is among those mustered into service clearing the streets and gathering materials. She's at the behest of a small number of gunmen, in turn at the behest of some local commander. Today, after having shoveled rubble and tossed bodies into the back of a lorry, Margaret decides she'd rather be at home. "If you go then they'll be harsh on the rest of us," says one of her fellow workers. They live in a block of flats repurposed for housing labourers. "How far will you get before they scoop you up and bring you back?" asks another. "I'll go with the refugees," says Margaret, although even she doesn't know how this would be done. In the end, she doesn't leave. She can't leave, not now. As battle lines harden and as hearts close off, Margaret will be forced to make a decision.

Still Valeri keeps these thoughts in the back of his mind, trained as he is to be able to devote himself fully to the revolutionary struggle, even in these moments of comparative peace and quiet the young man seeking to steel himself further against the challenges that lie ahead. "Second watch is over," says Valeri, hurling his voice down the fire escape, then turning back to face the night for one more moment. "Anything?" asks Lynn, climbing up the ladder and taking her spot alongside Valeri. "Nothing new," says Valeri, "but that could change at any time." In the distance, far enough away not to be a threat but just close enough to be heard, there's the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs, the tell-tale signs of war that've become simply background noise, a soundtrack of sorts to life in revolutionary Britain. By the time Valeri manages to fall asleep, dawn has broken, so late in the year as it is that darkness will already have fallen by the time Valeri's up. They rotate duties, each team divided into three groups, with each group spending eight hours a day on watch and eight hours on patrol, the remaining eight hours reserved for what little sleep any of them can manage. It's only been a few days since they'd set up shop in Aylesbury, assuming the role of garrison in this little market city, and already they've come to be stuck in one spot, a role entirely unlike that which Valeri had become accustomed to over the past several months. No longer the guerrillas sneaking through the sewers or along the alleys under the cover of darkness, now they are uniformed men fighting in an army for control of territory.

In Aylesbury, Sister Simpson sets up her command post in a large shopping centre adjacent to the town's rail station. Its large interior is made to seem all the more cavernous by the absence of the many merchants who'd once sold their goods throughout the station. It'll be a long time before the trains run again, even longer still until they carry passengers. When Sister Simpson next receives orders to move with her men she'll have a larger group under her command, but without the effective apparatus necessary to govern such a larger group. Still, for the moment she must remain with her men in the little city of Aylesbury, administering the rule of the Popular Front and its new People's Republic even as the rigours of war demand constant planning against an implacable enemy. "Do you think there's going to be any food left when we need it?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba. Valeri takes a moment to consider his response, before saying, "whatever's left will be what's left." It seems to the whole lot of them that it was only days ago when they'd been part of an unruly mob protesting the raising of rates or the cutting of welfares, in the streets of the old Britain. Those streets, they still exist, even if the old Britain has been made to perish. To Valeri, the streets have a decidedly different character, as though in the intervening period something had replaced the streets with exact duplicates of themselves, with only the essence behind them seemingly different.

"I'm hungry," says Aretha. "We're all hungry," says Valeri seeking to set a good example for the others, "and we've still got to bring the real criminals to justice." He speaks, of course, of the wealthy men whose dominion over this country their revolution seeks to end, permanently. "I hope there's food left," says Aretha. "There's always food," says Valeri, "and all we have to do is find and take it." He recalls, as he should, the screens as once filled with their propaganda, cleverly disguised as something else. He thinks on the advertisements for luxurious flats that cost more than a common worker could've earned in his lifetime, seemingly out of reach for all but a tiny number of wealthy men, yet advertised as though they were utterly common and banal. He recalls the sight of so many luxurious flats sitting empty, row after row of towers with not a single resident between them, still their lights left on at night to create the illusion of a thriving community. He recalls the evictions, even those as recent as a few years ago, evictions of working class people from their aged and decrepit flats so their aged and decrepit flats could be torn down to make room for more empty luxury homes.

But now, in the little city of Aylesbury not altogether far from the outer environs of Greater London, Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson will find a new beginning. "I won't be satisfied with our fight until the children of the next generation can grow up to become masters of their own destinies," says Valeri. Sister Simpson isn't there, but Lynn Jackson is, and she says, "then you'll never be satisfied." Although Valeri doesn't know it, the somewhat older Lynn has an understanding of the rebel Elijah's once-forbidden gospel more advanced than his own.

Deeper in rebel-held territory, a middle-aged man named Harold Bailey lives and works in a factory in Birmingham. He and his fellow workers have seized their factory, elected a council of their own to run it, and have pledged loyalty through their council to the new People's Republic that governs from London. Harold lives with most of the other workers in a row of flats nearby. He shares a small flat with his wife and their two daughters. But when one of his daughters doesn't come home from a day out looking for work, Harold elects not to return to work. When the head of their elected council sends for him, he still refuses to come, insisting he won't until his daughter is found. But he has his other daughter to provide for, the head of the council points out. The rest of his family had been living in the small block of flats near the factory repurposed by the worker's council for this very purpose. "You wouldn't put them on the street," says Harold. "I wouldn't," says the head of the council, "but you might if you don't come back. We need everyone at their posts." And so Harold reluctantly gives up on searching for one of his two daughters, never to know what became of her. He'll continue to harbour this resentment towards the council, which has suspended any further elections until the war is over. Someday, he'll act. Someday soon, he'll be given the chance.

In the local theatre Sister Simpson orders propaganda films shown, the Popular Front itself having produced a few over the years. The first films it produced and disseminated were made even before the Popular Front existed, the opening shots still featuring the logos of the old Worker's Party or People's Party. These early films were often shot guerrilla-style, by individual apparatchiks without training, using only their personal screens as cameras. Those decades earlier, these films were distributed via the data networks, and were frequently taken down by order of some court only to be distributed by some other network, somewhere around the world. But as Britain is in the grips of revolution, these films come to represent something of an historical artefact, showed to the locals as a means of distributing the manner in which the revolution itself has earned the success that it has, as well as the success it's yet to have. In this confusing, in-between time, a great evil is rising far beyond the battlefields of Europe, across the world the enemies of the Popular Front are gathering their own strength. Now, with the men and women of the Popular Front at the vanguard of a new future, present events, even minor choices will have lasting consequences far beyond Britain, even Western Europe. After they'd warded off the last attack, Valeri and the others hope to be on the move again, with Sister Simpson describing in vague terms their orders from the highest levels.

And in the city of Liverpool, a stronghold of the Popular Front, already the workers have returned to work like so many others under the governance of their own committees elected from among their own ranks. At a particular warehouse repurposed to ship and receive construction materials, a middle-aged woman named Melanie Stewart works. She works on the receiving side of the warehouse, unloading shipping containers coming in from the historic port of Liverpool only a few kilometres away. One day, Melanie arrives to find news that their wages have been frozen indefinitely, by order of the elected council. "They're saving it for themselves," she says, speaking with a group of other workers. "There's no reason to freeze our wages," says another worker. "We elected them," says a third, "and they've turned out the same." This leads to Melanie and some of the others being hauled in front of the council to face discipline for denouncing the council. All but Melanie recant. Melanie refuses. In turn, she's expelled, along with her family from the protection of the working council, cast out with all the others in the streets. News of this and other such incidents reaches the rebel Elijah himself, causing him to privately foresee the need for another wave of uprisings, these to occur in both friendly and enemy held cities and towns. But there's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that.

In the late-morning's light, a mist has come to rise from the snow and ice that blankets the gently rolling hills throughout the countryside, and Valeri looks over their position down the road, hoping to see the enemy position. "They're gone," says Charlotte Ryan, "they've moved on." Although Valeri can't believe it, he nods his assent. It seems to be true. At her command post, Sister Simpson plots the latest attacks on a map, a line of markers representing each point of contact with the enemy. A pattern has emerged, with a coordinated series of attacks along a front line, originating from the northeast. A vital link has been established between the day and the night, a continuity of form which the revolution can only seek to survive. "They'll be back," says Valeri, for the moment at rest.

"Look," says Charlotte, pointing to a body lying down range, seeming to be perfectly still, only a steady gaze permitting the observation of movement. An injured man lies in the street. Sensing the chance to prove himself, Valeri summons the energy afforded by his memories, memories of having put down enemy troops. He still carries that little handkerchief he'd taken from the body of that dead girl, after he and the others under Sister Simpson had come across the aftermath of a massacre. He thinks of that handkerchief but doesn't retrieve it from his pocket as he raises his rifle and squeezes the trigger, putting one round square in the middle of the injured man's torso. The man's body stills immediately. No one among Valeri's brothers and sisters objects, the whole lot of them carrying on as if nothing had happened. But the younger Aretha Cordoba catches Valeri's eye, a little glint in hers, only for a moment before it disappears into her deep brown irises. But it's a passing moment, one which is lost in the long war all have been fighting.

Soon they come under attack again, this sustained assault heavier than before. At the edge of town when the first shots are fired, Valeri and the others rush to the defence. Their enemy is as poorly equipped as they are. As most of the British Army is still in Poland, facing off against the Russians and their allies, the warring factions at home have few armoured vehicles, artillery, and other heavy weaponry. A chattering of rifle fire up the line breaks the scene, prompting Valeri to lean over their barricade and fire aimlessly, shooting at enemies he can't even see. There's a great volume of fire, but few targets hit by either side. In Valeri's dreams he sometimes sees the mushroom clouds, only in his dreams they reach a thousand times higher and stretch a thousand times wider than anything he'd seen on the screens.

When he wakes, he feels restless and tired, no matter how many hours sleep the night has permitted him. Sometimes he's come to volunteer to post watch at night, at whatever position they've found themselves in at any given time. As both the Popular Front and its various enemies are not proper armies, they lack the equipment necessary to conduct extensive operations after dark. As the year approaches its end, the nights have become longer, leaving precious little daylight in which to fight. It's all so deeply confusing to most of the people who live in these war zones, how it seems like it's been only days since the last battle. "This town is secure," says Sister Simpson, "and we can move on in a few days, when the weather clears."

But the enemy, whomever the enemy may be, won't let them have those few days, something which Valeri's gradually maturing intuition tells him. They aren't to be on the move, not for several weeks, the burgeoning revolution seeing fit to dispose of them in this little city on the motorway from London to Birmingham. "I don't forget where any of us have come from," says Lynn, on a night between days of breathless action. "You don't know where I've come from," says Valeri, "you don't know where any of us have come from." And Lynn says, "maybe not, but I know where all of us have come from." It suddenly occurs to Valeri that this might be the very last opportunity any of them could have to make peace with one another, something that should've occurred to him all along.

Suddenly, there's movement, ahead of the old motorway an enemy force seeming to occupy a strategic position overlooking the town. But they won't be there for long. After the last exchanges of fire, the fighters under Sister Simpson take stock of what they've lost, the munitions expended to little effect. A few bodies lie here and there, but on the whole it seems to Valeri as though casualties are light. At the centre of the line, Valeri looks at these anonymous enemies only a few hundred metres away, and he feels the impulse to lash out at them. It's a strong and deeply visceral sensation, to be so close to a hostile entity, an unknown mass of flesh and blood marked as the enemy, yet to be unable to reach out and strike at them, constrained as he is, as they all are by their orders to hold the line. "I won't like it when they come again," says Valeri, still given as he is to the ill-mannered outbursts characteristic of intemperate youths.

But he's learning, able as he is to see the beginnings of something more. "We'll defend the church," says Stephen, the older man looking over the scene, wiping sweat from his brow even as he's immersed in the frigid cold. Although Sister Simpson doesn't come around again, she relays her orders to hold the line. "Until we know more," says Valeri, "we have no choice but to keep on fighting." Overhead, the clouds have broken, leaving patches of azure to interrupt the monotony of the early-winter's grey. By the time Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson get moving again, much will have changed, although little of this change will be readily apparent to any of them. For now, for this night they'll spend like so many others in the revolution they seek atonement for their own personal sins.

"Do you wish to go home?" asks Valeri, speaking to the younger Aretha Cordoba. She'd been talking of the family she'd left behind, and for a moment it'd made Valeri think she'd regretted volunteering. "Not until we've won," says Aretha, seeming to grow into herself with each passing day. "You are a strong soldier," says Valeri, even as he can scarcely comprehend what it means to be a soldier, weak or strong. "I'll always be as strong as I need to be," says Aretha, "the way I feel is irrelevant. I can choose to act even when I'm more frightened than I've ever been in my life." And this, this causes Valeri to view the younger Aretha Cordoba with an inquisitiveness, seeking as he now does to know more about her, to learn her past and to compare it to his own. But Aylesbury will be the burial ground for many young men, in the meanwhile the working man's maturing revolution seeing fit to dispose of this place and those who occupy its environs as instruments of the future. In the frantic and desperate period when all have come to fear nuclear devastation, the mass exodus of people from major cities has slowed to a trickle. If the last of the nuclear weapons were dismantled, then still these people would still be made to want, still be made to fear for their own survival. As Valeri has come to tell the others, they'd much rather not have to fight at all, but if it's a fight the enemies of the working class want then it'll be a fight the working class ought to win. In any war of liberation, Valeri comes to understand, the fault for any and all death and suffering rests with the oppressor, not with the oppressed who seek to overthrow their oppressor. "You certainly know how to comfort a frightened man," says Lynn Jackson, a few days later, after witnessing Valeri address a small gathering of civilians. They'd come to present their concerns on their housing, on the dilapidated state of their flats, asking when basic services would be restored.

In the night, one night, Valeri and the younger Aretha Cordoba talk through a particularly cold snap, with each such night seeming to grow the understand between them. It's strange, for Valeri, to have so recently lost his friends, his brothers and sisters in Tonya, Roger, and even Michael O'Connor, but to now have found a more intimate connection with this young woman in Aretha. But there's no hint of sexual tension between the two, instead the fraternity of the Popular Front offering them both a convenient outlet through which they can relive their pasts. "Don't know about you but I want the war to end as soon as possible," says Valeri, "but it's not always up to us to decide when the war should end." And Aretha says, "if the enemy could be convinced to surrender completely then that'd be ideal, but I think it'll never happen." She refers to the lessons she's been receiving from apparatchiks in the Popular Front, dispensed by way of the screens in both text and video form, lessons derived in part from the teachings of Elijah himself. After this night is through, several more nights must pass before Aretha and Valeri have the chance to speak in this way again, again sitting watch over a quiet street, this time their conversation taking an unexpected turn. "Do you miss your lost lover?" asks Aretha, the question seeming to come out of the blue. Valeri takes a moment to consider his thoughts, then says, "of course I do." It doesn't occur to Valeri that the younger Aretha Cordoba might be speaking of Sydney Harrington, even as he doesn't know exactly when he'd spoken of her among the others under Sister Simpson. For a man who's spent the better part of his life living in the past, it's hard for him to resist the temptation to indulge in this kind of introspection, and this particular instance of temptation proves impossible to overcome.

For their first weeks in Aylesbury, this pattern of attacks and withdrawals holds, some unknown enemy force asserting itself violently against their defences only to vanish into the distant countryside. But still Valeri and the others don't know the exact identity of their enemies, only that the enemy seems to emerge from the distant countryside and then disappear back out, flitting in and out of view like ghosts. It begins to wear on Valeri, used as he is to the constant attack of the rebel fighter. It never occurs to Valeri exactly when their revolution became a conventional war, with battle lines drawn on the map and flags flown from the tops of tall buildings, nor does it ever occur to him exactly when he'd become a soldier in the plainest and most ordinary meaning of the term. He's always been a soldier, of course, as all working class men and women have always been soldiers. Now, though, he wears the beginnings of a uniform, the red band around his right bicep and the green cap on his head, the cap complete with a red star sewn on the front.

Suddenly, there's action again, the sound of gunfire cracking across the street. And after this action has passed, Valeri and Aretha lack the opportunity to speak again, with their time consumed in taking stock of all they've expended and lost, as well as preparing for whenever the next action should strike. In the street, Valeri says, "looks like the people have held on well enough," as they inspect a row of houses along a street not far from their defensive position. "When we move on from here," says Aretha, "they'll be safe." But Valeri shakes his head and says, "no one will be safe until this war is over." For these people, the experience of war is much like that of the great bulk of the population who'd survived through the period of uprisings and reprisals, with repeated attacks by some unknown enemy force in the streets repelled by Valeri and the others. But these successful defences have come at some cost.

"Have you got any injured?" asks Valeri. The old woman shakes her head. "Then carry on with your work," says Valeri, "and report anything you see." The old woman nods. Soon, Valeri and Aretha, along with the few others going door to door, have moved on. "Do you wonder where she is?" asks Aretha, referring to Valeri's lost lover, the young, half-Asian woman named Sydney Harrington. "I do," says Valeri, "she was a good woman. If she hasn't survived this long then she's surely in paradise." In this Valeri proves that he has much progress left to make in his own personal journey from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's yet to be. "Do you miss her?" asks Aretha. "I miss her more than I'd thought I would," says Valeri. "You'll see her again I think," says Aretha. "One way or another," says Valeri. He thinks to add, in this world or the next, but he decides not to. They arrive at an unspoken but acutely felt understanding, none too soon.

When the attack is repelled, it's Valeri's turn to take to the streets, and he surveys the damage from the attack with a few others. The younger Aretha Cordoba's at his side as they look through the street, already the war having come through Aylesbury several times over the past several months, this latest battle seeing fresh destruction. It's been a long time since Valeri had enjoyed anything resembling romance, longer still since he'd felt as though he were in love. He remembers that young, half-Asian woman, one Sydney Harrington, and he recalls the way he'd sheltered her in his little flat from the police raids that'd struck seemingly at random. He recalls the way his lover, Sydney, held onto him as the police drew nearer and nearer, their heavy boots stamping down the hall towards his flat. "We'll do well here," says Lynn Jackson, "until we can move on, this will have to be our home." Across the city, the men of the Popular Front encounter them same reaction from the population, given as they all are to following the banner of the Popular Front. "The revolution must always be indistinguishable from the very people it seeks to liberate," Sister Simpson had said, back when she'd presided over the development of a small cadre of fighters, Valeri included. She takes to saying this now as well, providing her instructions in the form of text messages to the various positions now taken throughout this small city. "I will serve," says Valeri, "a real man would never choose not to serve." He says this as they put down for the night. He intends this only to set a good example for the others, for those recently taken in by the fighting forces of the Popular Front.

As Valeri reads her messages, he doesn't know she is simply disseminating the edicts of the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples in the highest ranks of the Popular Front, nor that the Popular Front itself means only to ensure the victory of the working class in this revolution. In truth, the exact composition of the leadership of the Popular Front and the new People's Republic it controls remains a mystery to men like Valeri, knowing as they do only that the Popular Front to whose banner they're pledged offers liberation and self-determination. When the nights give way to the days, Valeri and the others turn to the streets again, the frequent power failures having left the city dark at night more often than it's lit. "I don't know where it came from," says Valeri, speaking with a certainty that belies his true lack of confidence. Although Valeri spends most of his days with a stoic look muscled onto his face, although he carries his stride with purpose and authority, he's deeply unsure of himself and his path forward.

He forces himself to keep up with his stoic look and with his purposeful and authoritative stride, knowing as he does that he must put on a good example for the others. Even Valeri has yet to come to grips with the ultimate truth behind this revolution, that there's no single act that can win their struggle, that their struggle must continue indefinitely. Although Sydney Harrington isn't dead, for Valeri she may as well be, knowing as he does in some basic, primal way they'll never see each other again. But Sydney Harrington, the young, half-Asian woman, isn't the only woman Valeri has left behind in his personal growth from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's yet to be. "There was more dumb luck than anything else," says Aretha, "and I hope our luck never runs out." This causes Valeri to reconsider himself, suddenly becoming confident, upright, emerging from within himself for a moment.

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," says Valeri, "it's all earned. We make our own luck." But now, Valeri and the younger Aretha survey the cityscape with a kind of dulled enthusiasm, neither of them seeming to be able to bring themselves to force much enthusiasm into their steps. "What can we do for these people?" asks the younger Aretha. She looks at a handful of people, some old men and women along with a few younger, the whole lot of them appearing to be trying to get their lives back in order. "Keep fighting," says Valeri, "keep fighting until every working man in Britain is free." Even as Valeri says this, he can't imagine such a victory ever being won. He's beginning to appreciate the true character of the revolution he's fighting in, even as this very character remains elusive to him.

In the rebel Elijah's teachings, the necessity of ongoing revolution is stressed, the need to keep on fighting for a victory that can never be won, and it's this contradiction that Valeri can't yet begin to comprehend. "It's not that I've got anything against them," says Aretha, "it's just that I can't imagine ever being in the same situation as any of them." They see hungry people wherever they go, the pathetic and wretched among them seeming to shuffle listlessly from one place to the next. The strikes which had characterized the last months of life under the now-defunct Provisional Government continue throughout most of the country, mostly in parts of the country outside the control of the Popular Front and its new People's Republic. "And what about you?" asks Valeri, speaking with the young Aretha Cordoba a little while later, during a lull in the action on a particularly uneventful night's watch. "I have family I've left behind," says Aretha, "I have three brothers, all who volunteered to join the army when war was declared. I haven't heard from any of them in a long time." Valeri allows a moment of silence, then says, "you could find themselves on the other side of battle. If the army is brought back from Poland and they side against us, that is. What do you think of that?" And when Aretha doesn't answer right away, the awkward quiet makes Valeri immediately regret asking the question.

By the time the sun rises over Aylesbury to end this bitterly cold winter's night, the dead have been taken away and the remaining residents have taken refuge in their unheated flats. A power failure has struck, prompting Sister Simpson to order some of the men to the nearby power station to investigate. Although Valeri's not among them, he hears of their efforts, with the power out word spreading by mouth quickly. But the power remains out through the night and on into the day, leaving the whole city freezing. Blankets and warm clothing are gathered up and distributed by order of Sister Simpson, Valeri among the men ordered to go door to door gathering from wherever blankets and clothing can be found. "There used to be people who would denounce the worker's movement even from within," says Valeri, recalling moments he'd witnessed as a youth at the old union hall, when he was still under the influence of his mentor, Mark Murray. "It's hard to imagine," says the younger Aretha Cordoba. "It may be hard to imagine now," says Valeri, "after all we've been through, but back then it was so ordinary." Even Valeri doesn't know the true extent of the duplicity which the working class movement had been rife with, all that had once been simply the way of doing business. This was before even the failed uprising which his mother and father took part in, which they gave their lives for. It seems they've got one last chance to make good on their growth as revolutionaries, whether they seize that last chance or not.

It's a trying task, to keep his composure even as old women, young children, even the able bodied struggling to stay warm in this unusually cold winter. But as Valeri goes door to door, neighbourhood to neighbourhood over the course of several days, he sees the last of the civilians give what little they have to support the revolution, while keeping what they need for themselves. It takes a herculean effort on Valeri's part to take from women and children, from old and enfeebled men, even from those who are already starving and freezing in this harshest winter in recent memory. The younger Aretha Cordoba's at his side, knocking on every door with him, there to conspicuously present arms in case anyone should seek to defy them. They come to the end of a route through a commercial area, having confiscated warm weather clothing from the few merchants left in the city who thought to try and defy the order of the Popular Front. (Sister Simpson has ordered them to take names of anyone who refuses to turn over their blankets or clothing for redistribution; whoever's name is taken down will later be arrested and subjected to a show trial).

Just as they've returned to the small city's central square they've managed to gather enough to satisfy their needs. It causes Valeri to think of the deaths by starvation which began even before the old United Kingdom was replaced by the now-defunct Provisional Government, of the homeless men and fatherless youths who'd withered away into nothing in the streets while wealthy men grew fat off the sweat and blood of the working class. But this time at least these men and women are being made to surrender their possessions and to endure such hardships for the good of their own struggle. In the city of Exeter, the workers remain on strike, their city firmly outside the control of the new People's Republic. A young man named Garth Patterson mans the picket lines at a concrete plant, along with the other workers refusing to allow the plant to resume operations until their demands are met. They hold meetings in an office building, with as many as can be packed into the plant's main conference hall. Garth doesn't sit on the plant's governing committee. He's only part of the rank and file. After repeated clashes with the old Home Guard over the last several months, they've lost several killed and several more critically wounded. And when the local authority pledges its loyalty to the loose coalition known as the National Forces, Garth and the others fear a renewed crackdown on their insurrection.

Soon, they're visited by an officer of the local authority, who travels with an armed escort. After a closed-door meeting with the plant's governing committee, the officer, his escort, and the committee members address the assembled workers. "We're going back to work," says the head of the committee, "no one will be charged for anything, and the new government is committed to ending the war as soon as possible." But as a wave of confused murmurs sweep across the crowd, it becomes clear even to Garth this decision is unpopular. "They lie," says Garth, hurling his voice as loud as he can manage, "only the Popular Front will end the war!" A few workers roar their agreement, while a few try to shout them down. In the end, the plant resumes operation, although fighting among the workers can only continue until the war is ended, and Garth is correct in asserting that can only happen when the Popular Front is victorious.

"If it was up to me," says Valeri, "we'd just go in and shut them all down. We don't need these merchants to act as a middleman, not in a time of war." Nodding, the younger Aretha Cordoba says, "no one should die of hunger while there's food stockpiles waiting to be liberated from those who hoard them." As they arrive at the last designated stop on their list, they find a small estate occupied by four men, each of them seeming to be much older than they are. But soon the war must intrude, the enemy attack coming again, this time an entire force converging on the city from two directions. At his post on the roof when the attack comes, Valeri's immediately thrust into the midst of battle, without his even being later able to recall the moment it started. "Keep your fire on the street," says Aretha Cordoba, pointing down the road at moving enemy troops. These men, they're not altogether unlike the Home Guard of old, with some of them even still wearing the emblem and the uniform of the Home Guard. Valeri steels himself against the task, turns to face the enemy, and fires his rifle down the way.

In the city of Nottingham, right on the front lines of some of the revolution's fiercest fighting, a middle-aged woman named Cynthia Harris takes shelter with her family and several others in the basement of an old church. They've come to live here, invited as they'd been by the pastor, a man who'd begun tending to the flock after his enlivened and vigorous ministry took over for the stodgy and stale administration of the old church. A day comes when an official from the local authority visits to demand they turn over any fighters from the Popular Front. "There aren't any fighters here," says Cynthia, "we've got nothing to turn over." The official threatens them all with arrest, leaving it implicitly understood that arrest means summary execution, the killings around the country having left an impression on them all. After the official leaves, a battle sweeps through the area, the Popular Front taking this part of the city in several days of fierce fighting. When next someone comes to visit them it's not an official from the local authority but one of the apparatchiks of the Popular Front. He says, "we've come to muster you to work." And Cynthia, among a few others at the pastor's side, says, "we'll return to work, but we won't stop coming here to pray for the end of the war." The apparatchik nods, saying, "you should be praying no matter where you are." Soon, they're summoned to a local power station, work resuming in the way that it can.

But in Aylesbury it's over as soon as it'd started, the enemy attack beaten back, this time with minimal casualties on either side. When word comes in from Sister Simpson at her headquarters deeper into the city, it seems this particular pair of attacks were better organised and led than those they'd previously endured. The enemy has begun to coalesce into a single force, although there remains great factionalism among them. "Our revolution faces new challenges," says Valeri, "and we'll overcome them and work towards a new beginning." But the civilians don't seem convinced. Mostly they murmur among themselves, but one enterprising young woman speaks up. She says, "how long will it take you to reach this new beginning on our behalf?" Although the younger, ill-mannered Valeri might've given her a tongue-lashing, the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's in the process of becoming restrains him. Valeri nods and says, "I can't predict the future, but I can give you my word I'll do everything in my power to make it come as soon as possible. I'll give my life if I must. I don't ask you to give your life, but I do ask you to do what work you can to help." The young woman, whose name Valeri never learns, she seems to become more amicable, acknowledging Valeri's words by saying something that strikes him as altogether even-tempered, at least in comparison to her previous hostility.

In the city of Stoke-on-Trent, a woman named Mary Sanders mans a barricade with some of her fellow striking workers, the lot of them holed up with their families at their plant. They'd repelled many assaults by the old Home Guard in the dying days of the Provisional Government, but the Provisional Government's downfall hasn't meant the end of their persecution. On the very edge of the territory under the control of the new People's Republic, Mary and her fellow workers receiving one of the Popular Front's local apparatchiks. He addresses them from atop a stack of pallets in the plant's main yard. "You must return to work," says the apparatchik, "and you must keep on producing for the new worker's state. The food you process is essential to the survival of our future." A wave of murmurs sweeps across the crowd. Mary senses something, a presence which compels her to speak out. "We'll do whatever you ask," she says, shouting as loud as she can, "we'll work until we're dead or the war is over!" A cheer erupts from the others, the wave of murmurs which had never died soon building into a chorus of approval for the speaker and his message. "And you must be willing to lead us," says the apparatchik, "for our new beginning must always come from you!"

But this is not the only difficulty Valeri and the others must persist through. Behind the lines, the irregular character of the old revolution persists, with the bursting of bombs and the rattling of gunfire throughout the day and night signifying attacks by forces both loyal to an in opposition to the new beginning. As Valeri had come of age during a time of constant street battles between protestors of various stripes and the increasingly militant police who'd sought to suppress them, the bursting of bombs and the rattling of gunfire in the distance is almost soothing, as if to lull him to sleep like a baby listening to his mother's lullabies. But when a bomb bursts in the middle of the night, seemingly six or seven hundred metres away, he's jolted awake. Valeri grabs his rifle and rushes to the line, leaning forward, looking into the night.

"It's a false alarm," says Aretha, "they've got an industrial explosion at the gas plant." This calms Valeri somewhat, and he can once again feel his heart hammering against his chest. "They've apprehended the suspects," says Sister Simpson, when next Valeri and the others establish contact. "They'll punish them," says Valeri, when reading over the messages sent from Sister Simpson's field headquarters deeper in the city, "they'll sentence the bombers to death." The men and women gathered agree this is the appropriate sentence, but Valeri knows from the feeling in the pit of his stomach that this is only the beginning. Both the forces loyal to the Popular Front and those opposed to it have continued to engage in this kind of irregular warfare, with bombings and gun attacks behind the front lines, adding to the impossibility of carrying on daily life for most of the country. But this is by design. Even as men like Valeri continue to fight, there are those who must prosecute the revolution in ways that'd remain more intimately familiar to the old working class struggle. And it'll be a long time before the revolution outgrows the guerrilla's passionate outbursts in favour of the soldier's disciplined, methodical labour.

When next the city of Aylesbury sees battle again, the population is better prepared. The next attack is to be the last for weeks, in the intervening period a new strategy on the part of the Popular Front to call for a radical change in their operations. But for now, with men like Valeri Kovalenko on the battle lines there can be no retreat from the territory so hard won. After all they've been through, Valeri, the younger Aretha, all the other fighters, and even the ordinary residents of the city can't foresee what must come, where their struggles must lead them. In this the futility of their struggle is revealed for what it is, destined to lead them not to a place of peace but through a permanent struggle. "This is not the last of it," says the younger Aretha, "not by a long shot." Valeri nods, and says, "they'll be back, and we'll be ready for them."

But neither Valeri nor Aretha will be here when the enemy next attacks, nor will many of their brothers and sisters, larger forces conspiring to direct the flow of events. Like grains of sand caught in the swirling of the ocean's current, Valeri and the others will be pulled one way, in battle learning to become the soldier that he was always destined to be. A small part of the future that lies in store for him should conceal a terrible truth, with the minor injuries he's sustained here and there in the revolution so far to be only a small taste of what's to come.

4. Trying Times

But the rebel Elijah is less certain, knowing as he does the divided loyalties of the men in the army still on the continent. He must now concern himself with the task of building an entirely new apparatus, even as most of the country remains outside the authority of the new regime. Although Elijah is the leader of a new government, he concerns himself little with the day-to-day tasks of governing, instead choosing to devote himself equally to guiding the course of the working class' nascent revolution through this arduous time and to himself seeking guidance from the dark essence which guides the revolution whose course he seeks to chart. After having seized Westminster and established firm control over all of Greater London, the rebel Elijah has ordered their headquarters set up in a row of old office buildings, a sprawling complex soon emerging out of the various buildings occupied by his new government.

Even deep in the heart of London, the sound of gunfire and bombs bursting can be heard, albeit faintly, and only occasionally. Still, on days like this, Elijah looks over maps, picking out spots along old motorways and railways to be held, forming a perimeter around London which he declares must be maintained at all costs. At one such spot, in the little city of Aylesbury, Valeri Kovalenko fights in a pitched battle, fights against an enemy seemingly to have multiplied in strength and number overnight. And in the meanwhile, the lynchings by angry workers against wealthy men and their government functionaries continue, as do the reprisals by roving gangs of sectarian troops against striking workers. "I don't know anything about what goes on far away from here," says one young worker, speaking to Valeri after the most recent battle has ended, "but I know we'll stand with you." Valeri thanks the man, but doesn't learn his name; it emerges later that the man, like so many other working men in revolutionary Britain, took in with the rebels and joined his committee owing to the Popular Front's staunch opposition to the war on the continent. "At least the war on the continent has ended," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "for now, that is." But Valeri shakes his head and says, "the war on the continent will continue soon enough, I think." And he bases this thought on an instinct which he has begun to become aware of, through some extroversion of the spirit him learning to be more careful for his own thoughts. In this Valeri is continuing to be as an avatar for the larger working class struggle, in the banality of his person there lying a much larger truth than he could ever know.

Beginning with these first weeks after the declaration of the People's Republic, the Popular Front begins to disseminate its foundational text, titled, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components.' Their first act is to place this text, annotated and properly edited, on the world's networks, freely available to anyone who would want to read it. As the networks in Britain and much of Europe are down more often than they're up, the Popular Front must endeavour to continue to print and distribute paper copies, with never enough paper copies to go around. Sister Simpson orders the entire text of the book posted to notice boards outside her temporary headquarters, behind glass so as not to be damaged in the winter. Although Valeri can't perceive of the forces that turn this way and that, he'll gain that ability, with time. "The people all want us to win," says Valeri, "at least, those here." He speaks not with the younger Aretha Cordoba but with the older Lynn Jackson, who says, "there are some people who will follow whatever banner flies above their heads." Valeri pauses to think for a moment, before saying, "I choose to believe that anyone can be won over."

But after Chris Jenkins had taken his fellow worker Helen Reed to the church where he'd been attending services, he finds this new worker Carol in with the choir, singing despite her weakness and frailty. "That's an odd way to start a church," says Helen. "This is no ordinary church," says Chris, right as the meeting's called to order. All their friends are here. "We work harder than ever," says Helen. "And we've got to keep on working as hard as we can for as long as we can," says Chris. After the meeting has ended and the workers have gone back to their flats, Chris and Helen don't retire for the night but head to the roof where they talk until dawn. From their vantage point they can see over the roofs of nearby apartment blocks and housing estates, their view of the city permitting them to see that only around half of the lights that would've been lit up before are now shining through the night. They can't decide whether this is wartime restrictions or chronic shortages of even things so simple as light bulbs. They can't agree on a lot of things. It seems that every issue, every point of contention draws them against one another, for every argument he puts forward she necessarily putting forward a counter-argument, until such time as circumstances force their agreement into a new position. But they have so little time left to argue, as the larger war will soon pull them apart.

In the midst of another pitched battle, Valeri and the others fire on the street. Aiming at nothing in particular, Valeri and the others are under orders to prevent the enemy from advancing at all costs. But they can't see the enemy, and instead shoot at anything that moves. As these reprisals peter out, so do the lynchings, across Britain an uneasy, de facto truce taking hold. The workers haven't gone back to work, most of their strikes continuing even as many of the workers have abandoned the picket lines. In Aylesbury, as in all over parts of the country under the authority of the new People's Republic, discipline is required, and the committees self-selected from among the workers to distribute resources and manage production prove adequate to the task, for now. After the last battle has ended, Valeri looks down the street and sees rubble strewn across the pavement. "Don't fall back," comes the order, one of Sister Simpson's functionaries relaying their instructions in person, "hold this position at all costs." And now Valeri must come to grips with the changing course of the war, with its having taken everything from him that he'd had to take, only to leave him with the one thing that can never be taken from him. After this particular battle has ended, they've forced the enemy attack off and held their positions. These brief battles continue to occupy only a small part of their time, points of exhilaration against a backdrop of almost continuous quiet. "If they're still fighting us this hard then the war's not any closer to being finished," says Valeri, a few hours later. But no one's in the mood to talk much about such things, as his statement elicits only a murmur from the men and women in response.

"Don't you ever think about anything that's beyond us?" asks Lynn Jackson, on a rare night when there's no enemy attack on their positions. "I like to keep my mind on the present," says Valeri, sitting across from Lynn in their improvised barracks. "On the present?" asks Lynn. "On what I can see," he says, even as he's aware this isn't true. "Then why do you carry that book around with you?" asks Lynn, pointing to the Bible Valeri's left next to him. Valeri takes a moment to consider his thoughts, then looks Lynn in the eye and says, "because I can see it all around me, in everywhere I go and everything I do." Valeri pauses. There's an uneasy silence. Then Valeri says, "if ever I have any doubts about the path forward, I choose not to ignore them but to confront and suppress them. Each confrontation and each suppression will lead to something more. "I know you can't understand," he says, "but I hope someday you will." She says nothing, letting the matter go, at least for the night.

It may be so utterly uninteresting, so banal, these men and women all having come from such a disparate range of backgrounds, joining to form something so much greater than the sum of each, and it's in the banality of it all that the nobility of their struggle is revealed. "I choose to believe they're in heaven," says Valeri, "and I also choose to believe we can never have heaven on earth. But we must always try, I think." He sounds unsure of himself, his voice a little uneasy even as he forces it firm and even-toned. "Regardless," says Aretha, pausing to look over the street, "we've got something else to look forward to." A moment of tranquility emerges, amid the still-escalating chaos of the revolution. At this time, Valeri takes note of Aretha's odd sort of Although Valeri is an ordinary worker, he's always been destined to reach the heights he now aspires to. "I won't withdraw," says Valeri, "no matter what happens we've got to fight."

Meanwhile, in Nottingham the young woman Julia Roberts continues her work at the railyard, wherever she can pick up shifts. The local committee which has been formed from among the workers continues to dispense work, its overriding concern the need to keep the rails running according to the desires of the war. But when Julia next meets with her lead hand, the older Fred White, he has no extra shifts to offer, none that can pay any wages. Julia doesn't hold a grudge against Fred, seeing as he's merely appointed by the elected committee that governs the railyard. A local official from the Popular Front comes around and instructs them on what's expected of them, although Julia isn't there to see it. The enemy is nearby, the official had told them, and the city could be the scene of heavy fighting once again. "The railyard will be a target if that happens," says Fred, addressing some of the workers a little while later. Julia's among them. "The committee has recommended you all stay on site until the danger has passed," says Fred, prompting a wave of murmurs from the crowd. "We're going to set up temporary accommodations for you all," says Fred. "And what about our families?" asks Julia, her question causing the crowd to fall silent. Fred looks her right in the eye and says, "we don't have any room for them. Frankly, I don't think we have enough room for you all. But we'll make room, at least for you." There's more, there's always more, but the critical moment is had. When Julia explains to her family what's happened, she only gets halfway before the call is terminated, a nearby network node going down, unbeknownst to her the battle elsewhere having begun.

The middle-aged woman Lynn comes from some of the most pathetic and wretched among the working class, from those whom even the impoverished workers would've spat on only some decades earlier. Actually, there are many former prostitutes among the ranks of the Popular Front, chiefly in its vast army but also among its leaders at every level. Valeri's to learn of her past not right away, and not in one conversation, but in the bits and pieces she shares over the course of many months, in the process learning much about himself as well. It's this act of learning that's to help in in becoming something more than what he is, in growing from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be. "If it's not too much trouble," says the woman, "why don't you make yourselves useful?" With that, Valeri begins to spend some of his time helping the woman in her house, whenever not on watch or asleep, or on patrol putting in what time he can spare. The others notice this, but don't join him in performing miscellaneous domestic labour for the woman, each of Valeri's comrades in arms seeming to marvel at the sight of him washing dishes or running the linens through the wringer. (The chronic shortages have made electrical appliances increasingly rare and hard to maintain, while the frequent power outages make all but useless the few such appliances still in working order). But when action resumes with a new enemy attack on their positions, Valeri's rushed to the roof, with the others looking on the road ahead for an enemy they can't see. In truth, there're many in the Popular Front, or even those under its charge, who doubt the Popular Front's path and the leadership of the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples. They're not here, but they're all around everyone, all at once. "We're all soldiers," says Valeri, "of one army or another." To this Valeri can only foment agreement.

But these are abstract to Valeri, even as he takes to putting a confidence face on at all times. Whenever spare moments present themselves, Valeri takes to spreading the gospel of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front, keeping his copy of their canonical text, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components,' After they've been distributing supplies, Valeri and the others return to the house. The young son and two young daughters who live in that little house seem to take an interest in reading this book, such that Valeri gives them his copy of the Popular Front's canonical text, asking that they take great care with it as he has no easy access to replacement copies. And then he goes out on patrol, never to see the next fight coming, coming as it does in the middle of the night. "I see that you've taken a particular liking for these people," says Sister Simpson, the next time she comes around to inspect their positions. She doesn't come by very often, as the task of commanding the entire city's defences has consumed her time, but a few days after the last engagement with enemy forces. None of them can know what they're fighting for, beyond the vague and guttural instinct that governs their working class rage against an implacable enemy. "Brother Kovalenko," says Sister Simpson, on finding Valeri on the roof performing a quick inspection of their position. "Sister Simpson," says Valeri. He snaps to attention, having learned to do so entirely of his own accord. He throws the one-fist salute, which Sister Simpson returns. "Next time I come around," she says, on her way out the door, "don't bother with the formalities. They don't suit you, Brother Kovalenko." But this leaves Valeri more confused of himself than reassured, weighing on his mind for the next several days.

For Joe Hill, the next several days spent on the southern end of the Wearmouth Bridge over the River Wear in Sunderland have meant facing down the threat of attack. But the enemy doesn't attack. "We can't stay here forever," says Nina, "we've got to fight them, if not here then somewhere else." It isn't even clear to any of them who the enemy is, with the Home Guard made defunct along with the hated Provisional Government that commanded it. "There may be another way," says Joe, speaking with Nina and several others after they'd withdrawn from their defensive positions on the bridge. "I'm listening," says Nina, although Joe can detect the sarcasm in her voice. "There's no work here," says Joe, "but there could be work elsewhere." Joe, Nina, and the others engage in a spirited debate inside this old, disused shop where they'd retreated from the bridge. Several families live in this and other nearby disused shops, having been made homeless by the war. Both Joe and Nina have families here, Joe a wife and Nina two children. A lot of the rebels have families, Joe and Nina among those who'd realised they had nothing to lose and everything to gain by taking in with the rebels. These ordinary men and women with families might've not been given to rebellion even some months ago, preferring instead to keep their families safe from harm. But after all that's happened, men like Joe and women like Nina have come to realise there's nothing to be lost and everything to be gained in rebellion. But it won't be easy.

Still Valeri ruminates on the things he's seen, the things he's done, the people he's killed and the people he's saved. That girl whose handkerchief he'd taken and kept, he still has it, and sometimes he reaches into his pocket and feels for it, the tactile sensation of the worn fabric recalling in his mind the image of all those bodies piled up after so many people had been shot dead by the enemy. After the last engagement with the enemy, Valeri and the others man their position with a heightened vigilance, still the darkness seeming to conceal the enemy's movements but not their own. Still they don't know the exact identity of the enemy they're fighting; the National Forces, a loose and disorganised coalition, may not even last very long against the strength of the Popular Front. Although Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it, the Popular Front has its supporters and its sympathisers even in the areas outside its control, the number of worker's assemblies in those areas variously voting motions of support for the Popular Front and its new People's Republic. But much greater cause for concern for the new People's Republic is the vast forces formerly of the Home Guard but now pledged to various factions, vanishingly few having agreed to defect to the Popular Front in its establishment of the new state.

For men like Valeri, the constant struggle against a seemingly unassailable enemy can only become an end unto itself, altogether unlike the intemperate and impassioned rebellion that he'd been given to as a youth. Even two or three or four years ago he would've scarcely imagined himself as having become a soldier of the revolution, complete as he is with the beginnings of a uniform and a rifle he carries around as if an extension of his person. After the last in a long series of discussions that've filled the spare moments they have, Valeri and a few of the others are uncertain of themselves. "I've known a lot of pain in my life," says Lynn Jackson, on a quiet night in Aylesbury when there's no enemy to fire on. "We all have," says Valeri, "and that's why we're here." It doesn't occur to Valeri that the deprivation he's known all his life has become as a way of life for him and for men like him, the default, the natural and normal way of things, something to be neither embraced nor endured. They're posting watch from the roof of that little shophouse where they've taken up, on this particularly cold winter's night every patch of skin covered, save their faces. The power failed days earlier, and hasn't been back on since, the local power plant proving beyond the technical expertise of the Popular Front's fighters and apparatchiks. "I don't know what the future holds," says Lynn. "No one does," says Valeri. "More learned men than us do," says Lynn. Valeri thinks to argue that point, but he can't think of what to say. It's in these little moments between battles that the true character of the working class movement should reveal itself, neither bold and aggressive nor timid and unsure of its own course.

Until the British Army can be brought home from the war on the continent, this is a revolutionary struggle carried out by a huge band of irregulars, of men whose training amounts to little more than being told to 'point and shoot.' Although Valeri, like many of the others, has been fighting this war for only as long as he's been alive, it seems to him that this has been much longer than the twenty-something years it's been. He feels in his abdomen a nagging pain, barely perceptible but surely there. He conceals this pain from all who look on him, muscling a stoic look onto his face, keeping it there as long as he can manage. Inwardly, he considers that if he can only enter the presence of the rebel Elijah again then his nagging pain and whatever underlying condition might be causing it will become cured. In this he recalls his limited time in the presence of the rebel Elijah, and his recollections permit him to steel himself against the brutally and bitterly cold night. This winter is proving to be just as bitterly cold as the last; although Valeri doesn't know it, relief is coming in the form of an early spring.

Elsewhere, in the city of Kingston the general strikes and the reprisals against them which came to characterize life in the last weeks under the old Provisional Government have now all but ended, some workers returning to work while others simply disappear into the chaos. Nothing vaguely resembling a functioning civil society has emerged where the hated Provisional Government once stood. For Marilyn Carter, arriving to find her family having fled their little flat had meant only more anguish. They'd left a small note telling her they'd gone but not where they'd gone to, the failing of nearby network nodes prompting them to scribble something quickly on a scrap of paper. After a few weeks have passed, she continues to work at the munitions plant, all the while in secret contact with her family who've fled across the country like so many others. "I hope the rebels come soon," says her co-worker, the older Dan Murphy. "They're not rebels anymore," says Marilyn, "they occupy Westminster." They speak after a long day at the plant, in their beds in the little flat they share. "Well, I hope they come at any rate," says Dan. "You'll get your wish," says Marilyn, "one way or another. "A fellow worker, whose name neither Marilyn nor Dan know, reports on their conversation to the local authority. By the time they're hauled in for questioning, much will have changed, both here in Norwich and all across Britain.

"Are you afraid of the future?" Valeri asks of the younger Aretha Cordoba, on this night when he can hardly emerge from his own recollections. "Yes," says Aretha, "and I can't understand why." Both of them have the same sort of background, having grown up in the working class districts of London's inner environs, so close to the fantastical and impossible wealth of their former masters that it sometimes seemed all they'd needed to do was reach out and touch them, grab them by the lapels and drag them down into the very poverty they'd meted out on the working class. "Why do you fear what you can't see?" asks Valeri, his question largely rhetorical, asking as he is a question to which he doesn't know the answer. But while the men and women under Sister Simpson's leadership fight a pitched battle for control of this city elsewhere there's an arduous difficulty that can only be resolved through constant struggle, the ordinary workers, students, and parishioners having long abandoned their differences to form a united front in opposition to capitalism. But even this could never be enough, and has never been. "You shouldn't fear the future," says Valeri, "because you should keep your thoughts on the here and now, where they can make a difference in this fight." Aretha nods.

At the church in London where Roy Cook has been attending services for some time, he takes to noticing the appearance of a young woman whose name he doesn't learn, not right away. Even after they'd spent the night together for the first time, he still doesn't know her name, nor does she know his. At the church in London where Roy Cook has been attending services, he sits next to the young woman even after they'd spent the night together for the first time, reluctant to ask her name, as if to reveal his own ignorance by virtue of asking. But after the services have ended, she takes his hand in hers and says, "I'm Sabrina, Sabrina Hale." Although neither of them have work, the destruction of the war having forced so many young people like them into unemployment, they both soon find themselves working again. By stroke of luck, they both wind up in the same civil defence unit, repairing roads and rail lines, clearing rubble and human remains from the streets. In exchange the Popular Front gives them food, basic medical care, and other essentials. When they retire to the small flat Roy shares with a few others they have no privacy, but this never stops them from having each other. As either could be killed or called away at any time, they, like so many other young couples in revolutionary Britain, have learnt to speed through the early parts of their relationships and head right to love. "I've thought about what the pastor's been saying," says Roy, after a particularly long and hard day of work in the streets, "and I don't want to miss out on something out of fear." He refers to a recent sermon on the treasures of the heart. "I've been thinking the same thing," says Sabrina, "I don't think my mother would ever forgive me, but I don't care." A few days later, the next time they find themselves with a spare moment during daytime, they approach the pastor and ask him to marry them. He agrees. Without pomp or circumstance, it's done, in a simple ceremony that takes only a few minutes. Nothing changes in their lives, not outwardly, but inwardly both Roy and Sabrina become stronger. Soon, their strength will be tested in ways they never could've expected.

Soon, another attack on the Popular Front's positions at Aylesbury, this attack persisting for hours. It's only once the attack has been repelled that Valeri and the others learn there have been numerous such attacks on Popular Front positions throughout the country, the urban areas largely safe but the countryside beyond seeming to be inside hell. The younger Aretha Cordoba continues to expound on her own personal history, the lengths she'd gone to in order to see her family even before the war began. But like so many other working class families, the perpetual unemployment and despair made the call for recruits into the army too strong a temptation for her three brothers to ignore. "There was such a crisis," says Valeri, thinking to imitate the mannerisms of a learned scholar even as he has never been such a person. "There was never a crisis," says Lynn Jackson, "it was always the way of things." In the spare moments they have between fighting, they rehearse the debates among themselves that the Popular Front must have among its constituent parts, until such time as the Popular Front can form a coherent narrative with regards to its own history still there remaining room for each to make up his own mind. "These people don't have much to live for," says Valeri. He refers to the family in whose house they find themselves garrisoned. "Which means they have everything to live for," says Lynn, "or so says Elijah."

But the next time Valeri and a few of the others leave their defensive stronghold and make a patrol route around the edge of the city, they see several groups of civilians huddling in the rubble of what'd been their own homes, destroyed as their homes were not by any act of war but by a fire that'd swept through a residential neighbourhood not several weeks earlier. "This is quite the morbid sight," says Valeri, as they walk past one particular house, the locals looking out from behind a half-collapsed wall. "We've got a mission to complete," says Lynn, "let's get on with it." This is a small moment when held up against the years they've been fighting in the revolution already, but it strikes Valeri as something altogether out of place, something he'll remember in a way that's at odds with its larger significance. He still carries that handkerchief he'd taken from the body of that poor young girl, and every time he touches the handkerchief he recalls the sight of so many bodies having blended into a mass of discoloured, rotting flesh. If ever he should feel guilty about having killed so many people, whether on the battlefields against armed enemy soldiers or behind the lines, he recalls only that sight to power him through whatever task is at hand.

After so many attacks on Aylesbury, the Popular Front's positions in the city have held, but this could change at any time. When Valeri and the others at his position receive orders to advance down the street and take up new positions, it isn't clear to them exactly why this would be necessary, although it isn't important that they understand. They've staked out a new spot at a little two-storey house, positioned at a fork in the road, with two roads joining behind them into a single, two-lane road reaching into the countryside beyond. It's perfect for them to direct fire down the road, provided the enemy advances along the road towards them. The family who lives in this house, they haven't fled, not yet, choosing to stay even through the fighting thus far. After the coming uprising, all will have changed, a decisive advantage afforded to the Popular Front by its new offensive. Here in Aylesbury, Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson will not take part in the coming uprising, consigned as they are to a supporting role, for now.

After the last attack on their positions by the still-unknown enemy, Valeri and the others might be forgiven for second-guessing themselves, for thinking the enemy, not them, on the verge of a decisive breakthrough. And this, this is only further proof on the path still ahead of them, despite all the pain and hardship they've endured. "It's not your problem," says Stephen Potter, speaking with Valeri and a few others when they're on watch, "it's not any of our problems." He refers to the larger struggle emanating from within the Popular Front, the struggle which these men are only vaguely aware of but which has come to weigh on their minds heavily. "It might become our problem," says Valeri, "if we're ever asked to choose a side." But action interrupts, as it always must, not in the form of an armed attack on their position but a group of citizens presenting concerns. When Valeri can't answer their concerns, not right away, they protest his ignorance, and to this Valeri can only respond with an habitual grim determination. The next time the enemy attacks along this road, it won't be enough to force them from this position even as it'll inflict heavy damage on the suburban landscape on either side of the road. Valeri and the others put up a spirited defence, refusing to give the enemy even an inch of ground, determined to make them pay for every attack they launch. But the family in whose house Valeri and the others have taken up in don't flee, these civilians choosing to remain even through Valeri and the others commandeering their house as a defensive strongpoint.

For a time, there's no action, the ebb and flow of battle seeing fit to grant them all a reprieve. The household is headed by a middle aged woman whose name Valeri doesn't learn right away, a short, stout woman who Valeri estimates as easily two feet around at the waist. Actually, she's not home when Valeri and the others arrive, their party welcomed by the woman's three children, a seventeen-year-old son and two younger daughters. It's some small wonder to Valeri that the son hasn't been off to war yet, if not roped into the army on the continent then compelled to join the Home Guard at some point. But this, this he doesn't ask on, not yet, instead accepting the young man's welcome into their home before turning to the position on the upper floor.

It's some small wonder that this family has kept together for as long as they have, to the extent that they have, their father having been killed in the war but the others all here. "For as long as we're here," says Valeri, "we may as well see to it that these people are taken care of as best we can." It's some small wonder that Valeri's personal experiences, that his personal history in having survived through the long and ponderous escalation in the war at home. "I don't know what there is to do," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "but I've got no problem with what I'm asked." Now, as Valeri and the others commandeer that little, two-storey house as a defensive strongpoint, they become ingrained in the lives of the family who live there. "We respect your right to live in your own home," says Valeri, speaking with the middle-aged woman who serves as the head of the household, "but we need to be here, so that we can win the war." She says nothing to him, instead continuing with her housework even as Valeri stands in the doorway.

Elsewhere, other events begin to take shape. The man now known as Brother Hatfield, once the commanding officer of a fighter squadron in the old Royal Air Force, continues to take to the skies in service of the revolution, part as he is of the People's Republic's embryonic air force. With critical shortages in fuel and spare parts, the fighters in Brother Hatfield's squadron are rarely able to take to the air in numbers. Brother Hatfield finds himself, today, one day, in the skies, searching out enemy planes, finding only a handful of civilian aircraft occupying the skies above the countryside between Manchester and London. "Brother Hatfield," says his number two, a younger woman named Patricia Stephens, "there's nothing here." Hatfield gives the counter-sign, then turns and heads back for home. The squadron is currently based out of Manchester's old airport. Suddenly one of their pilots reports. "I'm under fire," comes the call, "source unknown. I can't see anything in the—"

The call is drowned into static as the pilot's craft is struck by missiles. "The source is on the ground," Hatfield says, "it's got to be ground fire somewhere." He throws open the throttle and rockets into the sky, thinking to gain as much altitude as he can, as fast as he can. More missiles show up on their radar scopes, shooting through the sky, most falling short of their targets but one more of Hatfield's bursting from a direct hit. But he's scarcely a thousand metres up when he spots a handful of signals on his radar scope. "They're not on the ground," says Hatfield, "they're in the air, a whole lot of them." He pauses to think, only to see the rest of his squadron hitting their afterburners, trying to gain as much altitude as possible to confront the enemy. "Line 'em up," says Sister Stephens, "let's get 'em." Hatfield gives the counter-sign, then takes a bead on the lead enemy fighter. He hears the telltale tone of his fighter's systems achieving a lock, and he squeezes the trigger to loose a missile at the target.

But the enemy pilot maneuvers away, dodging the missile, leaving Hatfield with just the one other missile left. He manages to stay on the enemy fighter's tail, achieving another lock, squeezing the trigger a second time only this time for nothing to happen. The missile's systems have failed even to release the missile from its underwing hardpoint. Without any other options, Hatfield closes to point blank range and fires his guns, scoring hits, damaging the enemy's engines, sending the enemy fighter into a tailspin. But Hatfield has little time to celebrate his kill, with two enemy fighters slipping around to take up position above and behind him, leaving him to maneuver wildly, jinking and weaving while Sister Stephens tries to get on their tails to save him. He has no rear guns on this fighter. Quickly, the whole scene degenerates into a mess of fighters twisting and turning, a confusing knife fight in the sky. Both sides call in reinforcements, but neither side has more than a few to spare. So far away is this aerial battle that Valeri and the others in Aylesbury can't see it, even as they can sometimes catch a glimpse of such fighters and bombers flying overhead. He knows nothing of the escalated character of the war in the skies, only that he can sometimes see these planes for himself. When he sees them, he spares a thought for them, wondering for a small fraction of a moment whether they'd trade places with him, whether he'd want to trade places with them.

And when the battle begins, the family are nowhere to be found. Valeri supposes they've retreated into their cellar, their cellar having been converted like so many other cellars across the country into makeshift bomb shelters. These cellars offer little real protection from a determined attack, and none against a nuclear blast that could come at any time, but that doesn't matter. It seems to Valeri as though the front lines are shifting so slowly as to remain fixed in place for weeks, even months, this winter grinding past arduously and painfully for all. One day, only a few weeks after they'd taken the city of Aylesbury and assumed control, the new year comes, with it a whole new set of challenges for the still-young People's Republic and the Popular Front which controls it. A new campaign is in the works, planned by the rebel Elijah's closest disciples at the highest ranks of the Popular Front, but before this new campaign can be launched a series of uprisings must be carefully planned and executed, the rebel Elijah determined to leave nothing to chance. Still the rebel Elijah must continue to seek atonement for his momentary lack of faith only some months ago, the dark essence which guides the revolution seeing fit to withhold from him its otherworldly guidance, even as Elijah and his closest disciples have won victory after victory and established their new state. He has an illness ravaging his body, but one which remains hidden from others, enabling him to present as though he's healthier than ever. Over time, this illness will become evident to others, and it's this becoming evident that'll prompt not them but him to adopt a new escalation of the revolution here in Britain and across Europe.

5. Nothing Human

As Valeri and the others in this battalion have moved through the countryside, it seems to them as though there's only more death and destruction lying ahead of them. At this little two-storey house he and the other gunners keep a conspicuous watch, flying the red-and-gold flag from a makeshift pole on the roof, keeping their machine gun mounted on a corner, its barrel thrusting into the sky. When Valeri next sees the middle-aged head of the household, he watches her work, out of the corner of his eye keeping part of his attention reserved for her. Although he won't admit it, although even he doesn't know it, he finds her beautiful in a purely aesthetic way. She must be nearly a metre around at the hips, and only a little slimmer at the shoulders, her proportions exaggerated by repeated childbearing and so many years of hard living. She had a particular style of beauty, roughened by endless work, her arms thick, her haunches like a pair of enormous machines repeating the same rhythmic motions as she went about the task of keeping her household running even through this destructive war.

After the last enemy attack on the Popular Front's defences around the little city of Aylesbury, Valeri had expected the next attack to come immediately, with bated breath the young man manning the gun atop that little, two-storey house. While he keeps watch over the street, the family keeps on living their lives, the eldest child, the son, heading out to work for the new authority in repairing roads and fashioning other infrastructure, whatever work can be had for so young a man. The younger children, the daughters, stay home much of the time, leaving Valeri and the other rebel fighters garrisoned here with a constant company. "They're not going to last much longer here," says Valeri, speaking with the younger Aretha Cordoba one afternoon. It's been several days since the last enemy attack on their positions but the vague sense of impending doom seems to hang over them all, or so Valeri thinks.

"It's this damn waiting I can't stand," says Valeri, still speaking with the younger Aretha Cordoba, "I wish we would take to the attack. People are dying in the streets and we're sitting here. We could earn our victory now." But the younger Aretha Cordoba says, "you may get your wish a lot sooner than you think." This peculiar turn of phrase piques Valeri's interest, until it becomes altogether clear that she doesn't refer to the expected enemy attack, whenever that might next come. Instead, as he sees night fall, from out of the corner of his mind's eye he picks out a particular strand and fixates on it, but only for a moment before he hears the sound of distant gunfire rattling off into the night's sky. "Valeri," comes the voice of Lynn Jackson, "I've been meaning to talk to you." Although she doesn't say what she intends to talk about, Valeri nods his understanding, inviting her into the top-floor room facing the street. They've got nothing to hide from one another, and it's this fact that permits them to become brothers and sisters.

Soon, Sister Simpson gives news. Although many of the dissident factions have acceded to the demands of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front, so many remain in open defiance of the new People's Republic. The ethnic nationalists in Scotland and Wales have pursued their own course, seeking recognition as independent states from various world powers, chiefly the Americans. What Valeri and the others don't know is that even within these newly-proclaimed independent states a variety of smaller factions themselves jockey for power and influence. In time, these factions will fragment and coalesce at the same time, in fighting that'll become apparent even to men like Valeri. But coming is an uprising which'll follow the pattern established in past uprisings organised by the Popular Front, in coordination with attacks by the army of the new People's Republic on areas held by its enemies. All this Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson remain ignorant of; even Sister Simpson can't know what's to come.

The hoardings which came to characterise life during pre-revolutionary times continue, with so many people starving for want of food that can still be found in plentiful quantities throughout the country. On the second floor of that little two-storey house, Valeri and Lynn had spent the night calmly and not altogether dispassionately talking, all the while manning their position as a bulwark against the enemy. A few days have passed, and still Valeri thinks about the things she'd said to him, even as they march. "We advance down the road," says Valeri, gesturing forward. Their orders are to reconnoitre for enemy positions in the countryside beyond Aylesbury, and to probe any defences they find.

"Keep it slow," says Lynn Jackson, nodding at Valeri as she speaks. The whole lot of them advance together, Valeri in with a party of about thirty men and women, Sister Simpson having given him a provisional authority over this ad hoc unit. "Brother Kovalenko," comes another voice, this one barely recognizable as the younger Aretha Cordoba's, "that forest would be a good place to put down for a moment while we survey the road ahead." She's looking at a map, and she shows Valeri the road that snakes alongside a small patch of forested terrain, then points at the trees ahead of them. As they move into the forested area, Valeri spots movement up ahead, seeing a group of unknown gunmen advancing along the road, headed not for them but for a small town left completely undefended. Actually, Valeri isn't sure whether he can handle the rigours of such leadership as this, but he accepts regardless. Although neither of them say it, they both know he's capable of rising to this new challenge.

Still the People's Republic and the course of the revolution it seeks to chart are far from certain, with the darkness of the night, tonight, seeming to impress itself and its boundless expanse upon the men and women fighters of the Popular Front. Immediately, there's action. The next attack comes in the night, when Valeri's supposed to be asleep. He's awake anyways, thinking of the last thing that short, stout woman had said to him, when he's jolted out of bed by the cracking of gunfire so loud it seems to be all around him, all at once. "Alarm!" comes a voice, soon identifying itself as Charlotte Ryan. By the time Valeri's got his rifle in hand and by the time he's leapt into position along a far wall, there's no more time left, with the enemy right on top of them.

It's fortunate for the defence that they've not had power in days, for it makes the enemy more reluctant in their advance, soon the battle degenerating into close-quarters fighting, Valeri and the others able to see the faces of the men they shoot dead. They don't have much time before the enemy will reach that little town, and Valeri's quick to order their scouting party to intercept. It's close, too close, but it takes an agonizingly long time for Valeri and the others to close the distance, and they can't make it in time. There's a brief debate on whether to immediately attack but Valeri accedes to the suggestion of the younger Aretha Cordoba, and soon they've established a position on the hill overlooking the town. But now none of them know what to do next.

An uneasy calm settles on the scene, with the little town eerily quiet, most of the unknown soldiers seeming to disappear into houses. Valeri's about to report back to Sister Simpson when there's the sound of a distant scream, a woman's scream, followed by gunshots. "Brother Kovalenko," says the younger Aretha, "they're shooting!" Valeri thinks of that young, dead girl they'd found, and her handkerchief he'd kept, as he gives the order, "move in. Shoot anything that shoots back." He doesn't have the authority to order any of the others, but there's something in him that compels him to assume the authority, the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution in turn compelling the others to follow. It matters little that they've got hardly enough ammunition to last through a serious firefight, for the first time that any of them can remember the prospect of fighting hand to hand confronting them.

But in that miscellaneous little town, Valeri and the others fight a pitched battle against unknown forces. After having run out of ammunition, Valeri finds himself in hand to hand combat. An enemy gunman leaps through an open door, right on top of him, Valeri drawing a knife he'd found and turning to face the gunman. Valeri doesn't think, but quickly grabs the knife and turns in time to stab the man in the stomach, wrenching the knife in the man's innards, using his whole body to force the man down. This, this isn't the first time Valeri's felt the thrill of the kill, his whole body coursing with an electric sensation as he draws his knife from the man's gut only to plunge it back in. "Valeri!" comes a voice, a voice he can barely hear over the pounding of his own pulse. "We've got to withdraw," says the voice, this time clearer and nearer to him. He looks up. It's the younger Aretha Cordoba. She stands over him and the lifeless body he's clutching. "There's too many of them," says Aretha, "they've got reinforcements just down the road." Valeri stands, wipes the blood from his knife on his pant leg, and says, "I'm coming, don't wait for me." He doesn't discard his rifle but takes it with him. He drops the knife as he doesn't have any place to put it safely, and leaps out of the building's back exit just as two more enemy gunmen enter through the front door.

Elsewhere, the new army of the People's Republic struggles under immense pressure, the task of securing their newfound future proving considerably more difficult than any of the men had imagined. On a stretch of road reaching through the countryside Valeri mans a machine gun with three other fighters, Valeri firing from a prone position with the gun mounted on a bipod while one other man feeds the ammunition belt into the gun and the other two shoot rifles down field. Valeri remembers his instructions on the gun to fire in bursts rather than holding down the trigger, instructions given by an older, more experienced fighter only some days ago. The sharp crack of gunfire so close to him startles him with every burst, seeming to send shockwaves through his body. "Keep up your suppressing fire," comes the order, coming as it does from an older man whose name Valeri can't remember in the middle of battle. Every one of his senses seem under a thunderous assault, leaving him no time to think, no time even to breathe. But even in the midst of battle Valeri can't help but recall the thrill of the kill, the electric feeling he experienced when killing the enemy with his knife, with the next best thing to his bare hands.

"Friendly men down range," says the man giving orders, after a few minutes have passed, "change your target, fire into the trees!" Valeri turns slightly to aim further downfield, then shoots into the trees beyond, randomly scattering fire at targets he can't see. But then his machine gun jams. He keeps on squeezing the trigger, keeps on hearing his machine gun click, as if it's trying to fire. "Brother Kovalenko!" shouts the man giving orders, "what's wrong with your gun?" "I don't know," Valeri says, checking over his gun, unsure what he's even looking for. It recalls a moment not altogether long after their arrival in Aylesbury when Valeri and the others had come across a few Home Guard men and killed them without much of a struggle. Valeri's known the thrill of the kill before, even if each time it feels to him as though he's feeling it for the first time. He can never truly reconcile the thrill of the kill with the peaceful aims of the movement which he's now a part of, which he's been a part of on some level all his life. But he doesn't have to.

Soon they're forced to withdraw, yielding the position to the enemy. Absent any firm front lines, they receive instructions to fall back on that little, two-storey house at a fork in the road, and to make that little, two-storey house into a fortress of sorts. In receiving word of their engagement in that little town, Sister Simpson had dispatched reinforcements, aiming to link up with Valeri's provisional unit as the latter were withdrawing in the direction of friendly positions. They can't make it, and they're forced to put down for the night in an old estate, the enemy granting them some reprieve. But they see through the darkness of this long winter's night the enemy ransacking the town they'd beat a quick retreat from, with men seeming to go door to door, pulling women and children out of their homes, sometimes shooting them on the spot before moving on.

It was only a few years ago that the sight of such atrocities would've left Valeri so overcome with rage that he'd have turned a shivering and shuddering mess; in point of fact, it was only a few years ago that he'd seen demonstrators massacred in the streets, that he'd escaped such a massacre by the slimmest of margins, with only a few seconds more or less making the difference. "We could come under fire at any time," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "we should keep watch." And to this Valeri only nods. "You'd better get some sleep," says Aretha, "this estate won't be much use if you're so tired you can hardly think straight." At any earlier time Valeri might've ignored her, or even told her off, but this time the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's yet to become compels him to answer. He says, "there's something I need to get off my chest." And he does. He proceeds to tell her about the thrill he's come to feel whenever in close quarters with an enemy soldier, the electric sensation whenever his body can anticipate the impending kill. At the same time, he tells her, this is something he's acutely aware of, something the better part of him knows he ought to be ashamed of, the pent up need for so much revenge against so many amounting to something that flies in the face of everything he knows to be right and true, at least according to the teachings he's taken up with. "I don't know any better than you," says Aretha, "but I think you're going to need this new part of you, whether you're comfortable with it or not."

But elsewhere, there's trouble in the works for the young People's Republic. The hoarding that'd characterised the storage of food, medical supplies, and other essential commodities under the old regime continues unabated, the shortages which'd taken so many lives and made worse the lives of many more persisting in this tentative, early time for the new People's Republic. Soon, Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson's leadership will be tasked with confiscating food from nearby warehouses for redistribution to the starving locals, a task that sounds simple enough to Valeri but which'll prove vastly more complicated than he or any of his brothers and sisters could imagine. After withdrawing from their position and yielding it to the enemy, Valeri expects another attack to come immediately, the enemy sure to press home their attack and chase them as far back as they could manage. But it doesn't come. In the middle of the night, they must get on the move again, withdrawing to friendly lines, linking up with men dispatched by Sister Simpson, the task to be completed under the cover of darkness. But their withdrawal back to friendly lines at Aylesbury must follow a different route from the route they'd taken out, the enemy attack they'd witnessed on that little town only a small part of the larger war raging across Britain. As Valeri meets with his comrade, a brother given a provisional command over a similar sized group, they plot a course around certain obstacles, using a map helpfully provided. "We're in the midst of a major attack," says the brother, a man named Douglas Stewart, "they're launching offensive actions on all our positions." Valeri thinks to ask, "who is?" Brother Stewart says, "the nationalists," and leaves it at that.

But when this phantom enemy next stages an attack on their current positions, Valeri gets a much better look than he'd ever gotten before, even compared to that poor young man in whose body he'd stuck a knife. It's only been a few days since they'd left Aylesbury on this ill-fated expedition. "We've got almost no food left," says Valeri, the next time he finds himself alone with another person, Lynn Jackson. "It's okay," says Lynn, "we'll find some food soon. That's why we're here, I think." When next their provisional unit makes contact with this enemy, it seems to Valeri the enemy has multiplied in number, a sudden burst of courage causing him to turn and face the enemy. He fires his rifle downrange, without any regard for striking his target, spraying ammunition in the general direction of the enemy. By the time this particular engagement is won through, they've expended ammunition but suffered few losses, this engage and force a retreat typical of their encounters with the enemy. So loose and disorganised are the enemy fighting under the banner of the National Forces that the true horror of the revolution's deadliest phase has yet to dawn. It was only recently that they'd run out of ammunition, that Valeri had been forced to kill with a knife he's since discarded, and now after having been given a new supply of ammunition Valeri's shooting without concern for running out. Still he relishes memory of the thrill of the kill, even as there's some part of him that feels guilty.

As has become common for the rebels, Valeri and the others in his ad hoc unit soon come across a local storehouse, guarded by a few gunmen who flee as soon as they see rebels from the Popular Front approaching. This leaves only a few workers here. This is one of the few industrial estates left mostly unmolested by the revolution, located as it is out in the countryside, away from any major population centres, but still close enough to London's outer environs. Although Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it off hand, this industrial estate is not yet controlled by an elected council of workers, rather by managers who remain loyal to a bureaucracy that no longer exists. So soon after having witnessed more callous acts of murder, Valeri and the others in this ad hoc party are on the knife's edge, about to tip one way or the other at any moment. This makes Valeri hardly like the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been only some years ago, when emerging from under the tutelage of one Mark Murray, only to turn against him. In the night, it always happens the night, they come upon a new warehouse, filled to the brim with foodstuffs. "But I don't think there's a good reason to keep on the road," says Valeri, speaking with Brother Stewart, "they'll expect us to take the shortest and most direct route. If we march through this field at night..." He points at a spot on the map. "...Then we should be able to get by unmolested," says Brother Stewart. Although both men agree on this course of action, what'll follow is something else entirely. But when they next break through enemy lines, they find themselves happening upon a small industrial estate, looking from the outside to be largely undamaged. After they'd happened upon this small industrial estate left unmolested by the war, Valeri had expected it to be empty, but finds it full. "Who's in charge here?" he asks, speaking to a gaggle of assembled workers who'd come out to see their approach. He receives no answer, as a single man works his way through the whole lot of them. The man identifies himself to Valeri as the manager on duty for the whole building, and Valeri takes this as a sign on the man's weakness. Leaning back on what he'd learned in Sister Simpson's lectures, he takes up to the manager with a face full of scowl and his back upright, even as he speaks working to fill his voice the as much contempt as he can manage, almost snarling.

"Women and children are starving, but you keep on hoarding food as if it's in short supply," says Valeri. "I've got to sell at these prices," says the manager, "I've got no way of knowing if any more will come." But Valeri won't have it. "We're not here to haggle over your prices," says Valeri, growing more emboldened with every word he growls, "we're here to feed the starving people." As if to accentuate the point, he shoulders his rifle and points it menacingly at the manager. The manager, recognizing the futility of trying to bargain with them, relents, handing Valeri the keys to the warehouse. This particular warehouse requires a small staff to keep operations running, but would require a larger staff if the exigencies of war hadn't drastically cut down on the frequency of shipments, both in and out. But in the days before they'd happened across this warehouse, the whole lot of them had kept on coming into contact with the enemy, again and again, engaging and retreating, engaging and retreating, each position assumed only to be abandoned some days later.

Leaning against a low brick wall, Valeri had been running out of ammunition when, from across the way, another machine gun team opens fire, shooting dead two enemy men. "Keep it moving," says Valeri, "we've got to get out of here." Next to him is Stephen Potter, his back against the wall. Potter says, "we've got to take them now," and then pokes his head up from behind the wall to get a look at the dead enemy troopers. Another volley cracks and Stephen ducks back behind cover. "Agreed," says Valeri, "they have so few men, all we need is to frighten them into retreating." And so it is, that they'd managed so daring an attack on the enemy, compelling them to turn and run, leaving open the way through to the industrial estate containing that huge warehouse. But when they tour through the warehouse's cavernous interior, they come across a vast store, the entire warehouse seemingly filled from top to bottom with large crates on wooden pallets, stacked in rows on racks that seem to Valeri to stretch on forever. Valeri approaches a nearby crate, and opens the contents, finding tinned food.

A glance at the underside of one of the tins shows an expiration date several years from now. "People are starving," says Valeri, in a voice so low that even he can't hear it. "People are starving," says Valeri, "and here they are hoarding food." It occurs to Valeri that there must be many more warehouses, probably much larger than this, full of unspoilt food, even as children go to bed hungry, even as families must decide which among them will be able to survive on the smallest rations. And it's been this way, Valeri knows, for many years, even before the revolution had begun. Now, he's in a position to do something about it. "My God," says Potter, "there's enough food in here to feed the whole city." A casual glance up and down the aisles in this warehouse suggest a vast quantity of hoardings, each pallet loaded with more than a thousand kilograms, each aisle's racks four levels high, fifty rows deep. They look through some of the stock, using machinery to bring loaded pallets down. "Some of this food's rotten," says Jackson. She shows Valeri and the others the contents of a particular crate. "This food has been sitting here for years," says Valeri, after looking at the expiration date on some of the tins, "while people have been starving in the streets." It seems hard, now, for Valeri to imagine things would've ever come to this. It was only a few years ago that he'd lived in a run-down flat, that he'd seen so much hunger while so near to him there sat a warehouse full of plenty, hoarded, left to rot rather than be dispensed to the needy. And some of this food, it's, it's been sitting here in this very warehouse, allowed to turn while he's felt only hunger in his stomach, while he's spared what few crumbs he can for the starving children and mothers all around him. All Valeri can feel right now is a blinding white rage, and in his rage he gives in to his insatiable lust for revenge.

He finds the manager in one of the warehouse's offices, the manager standing to meet him, only for Valeri to smash the butt of his rifle against the man's jaw. With Potter and Jackson looking on, Valeri drags the manager to the warehouse's floor and makes the workers watch as he stands the manager in the middle of an open area. The manager, having finally realized what's to be done, pleads for his life, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. It recalls a teaching of the rebel Elijah. "Each and every man is endowed with an understanding of the difference between right and wrong, and each may choose to do right or wrong." It's on this basis that Valeri personally executes the manager, pinning on that hapless, middle-aged man a responsibility for the slow pain of starvation experienced by so many. He kicks the man to the ground, then places his heel on the back of the man's neck.

"Ever thus to criminals," he says, in a voice loud enough that those all around him can hear. He leans over and shoots the man once in the back of the head. "Spread the word," says Valeri, after the deed is done turning to the small crowd of assembled workers, "whoever refuses to repent is condemned by his own works. But whoever repents by way of his commitment to the cause of the Popular Front is saved." This is met with a subdued wave of murmurs, the workers evidently unsure of his declaration. He quickly adds, "so says Elijah, leader of the Popular Front." This elicits a few cheers, while most of the workers keep gazing at him with uncertain looks on their faces. As Valeri and the others emerge from the warehouse, they find a crowd assembled outside waiting for them. Valeri takes to the top of a stack of pallets and announces the liberation of this warehouse and its stock. He says, "inside you will find all the food you could need. Some of it is spoiled, and we'll need some time to separate the good food from the spoiled. I am asking for volunteers among you to help distribute the food." Immediately hands go up from among the crowd. But Valeri cautions them, saying, "you must have the discipline not to take anything for yourself beyond what you need, only to distribute whatever is needed to anyone who asks. The penalty for hoarding is death."

By now, all have heard of the execution of the manager, and all have had a chance to read the rules posted by Valeri and the others on their way in. "Make sure everyone knows the penalty," says Valeri, "and turn over any remaining officers of the old regime to our custody. Their crimes will be punished as our officials see fit." Deeper in the city, the residents of the old, worn-down apartment blocks have begun repairing their own homes following the devastation of the recent fighting, each of them having formed their own committees to control their homes, as Valeri had once being among those who'd seized their own homes. It was less than a year ago that he and the others who'd lived at that old apartment block had seized their own homes, defying all odds to survive as long as they had. This is a moment in which Valeri is able to put on a brave face, to make himself seem to be something other than what he is. But not all is as it seems. Valeri is the only one among the defenders of that apartment block who are still alive. He's seen Tonya, Roger, even the younger Michael O'Connor killed, but he hasn't seen what's become of many more who'd survived. "Although it seems like there's a huge bounty of food here, we must carefully ration it," Valeri says, "because we don't know when more food may come in." Jackson says, "we should sort the food by expiry and hand out the food that's closest to expiring. That way we'll lose less food to waste." But Potter interrupts, saying, "that's a good idea, but even some expired food may still be edible." As they debate, the warehouse's cavernous interior seems to darken slightly, the wind curling in through the open bay doors, allowing a momentary pause in the scene. Valeri doesn't know where he's gathered the strength to become so much more than he is, except to reassure himself that his readings have become more than simply a guide on how to fight and live.

"Bring in some of the workers," says Valeri, "ask for volunteers to distribute the food. They'll know this place's systems, they'll get an orderly distribution running." The others agree, with Potter turning to make back with the news for the crowd outside while Valeri continues to examine the stock of food with Jackson. "Think of how many people could've been saved," says Valeri, half-talking to himself, "and how many people have died for want of some of this food." It recalls even the time when Valeri had been among those confined to the liberated zones, for a few months their impassioned uprising having succeeded in seizing their own homes before it'd been crushed. These past several years, they've given Valeri an intimate acquaintance with death, with murder, but also inspired in him a renewed passion for justice in all its forms. As the first volunteer workers enter the warehouse, he can't help but marvel at the ruthless efficiency with which these workers carry out their work. As they supervise the distribution of food to starving locals, Valeri surveys the faces of the people who line up. There are many women, young and old, and many children, but few men. Most of the men are still at work, either having been compelled by the armaments of the Popular Front's gunmen or by the dark essence which guides the revolution, the latter capable of inspiring in each of them the same courage and the same work ethic as in the gunmen who make up the new regime's army.

Elsewhere, in the city of Basingstoke just outside the area controlled by the Popular Front, chaos reigns supreme. A young woman named Stacey Strickland lives here, having fled the disorder in London a long time ago with her family. She now takes refuge with three children, two of them her own daughters but the third the son of friends who were killed several months earlier. They know of the Popular Front's forces having seized the nearby cities of Reading and Farnborough, and they hide not from an anticipated Popular Front attack but from the National Forces gunmen who run amok. "It seems like they're destroying as much as they can," says Stacey, "before the rebels come in." She's accompanied by another young woman with two children, though neither are the young woman's own. Neither Stacey nor her companion have worked in many months.

"We have to hide," says the young woman, "and hope they don't find us in here." Stacey nods. The young boy she's taken in complains of being unable to sleep, and Stacey promises it'll be morning soon. But morning here in Basingstoke will offer no respite. These people, at least here in Aylesbury continue to carry out their work even in the absence of their former managers. But this is not always the case everywhere the old way of life has been brought down. The near-total breakdown of life under the old regime has proven to be an impossible obstacle for the new regime to overcome, and for the men and women who've committed themselves wholeheartedly to its service. But there's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that. The backlash that's been building for so many years against union and church leaders, politicians, and police from the old regime continues to build, even as the old regime has been destroyed. The persons who'd formed the bureaucracy of the old way of life, the union leaders who'd collaborated with businessmen, the church leaders who'd collaborated with politicians, and the politicians who'd collaborated with everyone with whom there was to be collaborated, they're all still there, some of them still carrying out their duties, others attempting to save themselves by hiding among the ordinary people.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Cambridge, the acute food shortages which've plagued the country for years are coming to a head. The city of Cambridge is still controlled by the opposition, by local authority which has agreed to follow a self-declared East Anglia Federation, a loose collection of other local authorities which've banded together in name at least for collective security. They fly the traditional flag of East Anglia, a blue shield bearing three crowns superimposed over the English flag. A young man named Simon West arrives at a grocer early in the morning to find a small crowd already gathered outside, all of them there to demand food for their families. He stands with the others in the cold for a while, nearly an hour, before a manager comes out and orders them all to disperse, saying there's no food for them here. This only rouses the crowd's anger, several of them, Simon included, hurling missiles at the front of the grocer. This isn't the first time this has happened, not here or in any other city throughout Britain. In fact, there's a warehouse nearby filled with food, just as in Aylesbury. Unlike Aylesbury, here there're no Popular Front gunmen to force the warehouses open.

When a band of gunmen come around, called by the manager of the grocer, they're part of a local militia, in turn part of the loose coalition known as the National Forces. Without warning the gunmen open fire on the crowd, killing several, Simon escaping with his life but forced to return home empty-handed. "They can't keep us locked away like this," he says, speaking with his young wife, "like prisoners in our own homes." His wife has also been out of work for many months. Their family, the two of them plus a young daughter, has survived largely by charity. "Try again tomorrow," she says, "maybe you'll have better luck at a different shop." He nods, and then shares an embrace with her, thankful to have her support even as he can't put food on the table for their children.

In her own personal life, the younger Aretha Cordoba has known much pain and suffering but remains optimistic on the future nevertheless. She was born ten years before the failed uprising that killed both of Valeri's parents. Her mother and father were among those workers who'd remained on the sidelines, watching as a few million of their working class brothers and sisters seized whole sections of British cities and held them for several weeks. She doesn't tell Valeri that her parents had refused to take part, instead letting Valeri describe proudly his mother and father having joined a group of ordinary people who'd taken control of a few blocks of urban area for the brief time that they had. For his part, Valeri relishes in the opportunity to speak of his mother and father with someone, their memory providing him still with the major impetus to continue fighting for a better future for all working men and women. Valeri fills in the gaps of memory with details made up, but that's not important. They can only come a basic kind of familiarity with one another by talking, an emotional and psychological intimacy requiring their having been through a series of formative experiences together. Valeri's been through so much, made so many connections by virtue of expediency only to see those connections severed suddenly, but so has Aretha. In Aylesbury, the younger Aretha Cordoba won't always hide her mother's and father's inaction, even as she doesn't consider them to have been inactive during that time. When the call of battle comes next, in Aylesbury the enemy trying another attack on the Popular Front's positions, both Valeri and Aretha will have the chance to learn more about each other, in fits and bursts between the frantic action. After this next enemy attack is repelled, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge aren't to return to this warehouse, not right away, the demands of the battlefield placing their time in short supply. While they're away, the committee of volunteers appointed to supervise the distribution of food continues its work, without the immediate supervision of the Popular Front's gunmen.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Grimsby, a middle-aged woman named Victoria Pierce lives in constant fear of reprisals from the militia who control this part of the country. At random, the militiamen enter private residences and ransack them, sometimes taking anything of value they find but mostly just trashing them. They don't often kill whoever they happen upon, but sometimes they brutally assault the women. When Victoria next encounters a group of young militiamen, they enter her modest home and rampage through. Two of them take her daughter into a back room, while two force themselves on her in the sitting room. After they're through and the four of them take to leaving, Victoria weakly looks up and asks, "why?" The youngest militiaman looks back and says, "because you were home," before laughing cruelly and leaving with the others. Victoria finds her daughter in the other room, bruised and bleeding but alive. The next morning they'll leave, together, fleeing their home for the relative safety and security of a nearby church. The pastor takes them in, and they find many others taking refuge in the church, some in worse shape. But when her daughter asks if the militiamen will ever come back, Victoria only says, "I don't know if they'll ever leave."

Of course, Valeri has reported on the formation of the provisional committee at that warehouse, and the Popular Front will soon send its apparatchiks in to pick up where he'd left off. Although Valeri doesn't know it, Sister Simpson takes note of his initiative, making a secret note of his activity in a document to be sent to the nearest local headquarters of the Worker's Party, one of the two parties co-equal in leadership of the Popular Front, a co-equal partnership which all other member groups are subordinate to. When the time's right, and that time's not far off, she'll present this document to her superiors, and Valeri will become that much closer to realising his destiny. Although Valeri is becoming closer to his destiny with each passing day, a different sort of struggle must inevitably carry on. The work of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front continues, as they must carefully navigate the difficult path laid out for them. At a closed meeting held in the auditorium of an old church, the local apparatchiks from the Popular Front chair a meeting with some other factions, all of whom express continued support for the rebel Elijah and his disciples through their representatives sent. But there are cracks beginning to show in the unity of the Popular Front, with some representatives at this particular meeting expressing their dissatisfaction with the Popular Front's inability to bring the war to a speedy end.

And in the northernly city of York, close proximity to heavy fighting between Popular Front and National Forces means continued hardship for families and young men and women alike. A middle-aged man named Wade Newman mans the production line at an electronics factory, the line and factory kept in operation despite the desperate shortages that've all but shut down so many other factories throughout the country. The workers here have previously launched two uprisings aimed at seizing the factory for themselves, but both have been crushed brutally. Wade wasn't a part of either uprising, as he hadn't worked at the factory at the time. He's a part of the contingent of workers mustered into service at gunpoint manning the production line, forced to work here even as there's precious little to be done. Sometimes, Wade can still spot splotches of darkened blood left on the floor.

When the shift one day ends without any work having been done, Wade heads for home, only to be told at the entrance to the factory floor that there's been an order handed down for all workers to remain on the premises until further notice. "But I've got to get back to my family," says Wade, "I've got children." But the manager won't have it, saying to Wade, "it's out of my hands." When Wade and several others turn to leave anyways, the way is blocked by some armed guards, part of the local militia raised to fight against the Popular Front. "I've seen them before," says Wade, speaking with some of the others, "those men all look familiar to me." The men holding them captive have come from the now-defunct Home Guard, with only the insignia on their caps and armbands changed. Huddled on the factory floor overnight, Wade and the others get to talking. By the time they're allowed out, they'll have set into motion the third uprising in this factory, perhaps the one that'll succeed where two others had failed.

In London, the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples have established their headquarters in the ruins of the old Westminster Palace. Only some of the rubble has been cleared. The new People's Republic makes its headquarters out of tarpaulin-covered portables the Popular Front's apparatchiks have appropriated from nearby lots. At the centre of this new beginning lies a church fashioned from old shipping containers cut apart and then welded back together. The church stands taller than the other buildings so hastily assembled. At its steeple the church mounts a cross made from scrap metal, thrusting at the sky. There are many buildings in London far taller than this church, but none more powerful a symbol of what's to come. Elijah spends much of his time in that little, makeshift church, not at the pulpit but in the pews. He comes to hear the rotating cast of preachers deliver their fiery sermons, listening as they exhort the faithful to service in advancing the cause of the revolutionary struggle, if not by force of arms then by hard work. As Elijah has taken to declaring to his followers, in pride there is shame and in shame there is pride. In pride there is the acknowledgement of origin from a place lesser than where one is found, which makes it a form of shame. In shame there is acknowledgement of aspiration to some greater ideal, which makes it proud. Both are fundamental characteristics of the cause of the Popular Front and the future it seeks to build.

Elijah, however, had known, and Elijah remains aware, his communion with the dark essence which guides the revolution permitting him an intuition that others lack. He becomes aware even as an unknown illness continues to ravage his body, spreading slowly but surely through his nerves and through his tissues. Much has to happen, much has to happen before this unknown illness can begin to outwardly affect him, and for the time being Elijah continues to take in reports from men like Gabriel on the growing division and dissension within the ranks of the Popular Front. All this will remain academic, and rather distant to men like Valeri, men who fight the foot soldier's war in the streets of Britain's cities and towns. "These are very dangerous times," says one of Elijah's disciples, in a private communion with him, "and we are playing with forces we may not be able to restrain, if unleashed." But Elijah, after pausing for a moment, rebukes his disciple, saying, "there are no forces controlled by men which we must contend with. Our revolution will do what must be done, no matter the cost."

6. Reaching the Zenith

It's around this time that the American ambassador to the old United Kingdom reaches out to the rebel Elijah, seeking an audience with the new government. The ambassador invites Elijah to the embassy, left unmolested despite the near-constant demonstrations in the area against the world war. In truth, the rebel Elijah hasn't determined what to do with foreign governments and their embassies and consulates, which are traditionally considered sovereign territory of the foreign country which operates them. The People's Republic has not yet secured its own survival, so to provoke a foreign intervention by the Americans seems unwise to Elijah at this time. Still, Elijah spurns the invitation in his way, neither rejecting nor accepting but choosing to conspicuously not respond at all. The old American embassy, like most of the others scattered around Greater London, will soon enough see action, Elijah already conceiving their seizure by the victorious forces of the Popular Front. But Elijah knows it's not time yet.

At their headquarters in the ashes of the old regime, Elijah meets with his closest disciples, listening as they debate the merits of every response to the American ambassador's offer they can think of. One disciple, a man named Matthew, says, "we should meet with him to convey our government's determination not to let them interfere in our revolution." Another disciple, a man named Mark, says, "but in meeting with him we'd be acknowledging his authority and placing his government on the same level as ours." A third disciple, a man named Luke, says, "if we're truly not concerned about the Americans, then we should not only refuse to meet with him but also seize their embassies and consulates." Still a fourth disciple, a man named John, says, "but to do so would invite their wrath." The implications of this line of debate are acutely felt by all in the room, with Elijah himself continuing to silently ponder the situation. Each of these men have been among Elijah's closest disciples since the failed uprising more than fifteen years ago, and all have come to offer a particular kind of counsel over that time. And this time, this time their counsel provides Elijah with the kind of pointed debate that he sorely needs. This debate, combined with Elijah's silent counsel in the form of the dark essence which guides the revolution will help him make a decision, in due time.

But not all is as it seems. The free cruiser Borealis, commanded by Dmitri Malinin and his lead hand Mason Smith, sits along the River Thames, not far from the rebel encampment which serves as headquarters for the new People's Republic. The Borealis is too badly damaged to be of any use as a warship, and the People's Republic lacks the facilities, the skilled personnel, and the resources to effect the kind of months-long repairs that are needed to make her useful as a warship again. Instead, she sits on the River Thames as a relic of a bygone era. Most of her crew are already sent off to man the various and sundry vessels now flying the flag of the Popular Front, mostly unarmed civilian craft but a few warships defected from the old Royal Navy. The bulk of the old Royal Navy has been interned in American and Canadian naval bases, their officers and men kept in detention in either country. Dmitri and Mason remain, though both men have friends in detention in Canada or the United States. Both Dmitri and Mason have new assignments, each of them to man new vessels in the fledgling navy of the People's Republic. "A civilian vessel," says Dmitri, "requisitioned by the Popular Front." His new vessel is a high-speed ferry. "I'm on riverine patrol," says Mason. His new vessel is a converted tugboat. Despite a few crews defecting to the Popular Front following the seizure of Westminster and the proclamation of the new People's Republic, still most of the old Royal Navy remains uncommitted, with most of the navy's surviving warships in port abroad, kept there by officers colluding with the American government who don't want to face the new regime so hostile to their class. The old Royal Navy's surviving aircraft carrier remains in port in the United States, without aircraft, confined to a naval base not far from New York City.

And now, now the war on the continent has meant little progress can be made, with the threat of nuclear firestorm ever-present. But the Americans are at war, too, not only against the Chinese in the Western Pacific but also against forces throughout Latin America, attempting as the Americans are to subvert so many nascent revolutionary movements in as many different countries. If this is to seem like a global war, then perhaps it is, here in Britain so many remaining fixated on their own struggle to survive while the dark essence which guides the revolution exudes its influence on a vastly larger scale. "This isn't what I'd expected," says Dmitri. "Me neither," says Mason. They refer to the time when they'd first joined the forces of the Popular Front and raised the banner of Elijah, all that time ago when they'd seized their own cruiser in an uprising and executed the officers who refused to follow them. "But it's what we all chose," says Dmitri. "Together," says Mason. After the last, cursory inspection is complete, Dmitri and disembark from the cruiser for the last time. This won't be the end of either man's struggles, their new assignments beckoning. Although the crew of the Borealis had been latterly governed according to democratic principles, votes held in the ship's mess on issues large and small, the new navy of the Popular Front's armed forces has suspended these votes in order to focus on winning the war against its enemies both foreign and domestic.

Beyond Westminster, the armies of the new People's Republic face a dire situation, the wanton violence of the old Provisional Government having persisted far longer than anyone could've expected. Near Aylesbury, Valeri mans a roadblock, a defensive position taken up to thwart the repeated attacks on the little city from the north and west. Although the area between Greater London and the southern extremities of the city of Birmingham is largely controlled by the Popular Front, action continues up and down the motorways linking these two strongholds. The general strike which began the unraveling of the now-defunct Provisional Government has never truly ended, instead transforming into the seizure of so many workplaces by the very workers who'd gone on strike. And the pogroms against Jews which'd erupted in the last days of the hated Provisional Government continue in earnest, with only those Jews in areas under the control of the new People's Republic safe. A pogrom could erupt at any time outside these areas, not only against the country's Jews but against the Romani and the Asians imported as slaves for so many years. They're all still there, collectively forming a vast underclass, some who've taken in with the forces of the Popular Front but the vast bulk remaining uncommitted. In Aylesbury, there aren't too many Jews or Romani and thus largely escaped the violence of these pogroms, with Valeri finding the little city an altogether ordinary place but for the intense fighting that's broken out. "If there are more attacks like the last," says Valeri, "then we'll have lots of opportunity to make good on our promises." The others agree with him. "I'm looking forward to the next attack," says Lynn, "whether we're the ones attacking or not." Still the enthusiastic spirit that'd set in following the declaration of the new People's Republic hasn't worn off, at least not among the fighting men and women in the Popular Front's ranks.

The local worker's councils which've sprung up to replace the old regime now govern like a patchwork of little republics, each operating under different sets of rules, each holding their own elections under different circumstances. Some hold elections to their councils on a weekly basis, others haven't held an election after the first, while many, many others haven't held any elections at all. It's the strange sort of inverted chaos that holds despite the best efforts of the People's Republic's apparatchiks to bring order. The lives of so many people, eighty million in Britain alone hang in the balance, with a sequence of events gathering strength, about to culminate in a great escalation of the global conflict that's been in the works since the dawn of the industrial age. The rebel Elijah's forbidden gospel of unilateral withdrawal has provoked a rising of the very union among their enemies which should threaten all they've worked so hard to build, all they've fought and bled for, both here in Britain and all around the world. In Aylesbury, Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson make their base at an old, disused shopping centre, the shops having long ceased to function due to the chronic shortages that've plagued life in Britain for many, many years. Word has reached Sister Simpson of Valeri's actions in summarily executing the manager of that warehouse, and she's sent him a message of her approval. "But be careful, Brother Kovalenko," she says, "for you must learn to control your desire for revenge."

Although Valeri quietly accepts this pointed criticism, he's not altogether sure what she means by it. After another enemy attack on their position, one which kills several of the men and women around them, Valeri tempers his impulses, turning to his readings when a spare moment presents itself much later. "The civilians are still hungry," says Lynn, reporting on the conditions to Valeri. "Make sure the food is distributed very carefully," says Valeri, "don't allow anyone to take whatever they want. This food has to last an indefinite period." Although they haven't been back to the warehouse on the far side of town since appointing a provisional committee of workers, others have, and it's from contact with these others that Valeri and those under his charge have been appraised of the current situation there. The war on the continent, it has never ended, the British Army stuck in limbo, facing its Russian enemies on the other side of the front lines, its Russian enemies stuck in the same limbo. Although there's the threat of nuclear annihilation to enforce the truce between powers, the trading of fire across fixed lines continues here and there, always threatening to escalate into full-fledged war between national governments again. In his pocket Valeri also carries a copy of the Bible, given to him by a pastor in one of the churches that'd joined the Popular Front in recent months, a man whose name Valeri never learned but whose face Valeri will never forget. The pastor had been ministering to the faithful, from a streetside pulpit fashioned out of an old postal box. This Bible along with his copy of the foundational text of the People's Republic are the only two books Valeri owns, with the small, gold-coloured cross hanging from his neck the only personal possessions he owns. He carries no relics from his old life, from the time when he'd been little more than an ill-mannered malcontent.

But from chaos there must inevitably rise order, in this confusing, in-between time the rebel Elijah's forbidden gospel finding its way through the old union halls and through the old churches, from the pulpit and from the chairmanship disseminated to the millions of working class Britons who find in its tenets the liberation they've been denied all their lives. As for Valeri, he continues to read, having been given a copy of the foundational text of the new People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components.' He reads in a paperback, the unreliability of the data networks having made electronic dissemination more difficult. There are other books he ought to read, but as he now lives the life of the soldier he can't carry many personal possessions with him as they march from town to town, position to position. Terms like 'social chauvinism' resonate with Valeri; he reads of past governments using patriotism to foster support for war, exactly as British governments had during the early days of the current war on the continent. They'd failed, of course, and their failure only prompted the current revolution. In this Valeri willingly eschews the sophistications, all of the nuances that people of a higher class were once so keen on embracing, and in eschewing he at last begins to realize his own personal way through to the future.

Interrupting him is Lynn Jackson, who appears in the way ahead. "In the denial of the self we find the way forward for our revolutionary struggle," says Valeri, quoting verbatim from the latter part of the text's introductory chapter. Although Valeri's been carrying this copy since a time shortly after the declaration of the founding of the People's Republic, he's had few spare moments to read it, as have so many in the Popular Front had so few between them. Lynn says, "you know the words of Elijah," then sits next to Valeri, then says, "but there's not much in these texts that can make us turn one way or the other." At first, Valeri doesn't know what she means by this, concerned as he is with the plain and the obvious. Lynn approaches him. They're not alone. They're never alone. As they are soldiers serving in the new army of the People's Republic, they move everywhere together, in one group, even when they put down for the night so many people filling so small a space. As they talk, they speak in low voices, seeking not to disturb their sleeping brothers and sisters around them. "I want the enemy to pay for what they've done," says Valeri, thinking to prove himself committed by his words. But Lynn only shakes her head slightly, as she sits next to him saying, "I've not come to argue with you. We all want to punish the real criminals who hide their faces behind the wars they start. But I want you to know—" "Say no more," says Valeri, "I think this'll come sooner rather than later." In this Valeri is exposed for the naïve young man he still is, even after all he's seen, after all he's been through. "Do you ever think about anything but the war?" asks Lynn. "What is that supposed to mean?" asks Valeri. "I don't know," says Lynn, "forget I said it."

In the weeks since they'd seized Westminster and overthrown the hated Provisional Government, Valeri is become more a soldier than he's ever been, wearing the barest of uniforms and carrying around a rifle as though it's an extension of his person. After his awkward, uncertain conversation with Lynn, Valeri might be forgiven for having come to think of himself as more than a fighter, even though that's all he is. "I was betrayed," says Valeri, speaking now with the younger Aretha Cordoba, "by a man I'd looked to for guidance throughout my whole life." Although Valeri has been thinking about the elder Mark Murray, the man who'd taken him in and raised him after his mother and father were killed, it's only recently that Valeri has been able to come to terms with his thoughts. "Tell me about your betrayal," says Aretha, "and I'll tell you about mine." This is something Valeri will learn over the course of several conversations, over the next year and a half. For now, though, they must wait. For men like Valeri, though, the revolution has brought them to a place far removed from where they've come, like the seeking of a new accord among formerly fractious parties. But the rebel Elijah seeks his own arsenal, the nuclear weapons possessed by the old United Kingdom falling outside the control of his new People's Republic. Should the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front seize this nuclear arsenal, then it will become the arsenal of freedom, one so powerful that no one will dare to try them. Even as the rebel Elijah declares to his disciples in the Popular Front that the nuclear arsenal which he seeks for them will guarantee a deterrent against hostile intervention in their revolution by the powers of the world, he knows, in his heart, this isn't true.

In the weeks since they'd arrived in the little city of Aylesbury, Valeri has continued to distinguish himself, not only in his fighting spirit but in maintaining his steadfast commitment to the struggle. Sister Simpson has been watching him very closely since those dark days after they'd been expelled from one of London's liberated zones, and she's been keeping his future in the back of her mind. After the last in a long line of inquiries, entirely informal and not altogether unreal, Valeri will come to take the next step in his growth from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be. As the rebel Elijah has always held in his heart a deep antipathy for the inequities of men, he should look on the seizure of this warehouse and others like it with approval. But sheltered as they are far from Aylesbury, Valeri and the others struggle through the days against impossible odds. After having seized that warehouse and begun the task of dispensing food to hungry locals, Valeri and the others might've thought an enemy attack at any moment, should word get out quickly that this store of food was being liquidated. But it doesn't come. Instead, while Valeri supervises the construction of barricades around their current position, he sees only the continued trickle of civilians coming in, each of them looking for food. "These people are starving," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "all they want is a crust of bread." After fixing his shirt and jacket, Valeri shakes off the sensation of a momentary chill running the length of his spine. "We've got to be strong," he says, "for them."

After another night of waiting for action that hasn't come, Valeri and the others serving in the new People's Army find new challenges. One of them must be killed, sooner or later, the revolution seeing fit to take so many lives as it'd once given hope. Stephen Potter's the first to be killed among Valeri's core group of friends, cut down in a hail of bullets in the beginning of a frantic action. When it's over and the enemy has beat a quick retreat down the road, Valeri and the others take stock of what they've lost, Valeri realizing Potter among the killed. The ranks of their provisional unit have thinned, with several brothers and sisters killed since the whole lot of them had ventured beyond friendly lines. "We've got to get on the move again," says Valeri, "or we're all going to die here."

This sets off debate among the men, with some wanting to remain behind and others to make back for Aylesbury. As Valeri is the designated leader of this provisional unit, it's his call to make. His displays of valour over the past several months have earned him this right. Now, with the enemy seemingly everywhere, all at once, Valeri takes charge. "If we make good on what time we've got," he says, "then we'll be better prepared for the next battle." But all this is rather dry and antiseptic to men like Valeri, their passions roused not by the drawing of lines on the map but by action seeming to take place everywhere, all at once. "Do you know what you're doing?" asks Lynn. It's a few days later, after they've all had some time to process what's happened. Valeri has to think about it for a moment. Then he says, "I believe what I'm doing." At first, he doesn't take well to this kind of implied criticism, not from someone like Lynn, someone he considers as completely or near-completely ignorant of all that he's been through over the past two years, never mind his life before that time. But the more he thinks about it, in between periods of breathless action, the more he comes to appreciate her pointed question as something entirely different. Later, much later in the day, after having gone through the act of returning to their positions on the outskirts of town, Valeri and the others receive orders to stay put, to avoid any further patrols. They quickly deduce this is because another attack is imminent.

Suddenly, action, Valeri and the others in Aylesbury coming under a sustained assault from unknown troops. Manning the gun, Valeri scatters fire down the road, shooting at enemy forces he can't see but whom he's sure are there. The sounds of battle are deafening, the cracking of gunfire seeming to come from everywhere at once, the thunderous boom of cannon fire interspersed with the lighter rattling of so many rifles. "Don't stop shooting," says Lynn, handing Valeri a magazine even before the gun's run dry. "There's too many of them," says Charlotte Ryan, tracking as she is a nearby position controlled by the enemy. Charlotte points, and Valeri shoots, scattering a burst of machine gun fire over the enemy position. In the thick of battle, Valeri can hardly see the spraying of blood and the shredding of flesh from bone as some of his fire finds human targets, this one enemy position neutralised but so many others in the immediate vicinity still threatening them. Valeri squeezes the trigger, shooting in short bursts as he's been taught to by his superiors, by the elder veterans in the Popular Front.

Suddenly, the gun Valeri's shooting runs dry, Valeri continuing to squeeze the trigger even as the tell-tale click of an empty gun sounds out. He looks to Sarah, at his back, but she only says, "there's no more." This leaves Valeri to look down the road, his body seemingly frozen for a moment, then another, then another, before he thinks to look to his side, searching for a gun. But there aren't any. So poorly equipped are the troops of the Popular Front's new army that they carry no sidearms, with the machine gun having run out of ammunition now only a pair of rifles between him and the rest of the machine gun crew. They won't have much use left of this particular machine gun, as this particular gun will become unusable due to the continued, improper use of an overheated barrel assembly. But now, now in the moment all Valeri and the others can do is leave the gun aside and prepare themselves for hand-to-hand fighting. In this moment, Valeri feels that killer instinct surging in him, until he can taste the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He has come to crave the thrill of the kill,

Artillery fire is notably absent from these battles. Most of the country's field artillery had been deployed to the war on the continent, and it's there the country's field artillery remains, stuck with the proper army on one side of a truce that could break at any moment. While Valeri looks helplessly for something, anything at all to use as a weapon, there's the sound of gunfire, heavier gunfire than he's become used to hearing, studding the stuttering of the winter's grey sky. But not all is lost. There's another way. This warehouse, it must be abandoned if any of them are to survive. At exactly the right moment when all seems lost, there emerges from the distant countryside a cannonade, a terrific thunder that envelopes the entire field of battle. For a moment, and only for a moment, Valeri loses track of time, yet remains in control of his body through this agonizingly long moment. He stands, pokes his head out from cover, and raises his rifle, shooting down the way. His rounds scatter around the enemy position, but don't find any targets. At last, he drops back down behind cover, and says, "there's too many of them." At his side, the young Aretha Cordoba clutches her rifle tight, and says, "we have to hold them off," but doesn't sound convinced, in the little half-moments the battle permits conveying to Valeri her indecisiveness. She is as so many soldiers in the revolution have come to be, unsure of herself, committed only to the most grievous of circumstances.

But after Chris Jenkins and his friend Helen Reed had last gone to that little church, it'd been rechristened a 'people's church,' with the words painted over the front entrance. Inside, above the altar a sign has been posted that reads 'bread of life,' in all lower-case, splashed in red paint. To one side of the altar, the flag of the Popular Front hangs from a makeshift flagpole made out of an old antenna taken from a nearby shop. Both Chris and Helen continue to attend services here, coming after their shifts at the nearby munitions plant where they both work. "Have you caught any of the strange phenomenon?" asks Chris, speaking with Helen after they'd both seen lights vaguely resembling those of military aircraft in the sky. "I've never seen anything like it," says Helen. They're both on the premises of the church, outside on the roof following a particularly long and hard day at the factory.

"It doesn't matter much anyways," says Helen. "We could all die at any moment," says Chris. "Which is why it's important for us to all get our affairs in order," says Helen. It's implicitly understood by both that she refers not to any legal affairs but to their spiritual affairs, something they both defy in continuing to work long and hard days at the munitions factory which supplies part of the Popular Front's war effort. They've both been made to surrender everything made of any kind of metal in their personal possessions, with heavy penalties threatened against whoever's caught concealing any. This measure is meant to enable the Popular Front to keep on fighting despite the near-total absence of imports of raw materials. But one exception is allowed; they're all allowed to keep one piece of jewellery deemed of personal significance. Chris chooses, as many working class men and women do, to keep a pendant with a small cross around his neck. When they return to the factory the following day, they find another hard day's work ahead of them, but a day Chris finds easier to work through than the last.

In the countryside beyond Aylesbury, Valeri and the others themselves withstand harsh enemy fire. Soon, this attack is repelled, but the fighting has left the garrison defending Aylesbury critically short on ammunition. As they take stock of everything they've expended, Valeri gulps down breath and looks down the road. "We should move forward," says Valeri, anticipating Sister Simpson's next order for their small unit, "we'll take up new positions further down the road, on either side of the fork. The enemy will not be expecting us to advance our positions, which means their next attack will be met with an ambush. The element of surprise will more than offset our dwindling supplies." Left unsaid is the expectation that they'll receive more attention from the enemy in the coming days, with only a few days of rest to break up almost continuous action. "Do you know what we're up against?" asks Aretha, seeming to speak directly to Valeri. "I've got an idea," says Valeri, "and we've got to fashion ourselves a defensive strongpoint. We haven't lost many men but neither has the enemy. And we can't just walk out of here." After a few more nights of this, of waiting for the enemy to attack again, it seems to Valeri as though this may be one defensive strongpoint they can't afford to lose. Although it's past the coldest winter on record, there're still patches of ground where the sod is frozen deep. In a time of rapidly changing climate, even this after-winter warming is far colder and harsher than anything that would've been seen in Britain for centuries.

For women like Julia Roberts, having been ordered to remain at the railyard where she works for so many days, even weeks at a time has taken its toll on her. She doesn't see her family for those weeks at a time, which leaves her equally anxious and angry. The network nodes which carry transmissions of all kinds are down more often than they're up, which means her family could all be killed in an enemy attack and she might not know for those weeks; conversely, she's acutely aware that she could be killed at any time, being that she works at a strategically valuable railyard, and her family might not know for those weeks. "You work hard," says Fred White, her lead hand, "and I appreciate it. We all do. If everyone worked as hard as you, not only here but everywhere, then the war might be over tomorrow." Although it's Fred who'd given her the order to remain at her post, and continues to give her that order whenever necessary, she harbours no resentment for him, a fact made clear when she'd voted for him at the most recent meeting of workers. (At the railyard where they both work, the workers vote for their lead hands, and then the lead hands vote to select from among the workers members of the governing committee)."I don't regret anything," says Julia, "but I remember the last time we'd come under attack. It wasn't an easy time." But when the war escalates, as it inevitably must, even greater demands will be placed on Julia, Fred, and all the other workers at this railyard, and at all the factories, mills, warehouses, and yards across the country. "Don't forget," says Fred, on a rare moment of rest, "we're all in this together." But he means this in ways she doesn't understand, not yet. By the time she realises what he means by this, much will have changed, perhaps forever.

For more than a decade Valeri has been working up the courage to stand where he is right now, and it seems to him as though this is only a transitory stage in his life. At twenty-eight, Valeri's old enough to have some perspective on the future while still holding some disdain for the past, his own past in particular. "What's the word?" asks Valeri. "We're to keep holding this position," says Lynn, "Sister Simpson says there's something special in the works. But she won't say what." Valeri places a hand on Lynn's shoulder and says, "then we'll hold this position until we're all dead or we receive new orders." Lynn nods, then turns back to her radio, signalling receipt of their instructions before signing off for the night. Over the next several weeks, Valeri's small unit won't advance an inch down the road, but nor will they give an inch of ground to the enemy. They're hardly twenty kilometres from Aylesbury, but with gunfire seeming to erupt all around them at all hours of the day and night twenty kilometres may as well be halfway around the world. After months of fighting, they still seem as far away as ever from victory. Valeri spends the night on watch, as he spends so many nights in the field, only to turn in for a restless sleep after dawn. "These people are going to die if we don't break through the enemy's hold on the countryside," says Aretha, "it's been six weeks since we were on friendly lines. Why haven't they broken through to us yet?"

But Valeri waves her down, seeming at once to understand her concerns and dismiss them. "There has been constant action on all fronts," he says, "if we hold this position for as long as we can, then eventually we'll be relieved and we'll link up with the others." Although Aretha agrees to follow his decision, she asks, "what if we're killed before that happens?" Her tone of voice seems to suggest she means this as a rhetorical question, but Valeri answers anyways. He says, "then we'll be killed. If that happens we'll just have to make sure we give a good account of ourselves before they take our lives." This is something they can all agree on. This exchange takes place even as they all have other thoughts on their minds, with a hidden tension having emerged between and among these fighters, and among every other band of fighters serving under the banner of the Popular Front. The dark essence which guides the revolution has chosen to impart an unseen influence into the fighting forces of the Popular Front, now beginning an essential transition in the course of the revolution.

For Joe Hill, abandoning the line and returning to his home has meant swallowing a bitter defeat. "There's no food in the house," says his wife, when he returns from work one day. He's managed to find employment in the months that've passed since they'd abandoned their uprising in the city of Sunderland. He knows this makes him lucky, as most of those who'd joined in the uprising haven't found work since. "I'll see what I can find," he says, although he's not optimistic. He doesn't see much use for a wage when there's nothing to be bought, nothing he can afford for his family on the pittance he receives. He doesn't always go out to work; sometimes he goes to the nearby church where he commiserates with the other workers, the men and the women who can no longer find solace at the union hall in the area. It's at this nearby church one day that he finds his friend, Nina Schultz, there for the same reason he is. They listen to the firebrand pastor deliver a sermon denouncing the current regime here in Sunderland, calling for a new wave of uprisings in league with the Popular Front. It's while the firebrand pastor delivers this sermon that the local militia come for him, staging a raid on the church that Joe, Nina, and the others present resist, spilling blood, a new battle taking place, just as all seemed to be coming to an end a new phase in the unrest beginning.

A few days after the last attack left the garrison defending Aylesbury critically short on ammunition another attack is on the way, announced not by the marching of boots against pavement nor by the sudden eruption of fire. No, it's the gradual escalation of the sounds and the sights of battle, the way the chattering of gunfire never seems to cease but instead seems to slowly grow into a cacophony of death. When next Valeri and the others are forced to defend their new position with a ration of ammunition, having been given some from some of the other gun crews. But even this meagre supply won't last long. "After this attack is through," says Valeri, his iron grip on their gun steadying his aim, "we'll be stronger than ever." But first Valeri and the others must return to the little city of Aylesbury, their ill-fated expedition caught in a random patch of the English countryside where death seems a constant companion.

However, they are never alone, watched over as they are by the dark essence that guides the revolution. Although they may not realize it, the dark essence is a constant companion, occupying every point in each of their bodies and all points beyond, seeking to manipulate the flow of events according to some master plan. After Marilyn Carter had been hauled in for questioning by the local authority in Norwich, she hadn't been released, not right away, remaining in custody for several weeks. The local militia and the authority that controls it in Norwich has become given to brutally repressing any hint of sympathy or support for the Popular Front. Although Marilyn had been heard to express sympathy for the Popular Front in discussions with her friend, Dan Murphy, she knows nothing of their plans for this part of the country. She's been made to spend these weeks mostly in a cell crowded with a dozen others, an airless box, with the early-season's heat and humidity let in through a barred window. Today, it's her day to be dragged into another room, a dimly lit room where she'll be harshly interrogated. "I don't know anything," she says, through tears and ragged breaths, "I don't know why I'm even here." The man who interrogates her says very little, preferring instead to assault her repeatedly. Eventually he says, "because I know you." She doesn't know it'd been her friend Dan Murphy who'd turned her in, reporting on her vague conversations in the way that he had, his informing the product of an increasingly confused and disjointed war. When she's finally let out, some days later, she returns home to find her flat occupied by vagrants, and has nowhere else to turn. What happens next in her life will change everything for her.

Soon, a titanic conflict will emerge between this dark essence and its counterpart, the angel of light. If ever another should come about in attempting to rival the power of the dark essence which guides the revolution then an entirely new stage in this revolution will begin. Although the angel of light aspires to rival the dark essence in power and influence, it can only aspire, condemned as it is to the cruel fate of reaching for a greatness it can never attain. While this cosmic battle begins anew, in the city of Westminster the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front must plan their next moves in light of the changing tactical situation on battlefields across the country. The general strike which began in the last days of the hated Provisional Government continues unabated, if only in areas outside the control of the Popular Front and its new People's Republic. But the rebel Elijah must spend a considerable amount of his energies in seeking atonement for his momentary loss of faith only some months earlier. As part of this, the coldest winter Britain's ever known in modern times, a particularly harsh storm wallops the country towards the end of the season, when once there'd only been a mild but endless rain. Deaths from starvation have been replaced by deaths from exposure to the brutal cold. Even now, as the onset of an early spring has only tempered the harshness of an unusually severe winter, as if the season itself had reserved the bulk of its strength to be expended in these last few weeks before an early summer.

But the worst of all is experienced by the older man, Roy Cook, in that church where he'd taken to all but living. A few months have passed since he'd become married to the younger woman, Sabrina Hale, and in that time their lives have become harder, not easier. They've come to live together in a small flat shared with two other couples, all childless. They're each given one day off, every Sunday, working twelve hour days every other day. It's on one such Sunday, after they've returned to their flat from church, that Roy leaves to look for extra food. While he's away, a fire erupts at their block of flats. He returns to find the fire burning out of control, the local fire department long defunct, with only a few attending Popular Front men on the scene. "My wife's in there," he says, but the Popular Front men won't let him in. "It's too dangerous, you'll have to wait," says the lead Popular Front man, before adding, "I'm sorry." This compels him to remain outside. By the time the fire has died out, his wife Sabrina's dead.

In the countryside beyond the little city of Aylesbury, Valeri and the others soon advance into their new position. Defending this spot from enemy attack is to become more difficult and more costly than anything Valeri and the others could've imagined. After deciding on a spot from which to stage their defence, Valeri orders the construction of a makeshift strongpoint, using whatever materials are on hand. A disused, broken down car is wheeled into position, pushed by hand, to form the basis for a barricade across the motorway. The rail line running alongside the motorway has been torn up in multiple places, leaving this road the only strategic way through the countryside for several miles in either direction. "They'll come," says Valeri, "and we'll be ready for them."

7. Code of Honour

After initial contact with the enemy, it isn't even immediately clear to Valeri and the others who the enemy is, where they've come from, the black banner the enemy troops flew seeming to them entirely sinister in its mystery. No one seems to know who they're fighting, not in the narrow, short-term window in which men like Valeri live their day to day lives. As Valeri and the others in his unit take stock of their positions following the enemy attack, it becomes abundantly clear to Valeri they they're on the edge of collapse. "I've forgotten what it feels like to be so young," says Stephen Potter, after they've made good on their dead. "What are you talking about?" asks Charlotte Ryan. For his part, Valeri doesn't speak, only listening to the conversation, as if to glean some hidden wisdom from the little pieces of dialogue between and among his brothers and sisters in arms.

"Look at this," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, holding a screen she's kept among her personal possessions. Valeri looks over in time to see a group of men proclaim the existence of a new government to rival the People's Republic. "Shut that off," says Valeri, and Aretha complies. Valeri says, "I won't hear any of their lies," then looks down the road. By the time they next find contact with the enemy, the better part of the point will have been made. The loose coalition of interests referred to as the National Forces have taken these months to coalesce around a single entity, that entity guided by the nefarious influence of the angel of light. Valeri, for his part, feels an instinctive revulsion for the cause of the National Forces, as though there's something inside his spirit that draws him on the path of the dark essence which guides the revolution and away from the angel of light. "What do you think of all this?" asks Valeri, seeking the opinion of his fellow fighters, this time asking Lynn Jackson. "It doesn't matter to me who the enemy is," says Lynn, "I'll keep on fighting. I've been fighting one thing or another all my life. And I've got no compunctions against fighting until the end of my life." Valeri doesn't say anything in response, but nods a straight-jawed nod. Soon, there's action. There's always action. "Do you think they're on schedule?" asks Valeri, speaking as he is a few days later with Charlotte Ryan. "I don't know," replies Ryan. "I didn't ask what you know," says Valeri, "I asked what you think." But this, this line of questioning can only lead into a confusing place. Ryan doesn't answer, not right away, as they fashion an improvised addition to their fortifications out of old tyres.

Instead, Valeri recalls that brief time he'd spent listening to the rebel Elijah. Although he'll never again meet Elijah in person, he'll always remember the way he felt, the almost spiritual ascension he'd experienced in becoming receptive, truly receptive to the rebel Elijah's forbidden gospel, a gospel becoming no less forbidden even as the working class sees its revolution ensconced in the halls of power. But the task of establishing incontrovertible People's Republic rule in Aylesbury is a difficult one, made all the more difficult by uncooperative merchants. One of the orders posted on the Popular Front's arrival was the surrendering of all supplies of alcohol and other kinds of mind-altering drugs to a central site for destruction, along with a prohibition on their production, transportation, and sale. But very few have come to voluntarily surrender their poisons, prompting Sister Simpson to issue a new decree authorizing confiscation by force.

Although the Popular Front's prohibition couldn't convince enough merchants to give up their poison, it could amount to something greater, when more force is applied. In Aylesbury, the temporary slowdown in the action along with the absence of enemy attacks is greeted with a muted enthusiasm. "They'll be back," says Valeri, "and we'll be ready for them." This is acknowledged by the others to a man. But they're ordered still to remain at their position, just outside the small city's main urban area. As this winter has begun to thaw, they hear the sounds of battle distant, the chattering of rifle fire and the bursting of bombs to remind them on the fighting still raging elsewhere. "Let's seize all the rest of the shops," says Valeri, "and let's take from all the warehouses whatever we need to fight and win the war as soon as possible." They know there's much hoarding, having heard from other bands of Popular Front fighters by way of the few functioning screens in the area.

In Westminster, the news of the National Forces having signed a cooperation treaty is met with a grim determination on the part of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. Elijah himself has long predicted an alignment of worldly forces against their new beginning in the People's Republic, but the news won't let him give up. "I'm among friends here," says the young woman, "and I'll keep it that way for as long as I can." Although the rebel Elijah understands this treaty was signed with the knowledge and consent of the still-distant Americans, he doesn't order the American embassy seized and the ambassador expelled. "It doesn't matter to me who they are," says Valeri, when they hear of the news, "they're all criminals. "Inwardly, Valeri conceals his wounds, fighting through the pain, falling back on his ability to treat his own body like a machine. He won't ask for any medicine, not even some paracetamol, because he sees every pill he might take as better and more deservedly spent on someone else. He promises himself that he won't be the one to take medicine from some young boy or girl, or from some elderly man trying to live one more day. But he promises this to himself even as the forces of the Popular Front continue to confiscate food and other supplies wherever they can find them, as even he must confiscate food and other supplies from the local populace.

As part of the rebel Elijah's strategy, the Popular Front now wages a people's war, sustaining itself by the very people it seeks to liberate and empower. Although this is only part of the rebel Elijah's strategy, it'll enable his forces to survive and to keep on fighting even as they should by all rights be dead. "I won't keep anyone else from eating," says Valeri, when the time comes for them to receive more supplies from the population. That particular warehouse continues to function, governed by its committee of workers, and distributes food as dictated by the Popular Front apparatchiks who come around regularly. Much of the food Valeri's men and women eat comes from this very warehouse; Valeri isn't sure what they'll eat when this food runs out. These questions of possibly imminent starvation will become more prescient with time, but for now all they can do is work to defend their hard-won positions and turn back each enemy attack at all costs.

After returning from their positions outside the city, Valeri and the others are ordered into shops near the city centre, searching for stores of illegal alcohol and tobacco rumoured to be somewhere in the area. The first three shops they search turn up nothing, but the fourth and fifth both turn up stashes of alcohol, hidden hastily by the shopkeepers in closets. The fifth shop, it's an old gambling parlour once used as a delicatessen. Although the treaty among the various factions that make up the National Forces has been in the works for many months, since even before the downfall of the now-defunct Provisional Government, the rebel Elijah had counselled his disciples in the Popular Front not to attempt to stop it, only to keep on prosecuting the revolutionary struggle with every ounce of strength between them. All this seems so academic to men like Valeri, men who make up the great bulk of the fighting force the Popular Front has at its disposal. When next Valeri and the others in his provisional unit put down for the night, he says, "if we conserve our ammunition then we'll be okay." But Lynn says, "if we conserve our ammunition then we might not win the next battle. What use is water left in the canteen to the man already dead from thirst?" It's nighttime now, with a full moon visible through a narrow slit in the cloud cover. "Have you ever fought hand to hand?" asks Lynn. "I have," says Valeri. He recalls the few occasions over the past few years when he'd done exactly that. He recalls the way each confrontation with the enemy that'd degenerated into hand to hand combat had made him feel a strange mixture of fear and exhilaration, as if a terrifying new drug had been injected into his veins. "I hope it doesn't happen again," says Valeri.

He can't yet admit that he's acutely afraid of the person he might again become when made to confront that very mixture of fear and exhilaration that can only come from the taking of another man's life with his bare hands. This revolution, this revolution has changed so much for so many people, turning monsters into men and men into monsters. But Valeri has the advantage, an advantage over men who would be monsters and monsters would be men; he fights on the side of good over evil. The inner turmoil he experiences as he grows from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be is evidence on his desire to be more than what he is, more than what he can ever be. In fact, the rebel Elijah's strategy of employing the totality of resources is in its advanced stage, after the People's Republic has been declared. But this is not the rebel Elijah's goal, and this People's Republic is meant by Elijah as but a transitional stage, there to confer upon his movement a vehicle through which to grant itself a larger expression. And so it is that Valeri and the others turn to the local population for food and other supplies, entering housing estates and gathering up what little food the locals have to offer, even finding stored food in sheds or basements. "I wish we'd attack," says Valeri, speaking with the younger Aretha Cordoba, their earlier conversations having emboldened him. "We'll attack," says Aretha, "there are already attacks under way. It can't be long now." And in this she's right, earlier in the day news having broken among them of a recent wave of attacks by the Popular Front's forces on enemy positions across the country.

As they march along the side of the street, they march in mud, the springtime's thaw having turned the sides of these almost-country roads into a morass of discoloured sod. When marching down the middle of the road, they must take care to inspect every broken-down lorry and car, looking for something, anything of value to their fight. "I wish I knew why we weren't part of the attacks," says Valeri, before considering himself, then quickly adding, "not that I question the decisions of the Popular Front." They stop for a moment to observe some civilians queued up to receive their daily allotment of certain foodstuffs, the Popular Front's strict measures succeeding in making stores last. "We'll be part of the attack soon enough," says Aretha, "and I think you know it just as well as I do." It recalls in the back of Valeri's mind something she'd said to him on that night scarcely two weeks earlier. "I got sick of seeing all the adverts for things I could never afford," Aretha had said, "and I got sick of seeing all my friends have to compete for the same jobs." This was when Valeri was working a variety of jobs simply to keep food in his stomach, something that seemed to take more and more money on a monthly basis. "You couldn't get a litre of petrol for less than five pounds," Valeri had said, "back then, I mean." It caused Valeri to reflect on the things he'd learned under the guidance of Sister Simpson, back when she'd led such a small group of rebel fighters. That'd been only months earlier, but now, after all that Valeri's been through it seems like years.

On this little spot in the English countryside they must now make their stand, and they must make their stand knowing full well that success here will mean only further hardship in the future, for themselves and for those around them. "We fight for what's right," says Valeri, speaking with a group of civilians who've asked to be exempted from the gathering of food, "anyone who doesn't wish to support us doesn't have that choice. We'll do whatever we must to win our fight." He puts on a brave face, trying to impress upon the civilians the strength of will he's been learning. But the time soon comes when Valeri and the others in this ad hoc unit can't sustain themselves by what the locals give freely, they must take from the locals by force. As Valeri enters a block of flats to search for food, he recalls, in the back of his mind, the edicts of the rebel Elijah, disseminated to him as they've been through the foundational text of the People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components.' Like the others, Valeri has little time to dedicate to study, able only to find a few moments to spare between duty and sleep. Still, with the spare time he finds he's able to consume all that there is to consume, over the course of the several months since they'd first set out from London the sum of all the little moments, here and there, enough to have read through his two books several times over. They receive new orders, every now and then, from Sister Simpson in Aylesbury.

Their most recent orders are to hold their position against all enemy attacks. Less frequently they receive updated information on the changing situation in Aylesbury, though not from Sister Simpson's communiqués but through text messages sent between concerned brothers and sisters. "I remember when I was a small child," Aretha had said, when next they'd put down for the night in some miscellaneous stretch of countryside, even further from Aylesbury than before. "I wonder what they'd think if they knew I was fighting now," Aretha had said, speaking of her mother and father. "Where are they now?" Valeri had asked, although his intuition had told him the answer even before he'd asked. "I don't know," Aretha had said, "I left them when I was eighteen and I haven't spoken to them since." Her increasingly guarded tone compels Valeri to press no further. But on that night, like on this night, action will inevitably force their hand. When it comes, they'll be ready.

It's all a confusing and disorienting series of actions, each and every day seeming to compress a thousand years' worth of pain and suffering. For the first time in several months, a period of calm seems to have emerged, Valeri and the others under his provisional leadership coming to know one another. This is the first time in Valeri's life that he's found himself actually afraid for his own life, as if there could've ever been any fate in store for him but what he's earned for himself. He's sustained various minor injuries since he'd been among the working class who'd seized their own homes over a year ago—it was a lot more than a year, but Valeri can't remember exactly how long it's been—and he's been very fortunate not to have been killed many times over. That conversation when the younger Aretha Cordoba had approached the topic of her own upbringing was something of a seminal moment in their growing relationship, as brothers and sisters in arms. "Where are your mother and father?" Aretha had asked, not on that night but on a night several days later, after periods of breathless action had left them with a moment of peace.

"Dead," Valeri had said. In fact, this was the first time Valeri had spoken with a stranger about his mother and father, something he's only just come to terms with even as he's been thinking about it for nearly two decades. "I'm sorry," Aretha had said. "Don't be sorry," Valeri had said, "there are a lot of mothers and fathers who've been killed over the years. A lot of sons and daughters too. And a lot more are going to be killed before all is said and done." To this the younger Aretha Cordoba had nothing to say, and it'd been the ensuing silence between them that told Valeri the point had been made. Now, several days later, Valeri thinks on the lack of any real connection between people in his life, as if a rotating cast of characters should substitute for the real human relationships all people crave. The last time he'd been in love with a woman was when he'd had that affair with Sydney Harrington, the lovely and diminutive half-Asian woman. That wasn't all that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, but the two years or so it's been seems, now, rather like twenty years to Valeri, after all that's happened in the meantime.

Although Valeri has never before been empowered with this kind of authority, in truth, he knows even this is a fraud. It recalls his participation in that impassionate uprising at that little apartment block, when he had only been an ordinary citizen caught up in a mix of forces, chief among them the anti-war sentiment that all working people share, or so says Elijah. In fact, Valeri is one of only four or five residents of that apartment block, Dominion Courts, to have survived this far, at least among those who'd taken part in the initial uprising. After another period of breathless action, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge are on the move again, this time marching along a set of railroad tracks between small towns in the countryside. They've been directed by Sister Simpson to move this way and that, to attack enemy positions and to gather from the locals whatever supplies they need to sustain themselves far behind enemy lines. "It seems like we're going nowhere in particular," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, when they've put down for the night on the edge of a small estate next to the railroad tracks. The internal debate which has come to characterise the discussions among the men and women here and in every other band of Popular Front fighters is only emblematic of the coming fragmenting of Elijah's disciples, even as these men and women struggle to fight as a cohesive unit.

"We are an advance force," says Valeri, "and we're going to find the enemy wherever they are." They're not on watch, and it's almost time for them to fall asleep, though it's not entirely clear even to Valeri what they'll be doing when they wake up. "If we dig a little we can extend the ditches that run along the south face of the property," says Lynn Jackson, a few hours later after they've all failed to get any sleep. "And then we can hold this position indefinitely," says Valeri, finishing her thought. "Do we want to hold this position indefinitely?" asks Charlotte Ryan. "If we must," says Valeri, after consulting with his screen, "our orders are to put down here and stay here until we receive further orders. This is a strategic crossroads." It doesn't make any sense to Valeri, but he's beginning to see that it doesn't need to make any sense to him, the larger force that guides the revolution seeing fit to dispose of them in whatever way it will. But there's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that. A critical moment should emerge from within the stilted chaos that's come to grip the countryside, emanating from every open gutter, from every ditch filled with lifeless bodies, even from every chimney spewing smoke into the sky and from every smouldering wreck of a housing estate burned down.

Soon, Valeri and the others in his provisional charge receive another unit from the Popular Front's forces operating out of Aylesbury, these men carrying ammunition and food for Valeri's. They come with no new instructions from Sister Simpson, who sends a message instead over the data networks telling them to hold their position at all costs. This strikes Valeri as an odd command, given that they've not come under attack in the days since staking out this spot at the edge of an estate next to railroad tracks in the countryside. "Keep watch," says Valeri, speaking to the younger Aretha Cordoba. "What are you going to do?" asks Aretha. "I'm going to speak with some of the locals," says Valeri, before turning away and making up the road. He notices, out of the corner of his eye, the older Lynn coming after him, but he doesn't stop or slow to wait for her to catch up.

"Valeri," she says, after they've reached back to the relative privacy of a side street just off the main road. "What?" asks Valeri. "You're going to forget this," she said, and she produces a small tin of food. "You didn't eat your whole share," she says. "We're all on the same side," says Valeri. "It's true," says Lynn. "So why can't I get it into my head how much of a mistake it is to keep you on the guns?" asks Valeri. But his question is meant rhetorically. It's almost nightfall, and the night sky's first stars can be seen twinkling between breaks in the cloud cover. It's no longer cold, with nearly every man and women in their small band of fighters having shed their winter coats for simple shirts and loose-fitting trousers. Valeri still wears the same pair of trainers he'd worn when they'd first set out from London, following the declaration of the founding of the new People's Republic.

Many other small units have cautiously advanced into the countryside, slowly but steadily expanding the narrow corridor of territory connecting Greater London and the Midlands, the two areas which form the heart of the new People's Republic and its strength. "They'll come for us," says Valeri, "and when they do, I intend to be ready." It's in this spirit that he and the others take over the estate, building a small fortress on the side closest to the railroad tracks that'd brought them here. "We'll need more ammunition," says Lynn Jackson, only she says it with a steely determination that strikes Valeri as altogether unlike her. "Maybe it'll come with the next supply," says Aretha, taking her first position looking conveniently across the railroad tracks and down the curve the tracks take into the distant countryside. "I wouldn't count on it," says Charlotte Ryan, as she looks down field and seems to be trying to make out something distant. The fight has not yet left them, and they are among the great bulk of the Popular Front's forces committed to their tenuous offensive, something altogether unlike the bold and selfless attacks they'd used to range all across the country. Although Valeri sometimes wonders what the future might have in store for the course of the war, he remains unaware of the larger forces conspiring to turn events in a radically different direction. The next offensive will be pre-empted by a new wave of attacks on their positions, their positions exposed, far forward, away from friendly territory as are so many other positions occupied by Popular Front troops throughout the countryside. A few days pass. The unusually cold winter is now firmly behind them, the days growing noticeably longer. The heat and humidity that's become the new normal has returned, sticking Valeri's shirt to his chest, matting his hair into a greasy mess. It's been several days since any of them have last bathed. The smell of human ripeness has become so constant that it no longer registers to Valeri or to any of those under his provisional charge. It's the smell of rotting flesh that Valeri can never become accustomed to, a thick, acrid stench that seems to be everywhere, all at once, even as the wind carries it along. As Valeri walks along towards the house at the end of the dirt road, he spots the family coming out to meet him, and he steels himself against what he must do.

But in the British countryside, Valeri and the others in his provisional unit soon find themselves in a pitched battle. The enemy seems to be coming from all sides. Valeri and the others under his command have little ammunition left, but Valeri orders the others to keep on firing at will, thinking as he does that having any ammunition left over would do them no good when they're dead. As the ground quivers and quakes slightly from the oncoming enemy assault, Valeri starts to consider, in the back of his mind, that this might be the last moment he has to make amends. They bury their dead, they always bury their dead, as has become a gruesome ritual not only for Valeri but for all fighters under the banner of the Popular Front. And then there's the threat of nuclear annihilation, hanging over them at all times, the war on the continent having never really ended. As Valeri approaches the family on the little dirt road into their estate, he mentally draws a bead on the young man, the tallest of them. He hopes they'll be receptive to his authority, provisional though it may be. He identifies himself as Brother Kovalenko of the Popular Front, to which the young man replies, "we know who you are."

The young man's attitude catches Valeri off guard, and he hesitates for a moment, an uneasy silence seeming to stretch the moment over a thousand years. "Well, what have you got to say?" asks the young man. "We require provisions," says Valeri, "food, water, any medical supplies you may have on hand." This is in keeping with the rebel Elijah's edict that their revolution must be sustained by and from the very people it seeks to empower and to liberate. But Valeri realizes suddenly these people have precious little to give them. And the young man, he says, "you can come in if you'd like to see for yourself what we've got." This is a situation which has repeated itself many times over, in many households and in many shops, with the Popular Front's men encountering the vague beginnings of resistance in fulfilling their duties to gather from the people whatever resources they need to carry on the war effort. "We'll take from you whatever we need," says Charlotte Ryan, seeming to muster a scowl onto her face, "and we'll have it without any delay." The young man doesn't seem intimidated by this, meeting Ryan's scowl with his own.

They're in the countryside not far from the small town of Wingrave. Running through a convoluted and disjointed sequence of events, the dark essence which guides the revolution should soon seek to dispose of Valeri and the others under his provisional leadership, some by death, others by directing them onto other duties. Already Valeri has been injured, here and there, as he's faced death every time he'd gone into action with all the others. He never stops to consider their ultimate fate, whatever it might turn out to be, consumed as he is in the struggle against the impossible forces opposing their cause. Now, with Valeri's small party of fighters making their way through the English countryside, he can only come across the most pathetic and wretched among the underclass, their betters having fled or fortified themselves. The town of Wingrave has a manor occupied by a wealthy man who's paid some of the ex-Home Guard to continue serving as his private army, a private army Valeri and the others under his charge won't have the pleasure or the pain of attacking any time soon. It's been several days since Valeri and the others had last come under enemy fire, but every time battle erupts it seems to end just as abruptly as it'd begun. And Valeri goes in with the young man to inspect their house's stores, though he waits for two others from their position to join him. "There," says the young man, "you see?" They're in the estate's cellar, hastily repurposed by the family as a bomb shelter, though even they seem to know it'd provide little protection against the nuclear rain that could come at any moment. Aside from their furnishings, there's little immediately obvious that might indicate hoarded goods. "Brother Kovalenko!" shouts one of Valeri's comrades, "look at this!" On the other side of the cellar, one of Valeri's brothers spots some crates hidden under a table. They're full of food. Some of it looks to be expired and growing mould, but mostly edible anyways. Valeri turns to face the young man, asking, "can you explain this?" The young man nods, but says nothing, not right away. "There are thousands of people in the city who need this food," says Valeri. "There are people who need it right here," says the young man. Inwardly, Valeri acknowledges the man's difficulty, but outwardly he muscles a stern look onto his face. In the end, it makes little difference, as Valeri knows what must be done.

Several of their men have been killed or wounded since they'd set out from Aylesbury. For the most part, Valeri knows what to do with them, whenever a convenient break in the action presents itself burying them in the nearest plot of open land. Now, put down for the night, they find themselves ensconced in a row of old sheds. Half the men and women position themselves in a nearby ditch or behind various bushes and other obstacles, while the rest cluster around the sheds themselves. There's the distant sound of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting to keep them all company through the long nights, but for a time these sounds never seem to draw any nearer. By the time they make it back to their positions, Charlotte Ryan will be dead, killed in a sudden assault on their position by enemy forces. They know the enemy's based somewhere nearby, but this assault confirms it. Although Charlotte's sudden death is only one of so many, so many in revolutionary Britain, still Valeri privately and inwardly mourns for her.

Valeri has come to be intimately familiar with death, having lost nearly everyone in his life since he was a small boy, including his mother and father in the failed uprising that preceded this one by more than fifteen years. Where once he made a ritual out of visiting their graves to pay respects on the anniversary of their deaths, now he can only unceremoniously bury the dead in shallow graves before moving on, the expediency of the revolution denying him the time necessary to conduct a proper burial. When next the enemy has at them, Valeri knows it'll be their most furious attack yet. In that little estate's cellar, the young man says, "we need that food to stay alive." And Valeri says, "so do we. Unless you're prepared to join the revolution, this food will not be yours. The penalty for hoarding is death." But then the young man, without even pausing to think it over, says, "so we'll join you." Although Valeri's seen young men conscripted into the service of the Popular Front, even at gunpoint, the lack of hesitation with which this young man and his siblings agree to join the Popular Front catches Valeri off guard. "As surprises go," says Valeri, to himself as much as to them, "this is one of the more welcome ones."

Elsewhere, in the small city of Leicester, a young woman named Bethany Anderson works by day at a clothing factory. As Leicester lies within the territory controlled by the loose coalition of forces opposing the Popular Front, she works not for the Popular Front but for the counter-revolution beginning to form. Previously, the workers at this particular clothing factory had attempted uprisings, only for their attempts to be brutally crushed by the now-defunct Home Guard. Bethany works twelve-hour days at the factory, under armed guard at all times. She goes home after the end of one particular shift, late at night with the street plunged into darkness from the latest power outage. The streets are lined with broken down, disused cars, mostly with broken windows and flat tyres. "You'll give it to me," says the man, "if you know what's good for you." But Bethany has nothing to give. In the houses nearby, the sounds of people rousing from bed and descending stairs comes on. "Look," say the man, "just give me something. I've got a family." But Bethany says, "so do I." The young man's glare softens slightly, and he turns to flee the scene before Bethany's neighbours emerge into the street for her. They rescue her.

Across the fields from Valeri's small band of fighters sit rows of emplacements, now used as bunkers by enemy forces. These emplacements were built over many years, intended to be used as defensive bulwarks against marauding bands of rebel fighters who'd attacked civilian lorries and police and army vehicles. That was during those early years following the failed first uprising, the uprising that claimed the lives of Valeri's mother and father. During those early years, these emplacements were never used for their intended purpose, the rebels of old taking great care to avoid them, instead attacking softer targets. At that little estate in the countryside, most of the family can't join the Popular Front, being too old, too young, or too infirm to be soldiers. But three join in. They leave behind no food for the rest of the family, although Valeri suggests that they might head into Aylesbury, where they might find shelter at one of the churches run by a rogue ministry. "I hope they know what they're getting into," says Lynn Jackson, speaking not of the family turned away but of the three who'd joined them. "I think no one really knows what they're getting themselves into," says Valeri, "after all, none of us can see the future." Although Valeri has only been fighting in this revolution for two years or so, he's become in so short a span able to discard his own private concerns and become something better than he is. After Charlotte's sudden death, Valeri returns to their encampment to find several of the others injured but none killed. He directs the men and women to bury Charlotte in a ditch nearby, then turns and sends for permission from Sister Simpson to begin the attack. This permission is denied. Although Valeri had only known Charlotte Ryan for a short time, he still mourns her sudden death, and looks to avenge her. They take her weapon, ammunition, and clothing before burying her, for distribution among the remaining men and women.

Not far away in the city of Milton Keynes a young man named Neil Bowen lives as well under the lash of the local militia, even as most of them are away in attacks on Popular Front positions still a few left to handle the task of applying the local authority's brutal rule. It seems that with the collapse of the old way of life many local authorities under the flag of the National Forces have turned to a new brutality. Neil lives but doesn't work, having been consigned to the margins while men like him are called in to work on a daily basis. Yet still he lives in fear, suspected of conspiring with the Popular Front in planning an uprising in the city where he lives. There's an ongoing battle in the city between former Home Guard troops and striking workers when, one night, Neil's caught up in it, finding himself in with a group of workers manning a blockade. These strikes no longer amount to workers simply picketing outside their places of work, but now amount to pitched street battles between forces, the workers usually unarmed but their opponents usually armed. The last pocket of resistance is centred on a industrial quarter in the east of the city. "When will they get here?" asks Neil. "Not soon enough," says the other young man. With few supplies and the local militia preparing another assault on their neighbourhood, they have little choice but to withdraw. But they don't withdraw. "Let them come and get it," says Neil, "let them pay for it." These men and women aren't in league with the Popular Front. After the militia conduct their assault and successfully liquidate this last pocket of resistance in Milton Keynes left over from the uprisings, they'll go on a rampage, their violent tendencies causing them to target for murder a wide number of working class people. Neil will be dead by then, killed in the coming assault, but by the time this night is through he'll give a good account for himself.

It seems so strange to Valeri, that he should've just some years ago been only one young man among many, now in the process of becoming the disciplined soldier of the revolution which he aspires to be. Now, in the midst of a long and painful slog through the English countryside, Valeri and the others under his provisional command must confront the prospect of a season lost to the war. It isn't altogether clear to men like Valeri when exactly they became something more than they were; they may not even know. In truth, Valeri has been fighting something far longer than even the time he's been in the Popular Front, since even before he'd taken part in that impassionate uprising at that little, rundown apartment block somewhere in Greater London. If any of them could've known what the future had in store for them, they would've only taken to their chosen path with even more enthusiasm. "They're coming," says Valeri, looking into the distance at the oncoming formation, "and now you'll have the chance to prove your worth." But not everywhere in Britain does the immediate prospect of death come from the bullet or the bomb.

A young woman named Sally Stephens lives in the small city of Stockton-on-Tees, at the southern edge of a corridor of violence only beginning to end. It's this corridor that consisted of urban area seized by striking workers and Popular Front gunmen during the last wave of uprisings under the now-defunct Provisional Government. Now that these uprisings have all been brutally repressed, women like Sally might've thought life could return to something resembling normalcy, but they'd have been wrong. "Who are these people?" asks Sally, speaking with her husband in their little flat one night. "I don't recognise any of them," says her husband. They take cover during one of the frequent power outages in their cellar, fearful of the militiamen who might come around in the darkness and take out their frustrations on whoever they might find. The only light in their cellar is provided by a single candle which creates flickering shadows on the walls. By the time this night is through, Sally, her husband, and her children will have managed to avoid becoming the victims of the marauding militiamen, but when they emerge from their cellar in the morning they'll find one of their neighbours despairing over their daughter murdered in the night.

After the last enemy assault on their position, Valeri and the others look to be on the move again, thinking it part of their mission to advance towards the enemy's strongholds. But soon the order comes in for them to hold position, with many other such small, provisional units scattered across the line receiving the same order. He chafes at being made to stay in one spot, from their fortified position Valeri looking down range, as if to pick out targets for the order to attack which he's sure must be imminent. Another day passes, then another night. An eerie calm settles on the countryside, with even the distant sound of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting both seeming to cease for the first time Valeri can recall. "Do you know what we're facing?" asks Lynn. But Valeri doesn't respond, not right away, preferring instead to let the near-silence prevail. But after the wave of uprisings which brought down the now-defunct Provisional Government have been largely ended, whether by the institution of the rule of the new People's Republic or by the violent hand of the various militia that've cropped up in areas outside the Popular Front's control. Several of the men are brothers and sisters Valeri doesn't know, not in the way he's come to know Aretha, Lynn, and some others. "We hold this position," says Valeri, "until we're all dead or we receive other orders." Lynn takes a moment, seeming to Valeri to consider her thoughts, before asking, "when did you become such a soldier?" At first, Valeri doesn't know what to make of the question, part of him thinking to take it as a pointed insult, part thinking it a sincere compliment. "I've always been this way," says Valeri, even as he's not quite sure what he's referring to, "but we've got little time to get into that." There's only so many times they can fortify their positions, only so many layers of dirt and mud they can pile onto their earthen defences before they can do little but wait for the next attack to come.

In the city of Northampton a young man named Eric Mann lives on the front lines, in the city of Northampton a large swath of the city still under the control of the participants in that uprising as recently as a few weeks ago. But now all that's left is a few residential areas where men like Eric still man barricades against encroaching militiamen. "I'll stay to the end," says Eric. He's watching with several others some militiamen approach. "So will I," says another. All the working men and women with families and young children have fled, leaving only a few like Eric and his friends. The area they have to defend is so large that they couldn't hope to hold their ground against a determined assault. But it doesn't come. "They're going to keep whittling us down until we have no choice but to surrender," says Eric, still looking down the road at the enemy militia. Although Eric won't admit it, he's afraid of death. The men facing them are former Home Guard troops now under the leadership of the local government, in turn part of a coalition of forces gradually coalescing in opposition to the new People's Republic.

Suddenly there's an explosion in the distance, behind a row of houses. "They're coming," says one young man. "Let's get them," says Eric, gripping his pistol, the only firearm left between them. By the time the attack is on them, there's even fewer left, with Eric and those left having abandoned their positions at the barricade in the streets and holed up in a row of flats. Eric still determines to fight them, but can't convince the others any longer. There's the sound of gunfire as the militiamen go door to door, shooting anyone they can find. They come to the little flat Eric's in with a handful of others. Eric shoots dead two of them before being shot dead. There's the sound of gunfire from distant houses and streets, with some of the remaining pockets of resistance going out fighting just like Eric, just like Eric their sacrifice seeming to be in vain. By the time this day is through, the last of those who'd joined in the uprising which brought down the old Provisional Government will be dead. This won't stop the killing, as the militiamen go on a rampage, burning and looting and killing anything they can find.

And finally, the last, the very last pocket of resistance to the militiamen of the National Forces is brought down, but not without a fight. In the small city of Bath, just outside the urban centre of Bristol, a middle-aged woman named Suzanne Cummings mans the barricades, with a group of other fighters in the midst of their own liquidation. Suzanne has already lost everyone she's known or loved in the war, with her husband killed many years ago in a demonstration against the war and her three children in a street-level bombing as their bus passed a military convoy. She clutches her rifle, and shoots down the road at the encroaching militiamen. She shoots one dead, but others take his place. Under a furious assault, there's little chance for her and the few others by her side to fight off the enemy assault. "If they capture us they'll kill us," she says to the others, by now all of them having heard of the murderous rampages all militiamen have gone on after putting the last of the urban resistance fighters down. "I won't give them that honour," she says, provoking a chorus of agreement from the others. Some are old, some are young. Some, like Suzanne, have families that've been killed in the war, while others have family who'll be left behind with their impending deaths. By the time they're finally killed, they'll have made some account for themselves, making the enemy pay for every life taken.

Although the truce between warring powers on the continent remains in place since the nuclear firestorm around a year ago, there continues to be much suffering and death on both sides of the front lines. The loose coalition which Britain had been part of has all but fallen apart, with some countries having recalled their armies, leaving those that remain stretched thin. Unrest among the populations of all combatant countries remains a fact of life. In Russia as well, a revolution is underway which should pit working class parties against nationalist forces, very much like the revolution underway in Britain, only not so far along in its path. But an evil force is about to take hold, in Poland, parts of Ukraine, and many countries in the Balkans, these times of extreme hardship and deprivation pushing radical elements to conspire against the new beginning promised by Elijah and his fellow travelers across Europe.

After so many racist murders targeting Jews, Romani, and anyone else who might run afoul of the nationalists who control so many governments, whether national, regional, or local. In small towns and in rural settlements across Eastern and Southern Europe, nationalist youths and sectarian gangs have begun attacking encampments of Jewish and Romani refugees, sporadic attacks which will soon prove to have been the precursors to something far more sinister. In Britain, Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front have extended their protection to all Jewish and Romani people but are powerless to protect those elsewhere in Europe. This remains rather distant to men like Valeri, men who fight the foot soldier's war in the British countryside, but it won't remain so distant for long.

8. Visions

After a long night of waiting, waiting, Valeri and the other rebel troops defending the little city of Aylesbury emerge into the dawn seeking a new beginning. But it's not to be. As though a pall has fallen over the city, it seems, to Valeri, a foul and malicious intent has set in. Although Valeri isn't aware of the dark essence which guides their revolution, his intuition is becoming more attuned to the ebb and flow of the course of the revolution, in the vague and guttural sort of way men like him can. At the last battle with the unknown enemy forces, Valeri had stood with the others, not setting aside the pain but making conscious use of it, choosing to embrace it rather than seek relief where none could be sought. Now, as the morning's light reveals a fresh coat of snow across the battlefield, Valeri can't see the evidence of their having fought over this terrain only days earlier, the cold concealing the spent rounds and even some bodies. It's only been several weeks since the declaration of the new People's Republic, hardly over four months, and already much has changed.

"Where do we go from here?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba. "The attack will take place tomorrow night," says Valeri, "we're to take advantage of the cover of darkness in order to compensate for our lack of numbers." But Lynn Jackson says, "that'll only work if we can achieve the element of surprise." Nodding, Valeri says, "you're right, but the order has been given. We attack, whether we have the element of surprise or not." This small unit action will be one of thousands all across the country, with the Popular Front having committed itself to a coordinated attack. But Valeri doesn't know, can't know the factors which should prove decisive. After this winter has well and truly passed, now the men and women who fight under the banner of the Popular Front must now grapple with the onset of an unusually early and harsh summer, so many decades of a rapidly warming climate having largely erased the intervening spring and fall seasons. "I can't see anything," says Valeri, "and I can't march through anything. The mud's made it impossible to move."

A light wind tugs at his tunic, carrying along that familiar stench of death, that noxious odour of decaying flesh filling every breath drawn in. If Valeri should breathe through his mouth, then he'd only taste the noxious odour of decaying flesh on the back of his tongue, enough to make him retch and heave. "We're not going to be moving for a while," says Lynn, "unless we can find horses or something like that in the town." For a moment, Valeri seriously considers it, only to turn back to the road. Although the spring season draws closer with each passing day, still the frigid temperatures keep all Britain under a deep freeze even as the early summer has set on the whole country. Valeri shudders and shivers, but steels himself against the cold as he ventures out into the streets, determined to muscle a stoic look onto his face, to serve as an example for the locals whose city he's found himself in. This past Christmas, it came and went with little fanfare, the churches largely consumed in the task of providing for the working class. And in Scotland, Northern Ireland, and Wales, the Popular Front has a different strategy. There, the Popular Front's fighters continue to stockpile armaments and munitions, but content themselves publicly to lobbying the breakaway governments in each province for cooperation and unity with the new People's Republic. For Valeri, these past few months have meant continuous struggle and strain, each new challenge creating new difficulties. "Has the order come in yet to attack?" asks Lynn, approaching from behind to stand over Valeri and Aretha.

"No," says Valeri, "it'll come when it comes." They've all been growing a little uneasy at the sudden calm that's seemed to impress itself upon them and their surroundings, even Valeri beginning to chafe at their orders to hold until given the instruction to attack. It occurs to him that the attack must be properly timed and coordinated, but there's nothing any of them can do about it now. "You," Valeri says, speaking to the young man among three who'd joined them only days earlier, "keep first watch for the night." The young man nods his understanding. "You don't seem to fully trust them," says the younger Aretha Cordoba. "That's not it," says Valeri.

They speak not then but some hours later, after Valeri's returned from an inspection of the positions occupied by that young man and his brothers. "Then what is it?" asks Aretha. "I want to make sure we're ready when the attack comes," says Valeri, "and the only way I can do that is to see to it myself." As the heat and humidity of another long summer threatens to immerse them all in the swampy musk. Every time Valeri mops the sweat from his brow, he can't get his next stride forward before his face is dripping again. This summer, it's going to be longer and harsher than any in memory, and from the shirt sticking to his back and the dryness in his throat he can anticipate it. It wasn't all that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, that Valeri was among the rebel gunmen who'd stormed Westminster and deposed the hated Provisional Government, an historic moment Valeri will always be proud to have taken part in. Weeks have passed since their arrival in Aylesbury, and several weeks still since the proclamation of the People's Republic. Even before then, the city's population had swelled with refugees fleeing Greater London in the aftermath of the nuclear exchange on the continent, most of whom have yet to return to their homes. As Valeri begins his patrol through the city with four others, he thinks not on the past but on the present, working hard to keep his thoughts grounded in the here and now. In their lorry, commandeered from among the local population only a few days earlier, Valeri and the others arrive at a local plant, the workers having formed a committee to continue their work after the managers had fled. "I suppose you've been with Sister Simpson a lot longer than the rest of us," says Aretha, speaking with Valeri as they man their position. Valeri surveys the road ahead, curving as it does along a gentle, downward slope. "I've only known her for a few months," says Valeri, although it's been around a year by now.

As for the task at hand, Valeri judges the road passable, and he begins in his mind to plot their line of attack. They don't know what positions the enemy has arrayed against them, or even who the enemy must be, except that the enemy stands against them. "It was different back then," says Valeri, speaking as if a grizzled veteran, entirely unlike the young man he still is. "I know," says Aretha. They stand in a wooded area off the side of the road. It's here they'll spend the next night, and another night afterwards, until given the order to execute their plan of attack. Still close to the city of Aylesbury, the weeks that've passed make their progress seem agonizingly slow to Valeri, impatient as he is. In his heart he still craves the impetuousness of youth, the bold, daring attacks of the guerrilla fighter he'd been only some months earlier. "In the end, what does it matter?" asks Aretha. They talk more, their talk allowing for only the slightest pause as the early summer's sun slides slowly beneath the horizon to the west. The men gathered in the jail in central Aylesbury are the wealthy men and the political types apprehended in those whirlwind days when the Popular Front had seized power, then left to fester in the intervening period. They're a motley group, mostly businessmen, plus a few judges from the old courts, as well as a couple of policemen and officers in the old army. One man in particular catches Valeri's attention, a man who'd owned several large warehouses scattered across southern England. He'd been among those businessmen who'd imported foreign slaves from places as far away as Pakistan, Papua New Guinea, and Peru, paid them a pittance and then subtracted from that pittance their costs of living. And the warehouses had been erected not merely as places through which goods could be channelled but through which the flow of wealth could be controlled so as to keep as many people as hungry as possible.

"Who's out there anyways?" asks Aretha, with Valeri at one of their forward positions. "Counter-revolutionary forces," says Valeri, reciting the term for them given in Sister Simpson's dispatches. "I don't want anyone to think of themselves as not having a future in the new world," says Valeri, not immediately then but a few hours later, when putting down for the night. "It's a hard thing to do," says Lynn, "especially when you've got a war to fight." The food they'd confiscated from that family continues to sustain them, but won't last much longer. It occurs to Valeri that they'll have the opportunity to seize new stores of food when the order to attack is finally given, the enemy positions down range occupying a ring of sites around a small town. In times like these, Valeri thinks on the lessons he'd taken under Sister Simpson only some months ago. He'd heard her talk of things like 'alienation' and 'commodification,' but never truly understood the meaning of those terms. "They're gathering strength," says Valeri, "in the urban area up ahead." The next attack won't be for a while.

But soon Valeri and the others are in action again, called to their positions facing the north west, an attack by the enemy catching them off guard. This contact with the enemy is brief, as compared to many of the other battles they've fought in recent months, lasting hardly half an hour. Valeri arrives in time to see the enemy setting up a position on the near side of a small wooded area, close enough to the road that they've got clear a shot. Beneath the layers of caked-on mud and dried blood, Valeri's vaguely aware there's a human face, if only he should see it. "I thought we'd be going on the attack," says the young man, named Mitchell, just Mitchell. "We will," says Valeri, "but that'll take a while. We've got more men coming in." Valeri speaks of the promised reinforcements sent by Sister Simpson and the other area commanders to the front lines. But those men aren't being sent to Valeri's position. Rather, they're headed into new positions, occupying strategic points in wooded areas and along the back roads, to hold those positions until given the order to attack. After having advanced from their previous positions down the road, they look over an enemy position with an eye towards their next plan of attack. "We'll keep watch," says Valeri, "and we'll fire on them if they approach."

The younger Aretha Cordoba asks, "and what if it's civilians who approach our lines?" Valeri says, "we'll deal with that if it comes." It seems to Valeri as though a tension has emerged between them, entirely unspoken but acutely felt by all. As Valeri looks over their positions, his patience begins to wear thin, his nerves frayed by so many sleepless nights and by so much pain. But he won't give in, he swears to himself, as he turns away from the enemy to take a drink the impulse in him to lash out surpassed by his inner strength. This is a strength that has been nurtured by the dark essence which guide the revolution, a nurturing that's been taking place since even before he'd been alive and which should keep on taking place even after he's dead. It's early in the spring thaw, the coldest of winters immediately followed by the hottest of summers, with seemingly little in between. Snow is in the process of having melted, turning the countryside into a morass of mud.

The true implications of this new development in the turning course of the revolution won't become apparent to men like Valeri for some time, even as men like Valeri have come to possess a vague intuition on the way forward for their movement. It seems to him as though the chaos and the confusion of the old way of life has never truly ended, with nearly all activity in the country having ground to a halt in order to make way for violence and degradation. But the general strike which took place in the last days under the now-defunct Provisional Government lingers, as if to defy the attempts of the new powers to bring it under control. For the workers in the territory controlled by the new People's Republic, the war means continued exhortations to work as hard as possible, the Popular Front's propaganda declaring every day worked, every muscle rhythmically contracted and expanded bringing war that much closer to an end. For the workers in the territory controlled by the other factions, the war means relentless violence and degradation. But as Valeri and the others under his provisional charge continue to harden their positions outside Milton Keynes, they witness an unexpected turn of events. The flow of refugees inside Britain continues, with columns of civilians and families flowing in every direction, along every major road. "Arguing solves nothing," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "we all need each other." Valeri agrees, saying, "if we don't work together, then we can't overcome the tremendous obstacles in the path of our fight." Although the People's Republic is a power unto itself, the critical shortages and the gathering strength of its enemies pose a lethal challenge, one which even the most hardened of fighters sees as imposing. Even Valeri and the others under his provisional charge have heard of the alignment of powers against them, and they've seen on their screens the rumours of impending American invasion. Valeri fears everything they've accomplished could soon be undone by the overwhelming military power the Americans and their allies could bring to bear on the revolution here in Britain and across Western Europe. But he never lets it show, muscling the same stoic look onto his face whenever he turns to his brothers and sisters, allowing himself only the indulgence of self-doubt while projecting a steely confidence.

Now, with an enemy attack surely imminent, all Valeri and the others can do is wait for the order they hope'll come, the order to launch a pre-emptive attack. The offensive can only begin once the spring has fully thawed, when the last of the winter's ice and snow has fully melted. It wasn't all that long ago that such dramatic changes would've been unusual, enough to prompt fear and panic outright. But centuries of filling the air with noxious gases have produced such a radical new climate that's replaced the previously mild and rather dour weather experienced by Britain throughout the year. Although it's only March, Valeri knows they've got a matter of weeks before the full force of an unusually hot summer will set in, this day and age of a rapidly warming planet presenting a wholly different set of challenges. As their advance begins, tentative though it may be, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge see only a thick blanket of smoke emerging from the city up ahead, fires seeming to have been set throughout the urban area overnight. "I haven't forgotten what you said to me," says Lynn, "and I'll always think of you as one of us." This catches Valeri off guard. "Well, regardless of the risks we're all in this together." Just behind them, the younger Aretha Cordoba follows, listening every step of the way.

"Let's just agree that the killing should end," says Valeri, "how long that takes is up to them, not us." One thing they can all agree on is the necessity to keep on fighting, even as they come from diverse backgrounds each of them finding a camaraderie in fighting for the cause of the Popular Front. Valeri doesn't say it, but he's beginning to suspect that Lynn may have been a prostitute at some point in her life, perhaps even immediately before joining the Popular Front. It's widely known that the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front had always drawn their support first and foremost from the most pathetic and wretched among the working class, a segment which included the street-walking prostitutes. Even Valeri recalls his friendship with the woman named Maria, and he wonders where she is now. An eerie quiet emerges. As soon as the spring thaw has set in, the stench of rotting flesh and raw sewage seems to become a constant companion, even in the rural area where Valeri and those under his provisional charge now fight. After the latest round of attacks, the spring thaw has produced an endless morass of mud throughout the British countryside, slowing the fighting as both sides must contend with drudging through the mud. But this is part of the plan devised by the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples at the highest ranks of the Popular Front. A few weeks pass. At a low ebb, the revolution can only continue to gather strength in the face of its own increasing weakness. After having spent so long occupying the general area in the countryside beyond Aylesbury, Valeri has become familiar with the area, a familiarity proven by his disregard for a map when considering their next moves.

Although Valeri hasn't seen his one-time friend, the former prostitute Maria, in more than two and a half years, she's closer to him than he could imagine. As Valeri and the others under his provisional charge prepare to assault an enemy position in the country outside the city of Milton Keynes, Maria fights as part of a unit on the edge of the city of Leeds. In this part of Britain there's the heaviest fighting, with many killed. "I wish we could find out where these attacks are coming from," says Valeri, looking the report up and down, "and kill them all." His hands are covered in muck and grime, with blood splotches here and there. "They'll run and hide as they always do," says Lynn, "they're cowards." To this Valeri only nods, then turns away from the report to look down range. Still the enemy positions remain occupied, even after the enemy had sent some of its men into the city to put down the revolt. A few columns of smoke rise from the urban area beyond, marking the places where striking workers have taken their stand. Still Valeri chafes inwardly at their orders to hold position outside the city, recalling as he does his own experience in taking part in an uprising exactly like the one playing out before them.

When Valeri's small unit encounters other such units flying the banner of the Popular Front, they exchange signals, the whole lot of them forming a line that seems to gradually advance in the direction of the enemy. After having pushed closer to the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge are eager to attack. "Have at it," Valeri says, "see if you can get it to work." He turns towards a group of young men occupying a position on their left flank, and helps them remove an obstacle, a fallen section of fencing which they push over to clear a small hill. Valeri doesn't know much about the technical matters which are essential to the healthy functioning of any army, an ignorance shared with most of the men and women serving in the Popular Front. "It's no good," says one young fighter, referring to the light machine gun he'd been manning, "it just won't work anymore." Without this gun, Valeri's provisional, platoon-sized group has lost their most powerful piece of armaments, without any replacement available. But when the order inevitably comes to assault enemy positions, Valeri knows they'll proceed as ordered, even lacking in a heavy machine gun. "It's coming," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "and when it gets here, who knows what'll happen." Valeri nods. The sun is setting, casting a sickly, orange glow on the terrain, allowing Valeri one last moment of peace before night falls.

But for Chris Jenkins and his friend Helen Reed, the attendance at this new church has led them into a new way of life. For many years before the revolution began, there'd been a dearth of spiritual character, with churches having been closing for decades and those remaining given to empty ritualism. Now, after having seized their own homes and committed themselves to the revolution all the same as the men and women fighting the armed struggle, Chris and Helen have to grapple with the most devastating and dramatic turn of events in their own lives yet. There's a call from the Popular Front for volunteers, not to fight as soldiers but to serve as labourers, rebuilding bridges, roads, and rail lines destroyed in the war. Helen volunteers immediately. Chris doesn't. "You can't leave," says Chris, "because I love you." But Helen only says, "I love you too, but that doesn't matter."

After a momentary pause, Chris says, "then we'll leave together." And so it is that the two of them leave their little flats, both turning up at the nearest station to volunteer. The pastor who'd led the ministry at the church they'd gone to is there as well, quietly praying for those who are about to leave. "Look," says Chris, pointing in the sky. "I see it," says Helen. They're in the middle of a small crowd of volunteers, here only one of the places where they'd been asked to assemble, and already they can see the beginning of something more.

They aren't to enter the city, not yet, the ebb and flow of the revolution soon to pull them away from their prize. Although Valeri's seen many uprisings before, and taken part in at least one, the consideration of a new uprising in the works never ceases to inspire him. "Keep 'em busy," says Valeri, "hold them off here!" A sudden flash of light drowns the scene of battle in a shocking, white light. "Where are they coming from?" asks Valeri, turning to the younger Aretha Cordoba, she having in her possession the last working screen between them. "East and north," says Aretha, "both sides, both sides." Valeri turns back to the battle, raising his rifle to fire over the barricade, quickly before dropping behind cover. It seems incredible to him that the enemy should choose now to attack, with much of the countryside impassable from the spring thaw that's now well underway. They repel this attack, but lose several more of their own to the enemy's guns. When they enter the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri knows they'll have the opportunity to take volunteers from among the striking workers, and to conscript any others who may be necessary. A light wind has caught on, gently blowing the smell of rancid flesh over their position. It might be Charlotte Ryan's rotting corpse they can smell; they'd buried her in a ditch without much of a burial, throwing only a few shovelfuls of dirt to cover her. It'd been more of a burial than most of those killed in the war have gotten, whether those killed by militiamen in pogroms or annihilated by the nuclear fire on the continent, or by any other means. As Valeri and the others wait to begin the next attack, he steels himself against the moment.

For Julia Roberts and Fred White, the months have meant hardship, even as events have transpired to change their lives dramatically. Although Julia continues to throw her support for Fred to remain on the railyard's governing committee, her support won't be enough if he should lose the confidence of enough members in his department. One night, when there's a special meeting convened to hear from a representative of the Popular Front who's come around to offer them guidance, Fred can't go, an injury having sent him to the nearby hospital. He's nominated Julia to go in his place. This meeting is held in the open, with all the workers and their families invited to attend. Nearly all attend. "...Now, now hear me," says the Popular Front's representative, "if you're unable to overcome your own personal differences then this committee should be dissolved." "What if we refuse to dissolve?" asks one man on the committee. "Then you'll be dissolved," says the Popular Front's representative, "by force of arms, if necessary." "We'll do whatever's asked of us," says Julia, summoning the courage to speak for Fred, "we work hard at keeping the trains running, and our work is essential in carrying out the war. But just as important is the work we carry out here." Some of the others on the committee object, one older man going so far as to suggest she shouldn't be making pronouncements when she's only there in a member's stead. This prompts the Popular Front's representative to interrupt, saying, "if it's only the youngest and least experienced of your who has the courage to say it, then that is only proof that what she's saying is true." This prompts quiet from the crowd.

But it's not only their last light machine gun that's inoperative, with their lorries both broken down recently. "Calls for a little field surgery," says Valeri, before turning to Lynn Jackson, who stands only a few metres away. "See if there's a mechanic in the town behind us," Valeri says. But these uprisings which're in the works won't have the same decisive effect that past uprisings have had, for no other reason than the beast has been unchained. The pogrom against Jews which erupted in the last days of the now-defunct Provisional Government was only a small taste of what's to come. Although the new People's Republic has extended its protection to all Jews living in territory under its control, those outside face a dire fate at the hands of nationalist militias and gangs of sectarian youths. Wherever these gangs and militias roam, there's only more death and suffering for Jews. The flow of refugees inside Britain continues in a great, confused mass of people, sometimes along a single road in both directions. Although the war on the continent rages everywhere but the front lines, the British Army doesn't take part, consigned as it is to watch on the sidelines as the great bulk of the country remains in the grips of unremittent unrest and violence. For the remaining weeks until the next wave of uprisings, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge must continue to harden their positions and hope to draw the enemy out. A general strike seems risky, too risky in this kind of environment, with the last general strike under the now-defunct Provisional Government having degenerated into a relentless orgy of killings and reprisals which has still to end. "I don't know what's going to happen," says Valeri, "I wish I could tell you I did, but I'm only a man." Even to say this makes Valeri acutely aware of himself, as if to draw his attention inward when he knows it ought to be drawn out. "This is the fight we've all been waiting for," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "but I think you've got something else."

For men like Joe Hill and women like Nina Schultz the recent turn of the revolution has meant their joining the fight in ways they'd never thought possible. Their firebrand pastor had been targeted by the local militia for arrest, which inevitably meant execution, but this had been averted by the combined resistance of the hundreds of parishioners in his congregation, Joe and Nina among them. Overnight, their church had become like a fortress, fortified and defended by the congregants, to be defended as their own home. True, this is not the first congregation to defend their church against attack, nor is it to be the last. "If they come for us," says Joe, "then we'll be ready for them." As Nina has come to see things a little differently than Joe, she can't help but disagree. "We're in the middle of a war," says Joe, "and the next time they come for us we've got to be ready." In the time since they'd been attacked by militia, they'd built up their own defences, marked by crosses atop piles of debris. "I've got a family," says Nina. "So do I," says Joe. "I remember the way we used to play in the streets when we were little children," says Nina. She's a fair bit older than Joe, with her skin faded and worn, and her hair grey and black. "I grew up being taught that there was nothing beyond what I could see and hear," says Joe. "You were taught that belief is irrational," says Nina. "A fallacy," says Joe. "So was I," says Nina. "Yet here we are," says Joe. Nina nods knowingly. By the time the militia come around to attack them again, they'll have hardened their positions once more, but only enough to prolong their freedom by a few days, a week or two at the most. But the enemy militia, which owes its loyalty to the local authority and in turn to the loose coalition known as the National Forces won't spare anyone when they finally succeed in capturing this church, they'll kill everyone they can find. But some will survive.

And in the meanwhile, after Marilyn Carter and her friend Dan Murphy had been hauled in for questioning by the local authority, they have little hope left of seeing their families and friends again. Both have heard of the intolerable and unthinkable cruelty throughout the country, and after having been subjected to harsh interrogations both know a small taste of this cruelty. But when a mysterious figure among the prisoners at this makeshift jail leads the others in an uprising, both Marilyn and Dan have a chance to get revenge on their torturers. It begins with a few men running down the outside their cells, militiamen with guns drawn. There's the sound of gunfire, only a few shots before, a few moments later, some of the prisoners come running back down, unlocking cells as they pass them. In with a few others, Marilyn and Dan think on what to do. "We've got families," says Dan. But Marilyn says, "let's stay here and fight as long as we can." Dan says, "I'm going to make a break for it." Marilyn says, "you won't get far." Later, after they've gathered with a few of the other prisoners in the prison's main courtyard, they both realise quite a few of the others have already fled the prison grounds. "She lied about it," says Marilyn, speaking of another inmate's testaments. "She was on their side all along," says Dan, "and she might still be here." But Marilyn says, "she might've fled already, fearing retribution." A figure at the head of the courtyard animatedly declares his intent to hunt down and kill all the traitors, all the informants, and he says this even as the militia have already begun to come down on them. It's all so deeply confusing, with a chaotic sequence of events already in the works.

At last, after having married the young woman Sabrina Hale, Roy Cook had thought himself to have found a new companion, only to have her taken from him almost as quickly as she was given to him. His memories, his memories of their brief time together will give him fuel to keep going even through the most difficult of times. In one particularly furious night, the night immediately after they'd been married, things had come to a head. "You disagree with it?" he'd asked. "Please don't hold it against me," she'd said. "You know I won't," he'd said, "but I have to know why." What'd followed had been a lengthy discussion, interrupted by the sudden call for workers to their stations. Now, as Roy outright refuses to return to work until he can be assured her memory will be honoured he faces a new challenge. "If you don't work then you won't eat," says the lead hand at the factory, although he must know it's not true. "I'm going to join the labour force," he says. "You'll go charging in and get yourself in trouble," says his lead hand, "just let it be." But he can't. "I've gotten myself into something I can't get out of," says Roy, looking his lead hand from across the way. After all that's happened, after having found and then lost his way, Roy must tread a careful path forward, one which'll leave him less sure of himself than ever.

As the darkest of nights begins to turn towards dawn, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge continue to hold off a furious assault by enemy forces. They've lost several killed in this latest wave of attacks, but their line holds. The younger Aretha Cordoba sees Valeri concealing his wounds, but she says nothing. In the springtime heat, it seems to Valeri as though this is the time when his men's and women's injuries should be healing, as if the dark essence which guides the revolution should choose exercise its divine influence in time with the changing of the season. But it doesn't, it doesn't. By the time men like Valeri become aware of the true significance of these changing events, they'll all find themselves in the middle of a fight for survival, whether they want to or not.

9. Torn Asunder

In Aylesbury, the fate of the men apprehended by the rebels weighs on Valeri, determined as he is that the only fair punishment should be the death they'd meted out upon so many for so long before the nascent revolution began. But not all agree. After throwing the men in a local jail, all Valeri and the others can do is wait until the local Popular Front apparatchik decides the men's fate. Of course, the apparatchik, a middle-aged woman named Catherine Baldwin, has already decided, but being experienced in the ways of the Popular Front she must put on the appearance of seeming to deliberate. She meets with members of the community, hearing their testimony as to the men's crimes, each taken and added to the sum of the evidence against them. A central figure in these deliberations is a formerly wealthy man who had been caught behind the constantly-shifting lines when the People's Republic was declared founded, a man whose former wealth can no longer save him from his fate. He'd owned several apartment blocks over the years, including here in Aylesbury; it'd been only by happenstance that he should've been apprehended nearby and brought in.

Although this man is sure to be executed for his various crimes, still he can't help but try to bargain for his life, offering to pay huge sums to the rebels, even promising they can take what they want for themselves from his hoardings. "Surely the new government will want its tax," says the man, "and I wouldn't want to get in the way." But he says this as he's under interrogation, day after day the same interrogations of the same men taking place, asking the same questions, receiving the same answers, until it becomes a routine well-rehearsed, the men of the Popular Front conducting the interrogations having long ago learned to use their bodies as machines. It's in this mechanistic, ritualised fashion that the true purpose of these interrogations is revealed, slowly at first, then faster, then faster still. "If you can't admit your own misdeeds," says Sister Baldwin, "then you will be considered as having invited the wages of your sin on yourself. And the wages of sin is death."

While they wait for the verdict to be announced, Valeri and the others in the new People's Army return to the streets of Aylesbury, patrolling in anticipation of an attack that may come sooner than anyone could've expected. It's a long and slow process, gruelling, wearing on his body and mind in the way that intense action doesn't. Along the streets of Aylesbury Valeri sees little immediate evidence of the war raging across the country; this town is too small to have been fought over much, to have seen much disorder in the confusing times before battle lines had hardened. When they must turn back to face the enemy to the east and northeast, Valeri and the others take over for men they're relieving, the men they're relieving in turn patrolling the streets of the city. The next time Valeri finds himself looking out across that open field, he imagines the others applying the same strength of convictions that he's come to, in learning to stand among his brothers and sisters in the Popular Front Valeri finding a new home.

But across the fields and down the road, the unknown enemy looms like a dark storm's cloud, seeming to gather strength even as the early summer's sun bears down. They've come across a column of refugees, one of the many making their way across revolutionary Britain's many front lines. "They're starving," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "all they need is some food right now." This particular column of refugees is headed into territory held by the Popular Front. "They must be fleeing the pogroms," says Valeri, "look at them. There are many Jews in this group." He says this because he can see the banners and placards carried by some of the more able-bodied among these refugees, some identifying their sympathy for the new People's Republic, others simply painted hastily with large Stars of David. "What can we do for them?" asks Aretha. "We can point them in the right direction," says Valeri, and he begins an approach of the refugees, hoping for the best. Although it's been several months since the pogrom against Jews began, this column of refugees seeking the protection of the forces of the Popular Front have been moving longer than that, as have many others.

In the city, the Popular Front's apparatchik, Catherine Baldwin, ends a day of hearing testimony from locals against the wealthy men, her last hearing providing the most damning testimony of all. A young Jewish woman recounts her experience of being run down by troops of the old Home Guard, along with a few dozen others beaten, several killed. She'd fled her home some months earlier along with her family, taking refuge in Aylesbury where there was no Jewish congregation to draw the attention of the sectarian youths. This was before the Popular Front had seized the city. The wealthy men and the political types from the old regime are to be held responsible for these attacks on Jews and others, even if those who personally carried out the attacks can't be identified. But even after all witnesses have been dismissed, their testimony recorded for posterity's sake, still the interrogations must go on, this Catherine Baldwin determining of her own accord that the useful purpose the interrogations serve hasn't yet been exhausted. This young Jewish woman, she'd been among a motley assortment of working class men and women, mostly Jews but some others mixed in, who'd been sold as slave labour to a consortium, in turn used in various industrial concerns scattered across the region. Many came from His Majesty's Prisons, ordered to complete a sentence of labour as part of their punishment for various crimes, then the labour sold to those industrial concerns. Her plight, typical, her suffering, almost banal in its evil, like so many others traded as chattel.

As Catherine Baldwin listens to this young Jewish woman describing her plight, it seems as though the walls of this headquarters quiver and quake just a little, only enough to be palpable, the dark essence shaking the ground and the building in its rage. After having directed the Jewish refugees fleeing persecution at the hands of ethnic nationalists and sectarian gangs, Valeri feels reinvigorated. He'd sent them into Aylesbury, even on foot only a few days march from where they are. Now, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge must work their way towards enemy positions in preparation for the next attack. "Look," says Lynn, as they've advanced to the top of a hill overlooking enemy positions. She's pointing at the flag flying from a building behind the enemy's barricade. "There are fires burning in the town," says Valeri. He directs Lynn and the others to look at the columns of smoke rising from strategic spots in the urban area. One particularly large column of smoke seems to be rising from the site of an old school, although Valeri and the others can't quite make out the source of the smoke. "We hold here," says Valeri, "and wait until we receive the order to attack."

But this deliberation is interrupted by a sudden burst of action, again Valeri and the others occupying the city coming under a sustained attack from an unknown force. The enemy isn't the Home Guard, but Valeri recognises the troops as having some of the same uniforms, the black bands around their arms visible in the daylight from across the way. To men like Valeri Kovalenko, dedicated soldiers of the revolution, the sight of so many enemy forces in the distance can only mean a difficult fight down the road. In these dark, dark times, when so many are dying, all Valeri can do is survive through this fight and live to survive through another. It's entirely unlike the old fight they'd used to fight, in boldly and impassionately taking to the streets without care for what might happen to them. But to hold their position even as there's a slaughter underway in the city of Milton Keynes doesn't sit well with Valeri, nor with the brothers and sisters under his provisional charge. On a small hill overlooking the western part of the city, Valeri and the others haven't been spotted by the city's defenders, not yet.

"If you've had enough of slogging through the mud," says Valeri, speaking with some of the younger brothers among them, "then you'll fight hard to seize the city, when the time comes." He finds himself falling back on old habits, on his instincts to see him through this period when still he must learn how to lead such a group of men and women. Absent any clear organisation and following the pattern of the Popular Front from top to bottom, Valeri has taken it on himself to appoint one of those under his charge to be his lead hand. He's selected Lynn Jackson. He's come to value her perspective, given that she's more than ten years older than him. "Listen to him," says Lynn, at Valeri's side, "and you'll live through this." These men and women all look to Valeri with a kind of muted awe. He thinks they see in him something that isn't there, although he puts on the bravest face he can manage. But Valeri is no grizzled veteran, having been in arms only for around a year, in that time having learned and seen so much more than many of the young men and women serving among the soldiers of the Popular Front.

In Aylesbury, Sister Baldwin's deliberations continue. Sister Baldwin is a former prostitute, her youth spent plying the streets of Liverpool, offering her body to men as though she were nothing more than a piece of meat. Around Valeri's age when the first revolution failed to bring about meaningful change, she didn't take part, the streets of Liverpool consuming her in a relentless struggle simply to survive. After the blood had been cleaned from the pavement and the spent shell casings recovered for recycling, Catherine had been forced to confront a new beginning, soon evicted from her little, one-room flat in the police raids that struck indiscriminately throughout the working class districts of Britain's cities and towns. It's in her having been unable to take part in that failed revolution that is still a source of lasting regret in her life, this regret in turn powering a determination on her part to impose what punishment she can on men who'd perpetrated the crimes of the old way of life. For the time being, though, Sister Baldwin must make a show of deliberating, even as the basic facts which prove incontrovertibly that these men are guilty have been known since the beginning. In truth, here in Aylesbury as in all the other towns and centres where these trials are taking place, the basic facts are already known and have been known by ordinary residents for many years. These, these are only the beginning of a great wave of justice to be unleashed on Britain by the new People's Republic, by its apparatchiks present and future.

As Valeri and the others read messages sent detailing the progress of these trials, they correctly deduce the only likely outcome, and all present variations of the same opinion on it. "They've had it coming for a long time," says Lynn, "they'll get what they deserve." The younger Aretha Cordoba says, "I hope they're kept alive as long as possible, so their suffering is drawn out." But Valeri says, "no matter what their punishments, it's all meaningless if we don't win on the battlefield." And to this the others can only nod their determined agreement. It's dark now, after night has fallen on the countryside, and through the darkness Valeri can see a faint light on the horizon, a sickly, pale glow from the fires of liberation burning.

Although Valeri and the others under his provisional command aren't to be in Aylesbury when the verdict is announced, having been deployed into the countryside on their exploratory mission, they'd left knowing Sister Baldwin was to issue her verdict within a short time of their departure. Left unsaid is the punishment to be meted out on the accused, with Valeri and the others knowing full well there can be only one sentence: death. But by the time Valeri and the others return to Aylesbury in several weeks, many more people than those on trial will have been killed, some by violent action in the war but mostly due to the ongoing breakdown in the fabric of pre-revolutionary society. Britain had been self-sufficient in food production many years ago, before even the failed uprising which preceded this revolution by more than fifteen years. If Valeri could ever find it in himself to grow beyond the soldier he's become, he'll see the future will hold for them all something radically different than any of them could've ever imagined, something that'll challenge men like him with tests greater than any test they've ever faced. For now, Valeri and the others continue to make good on their position, held as they are against the slope of a hill with a good view of the surrounding countryside. After the last snow has melted and the summer has emerged hotter and earlier than ever, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge will face new struggles, the likes of which none, not one of them could've ever foreseen. But as Valeri turns to their defences, he speaks with one of the young men who'd volunteered. He says to the young man, "if you ever want to abandon the fight, then you ought to do it sooner rather than later." Although most of the men are united in a common cause, there are some among their ranks who've been conscripted not by gunpoint but by compulsion of starvation, so many men and women needing to eat turning to service in the armed wing of the Popular Front to survive. The young man only says to Valeri, "I'll fight until I'm dead or the war is over, whichever comes first." And Valeri says, "that'll do," before adding, "for now."

But the attack isn't to take place for some time, in the meanwhile Valeri and the others under his provisional charge receiving new orders to hold their position even if the enemy should attack. The new orders come in a dispatch sent over the screens, with Valeri reading them over before announcing them to the others. It all seems so surreal to Valeri, as he's become in so short a time something entirely unlike what he'd been, seeming to carry himself with an authority and a dignity he'd never known before. "They'll spot us soon," says Lynn, speaking with Valeri a few hours later, "if they haven't already, that is." Valeri nods and says, "dig in. It's likely they'll attack us before we attack them." But when he looks next to the enemy positions in the urban area below, he sees enemy troops on the move. They're headed not for Valeri's position but deeper into the city, leaving only a smaller force to man their lines. "I don't know what they're doing," says Valeri, keeping his eyes focused on the enemy troops. "They're going to kill some civilians," says Lynn, "they've been rumoured to be conduction mass murder of anyone they can find." Valeri says, "they're murdering Jews, as well as others." Lynn nods and says, "Romani, Polish people, anyone who they hate." Valeri says, "they murder so many innocent people."

He recalls that young girl whose handkerchief he still keeps in his pocket, that young girl part of a mostly-indistinct mass of flesh they'd encountered as evidence of a massacre. But with the coming uprising a whole new wave of cruelty and degradation will be unleashed. By the time it begins, the next uprising against capitalist rule will seem, at first, indistinct from the relentless orgy of destruction and death gripping many of Britain's cities, an authority will emerge that should seek to challenge even the new People's Republic for mastery of the future. It's something else entirely for men like Valeri and the others under his provisional charge to stand by and watch while a massacre unfolds before them, Valeri's growing anger becoming harder for him to conceal. "We don't know if all the murderers can be brought to justice," says Valeri, "but we're part of the force that's got to try."

Word soon arrives from Sister Simpson, their orders not to launch any attack on the city until further notice. In her message, Sister Simpson reiterates that they're to hold their current positions even in the face of overwhelming enemy attack, although Valeri notes this seems less likely than ever. Instead, Valeri thinks the enemy might not even attack, at least not any time soon. And the Popular Front elsewhere continues to align its forces, adjusting its plans to account for losses, struggling as it does to reinstate order among the chaos. But elsewhere, the killings continue unabated, the sectarian gangs and paramilitary militias escalating their attacks on Jews and others. "Why are we being ordered not to intervene now?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba. "Sister Simpson didn't say," says Valeri, "but those are our orders." Only some months earlier and Valeri would've been among those who'd have disregarded orders and gone off in a blaze of glory, or so he'd have liked to think. "They're planning something," says Lynn, her tone guarded as to suggest she's carefully choosing her words, "if we intervene now then we'll fail, and then there'll be no one left to avert the greater atrocities that'll follow it." To this Valeri can only nod his grim determination, devoting his thoughts as he does to the carnage unfolding in the town beyond. It's an untimely event, but as the fighters under Valeri's provisional charge hold firm to their positions the massacre unfolding below them peters out, as it must. As they'd all learned at the outset of the last general strike which succeeded in bringing down the Provisional Government, now Valeri and the others must content themselves to play the waiting game. Back in Aylesbury, though, the trials which are merely the prelude to something much greater continue. Until the last of the testimony is gathered and the full extent of the crimes of the accused is known, the people's court which Sister Baldwin presides over must hold off on delivering the verdict which'd been arrived at even before proceedings had begun. As the purpose of these people's courts and the penalties they're about to impose on the guilty is to exact justice, it should come as no surprise to any that their guilt is predetermined. But this is by design.

Performing such a dedicated and skilful manipulation of the ebb and flow of the war is something easily within the ability of the rebel Elijah. He doesn't know where the future will take them, although he knows for sure their revolution is to become much more difficult. For the countryside beyond the control of the new People's Republic, a violent cavalcade has begun to erupt, killing After observing the killings in the town below, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge wait for new instructions, hoping their time to attack is at hand. But it never comes. Back in the narrow pane of light between one moment and the next, a small switch is flipped, one which no one can see but which is real. The flipping of this switch marks a decisive moment in the course of the revolution in Britain, long and winding as the revolution's course is. For Valeri and the men and women under his provisional charge, this time will provide them ample opportunity to demonstrate their humanitarian credentials,

A young man named Charles Lloyd lives and works in the small city of Telford, still in nationalist hands despite nearby Birmingham being a major stronghold for the Popular Front's forces. Here in Telford, there's little work, the front line having cut off the commuter town from the larger city where many residents had worked. Charles is one among them, many of his friends having been killed or taken into one labour force or another. At a meeting of citizens, held neither in a church nor at a union hall but in an old, mostly disused shopping complex, Charles anticipates the coming affair. "...And after all we've been through," says the speaker, a middle aged woman whose name Charles doesn't know, "we can't die now." There hasn't been much fighting in this town, despite the close proximity to the nearest rebel lines. "We can't make a decision by ourselves," says Charles, speaking later with a group of his friends, "if it comes to that, you'll take care of it." The war, whether the war on the continent or the revolutionary war in the streets of Britain's cities has come to dominate life for everyone in all parts of the country. But Charles has already made a decision. "When the rebels come here," he says, "I'll join them." But one of his friends reports on his declaration to the local authority. A few days later, he's found at home by a handful of militiamen. Without speaking to him, they identify him and then shoot him dead, in full view of his friends.

When next Valeri and the others under his provisional charge turn to battle, they'll find themselves embroiled in a struggle entirely unlike the struggle they've come to know. It won't be anything immediately obvious to any of them, particularly not to Valeri. No, when next Valeri's brothers and sisters make contact with the enemy, they come under a sustained assault from a seemingly reinvigorated enemy force. There's the cracking of gunfire and the bursting of bombs all around them, all at once. But when Valeri takes to the screen to request help, he's met first with static, then with an unfamiliar voice who says, "surrender and there's a chance you might live through this." Valeri hands the screen to Aretha, then turns back to face the battle. The transmission wasn't meant for him, and was only accidentally picked up by Aretha. Still, as they face down this current enemy attack they fight with a grim-faced determination; if this must be their grave then Valeri determines to take as many of the enemy with him as he can.

But for a young woman named Gina Peters in the small city of Burnley, this time is one of confusion and disorientation. The front lines, such as they are, lie only a few kilometres away, the Popular Front's forces advancing along the old motorway that leads into the city from Blackburn to the west. The local militia have gone on a rampage in anticipation of the Popular Front seizing Burnley, killing, looting, and burning anything they can. This leaves women like Gina Peters hiding for fear of their lives, she among a group of a few dozen hiding in an old church's basement. They think the militiamen wouldn't dare attack them here, even though they're aware of militiamen and their forebearers in the now-defunct Home Guard having shot up and burned down numerous churches across the country. But at least the Home Guard had displayed some restraint, in taking prisoner those who'd surrendered. The militiamen in many parts of the country don't take prisoners, although a few have done so. "Let us pray," says the preacher, one of the few not yet given to following the banner of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. He leads them in prayer, including Gina, even as the militiamen arrive and park their lorry in the lot immediately outside. He continues to lead them in prayer even as the militiamen prepare to burst inside. He says, "...and we must refuse to resist this aggression, as we pray for deliverance from this evil." But it doesn't come. Gina is one of the last to be killed. Before she dies one of the last sights she sees is the militiamen setting their church on fire. She's killed with a single bullet. In parts of Britain under the control of the new People's Republic, and by extension the Popular Front, posters bearing Elijah's likeness have gone up, adorning the sides of buildings, buses, and on schools. Although Elijah himself despises such a cult of personality, he permits his followers to call for loyalty to his image, knowing as he does that the maintenance of such an icon should help win the war by raising morale. But he forbids his followers to put up his image as a call to worship, suggesting to them that the absence of any such display might make for a more powerful symbol. "As it is written," says Elijah, "the first shall be last and the last shall be first." Still Elijah conceals his illness from even his closest disciples, knowing as he does that no doctor could help him. Thus far he's able to conceal his illness, which remains confined to his body's systems but doesn't affect his ability to perform his work in leading the revolution. It's this illness that will someday make even his work impossible or nearly so, although this day is far into the future.

Elsewhere, there're many who offer little or no resistance to the pillaging of the nationalist militia and sectarian forces who go on a rampage, despite all that's happened still some refusing openly to take up arms. In the city of Gloucester, well outside the territory controlled by the forces of the Popular Front, an older woman named Courtney Quinn having given up on finding her missing children years ago despite the promise of finding them alive somewhere. She now spends her days outside the old town square, shuttling between jobs, working a few hours here, a few hours there, anything she can find to keep herself alive. The power fails intermittently, and occasionally the water cuts out for days at a time. But when the local militia goes on a rampage, the power coincidentally comes on just as the first victims are shot dead. "Don't hurt me," she says, speaking with one militiaman, "please spare my life." But the militiaman, a much younger man whose face is covered behind a mask, offers no reaction. "For my children," she says, "I have children. They're still alive—" But the militiaman shoots her dead. Such unparalleled cruelty would've seemed shocking only a few years ago, but now as an unseen screen captures Courtney's killing for all the world to see it registers only as one crime of many.

After repelling that assault, the platoon-sized unit under Valeri's charge has suffered several killed, their strength sapped. "The next time they come we may not be able to withstand their assault," says Lynn Jackson. "It won't come to that," says Valeri, "because we'll attack them first." To most of the men, it seems an absurd proposition to attack even in their moment of weakness, when all it should take is one more determined enemy assault to kill them all. But as Valeri is beginning to understand the once-forbidden gospel of the rebel Elijah, in the visceral sort of way that he is, he knows that in their moment of weakness the only choice can be to attack. Of all those fighters left, the younger Aretha Cordoba echoes Valeri's determination, and on her screen she penetrates the static to make contact with Sister Simpson in Aylesbury. Sister Simpson orders them to prepare for an imminent offensive, which Valeri is only too happy to oblige. He hopes to have the chance to redeem the murderers who oppose their revolution.

As quickly as it seemed these brutal murders perpetrated by militiamen began, they won't end so quickly, a new and particularly deadly phase in the war having been broached. In the small, seaside city of Ramsgate, an old man named Doug Burke has long ago lived himself past any use as a worker, made instead to live hand to mouth, on the charity of others. Like many other cities and towns throughout Britain, the little city of Ramsgate had long ago seen most of its churches shuttered as its people were led to believe in a folly of faith, with the wealthy having come to deride belief as outdated superstition. In the little city of Ramsgate, most recently men like Doug had begun returning to the ways of old, being as he is just old enough to remember a time when faith was not something to be ashamed of. Now, with the revolution well underway, the revival of faith has come to Ramsgate as well, even if the iron grip of the local authority forces men like Doug to turn in faith to home churches. When the local militia comes around to attack these unauthorised home churches, men like Doug have no capacity to resist. When militiamen come to raid their home church, he says to the younger parishioners, "you go, I'll stay." After most of the faithful have fled, the militiamen find only a few left, Doug among them. They beat him, smashing his face with the butts of their rifles, but he refuses to give in. Through blood and tears streaming down his face, he only says to them, "you can never win."

In preparation for their assault on the city before them, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge have established contact with other Popular Front units at other positions in the area. The whole lot of them form a loose ring around the city, part of a series of movements in cities and towns across Britain, in those cities and towns which're not under the control of the new People's Republic, exactly as they'd once moved through the countryside seeking to evade the attack of the now-defunct Home Guard. At night, Valeri feels like he's in his element, immersed in the vast blackness, able to make himself and his men and women completely formless to the enemy. True, he realises the enemy can use the night to become formless as well, but this equalisation of abilities should favour whoever has the cunning to use it.

In having killed the king and the rest of the royal family, the forces of the Popular Front had firmly sealed the end of the old way of life. Although the king had been manipulated as an energetic symbol by parties who made up the conspiracy behind the now-defunct Provisional Government, his death and the deaths of his family had served as en epitaph for those who would cling even to the trappings of royalty. Although the killing of the royal family As pictures of the king's broken body and the broken bodies of the rest of the royal family had circulated around the world on the data networks quickly afterwards, mock outrage had soon spread, with the revolution's enemies seeking to foment upset among the working class. They didn't succeed. Although Valeri wasn't part of the operation to kill the royal family, he'd been part of the drive to seize Westminster and establish the new People's Republic which makes the city its capital. Although the royal family is dead, there remains the lingering spectre of its revival as nationalists of various stripes continue to clamour for retribution against the Popular Front for their deaths. A handful of Popular Front apparatchiks in parts of the country outside the Popular Front's control are soon rounded up and executed by nationalist militia, each of the apparatchiks defiantly refusing to denounce the cause of the Popular Front to the end. As Valeri and the others continue to fight through the countryside beyond the small city of Aylesbury, the lingering effects of the brutal killing of the entire royal family will continue to pose significant challenges for them. As Valeri and the others prepare to face down the next enemy attack on their positions, an attack they're sure will come at any moment, forces far beyond their control continue to wreak havoc on their lives. "It doesn't matter what happens to us," Valeri recalls his father having said to him more than once during his childhood, "but what we can leave for the next generation." It's in this spirit that Valeri quietly reasserts his determination not to rest until there's nothing left of the old order, the old way of life, not until the revolution is won over every corner of Britain.

Finally, even through this most brutal period of attacks and reprisals by enemies of the revolution there's still hope. In the city of Bournemouth, within one of the largest English urban areas controlled by the National Forces, an elderly woman named Nancy Carson observes the brutality of the militiamen first hand. Here in Bournemouth, the local government is controlled by militiamen who've seized power and agreed to follow the banner of the Sons of Cornwall, making this area the furthest east the banner has been flown. The Sons of Cornwall remains an authority in name only, with no practical cooperation among the various authorities and townships that've pledged to follow them. From her vantage point, a third-floor flat with a window looking out over the street, she can observe as some militiamen march into the street a column of men, women, and children. Her family, hiding on the other side of the room, urge her to come away from the window. They say she'll be shot dead if she's seen to witness what's happening outside. "I have not so long to live anyways," she says, before turning to look out just in time. She sees several of the men, women, and children killed, each of them shot dead by the militiamen. "Don't think only of yourself," says her adult son, "think of the children." It's not known why these men, women, and children are being killed. It's often not known. The cruelty and the degradation of the war often leaves no room for reason. As Nancy turns from the window, out of the corner of her eye she catches a view of one of the young militiamen looking at her. It's only for a moment, and the young militiaman seems to look uncertain of himself. As she withdraws, she expects the militiamen to break and look for her.

But it doesn't come. As the chattering of gunfire rings out through the day and night, Valeri and the others keep a constant watch. They hold fast to their orders, to keep their position and wait for the signal to attack, even as each of them agrees on their desire to take up the offensive. The three young soldiers who'd taken in with them have kept to themselves, more or less fighting as any other men or women. But to Valeri it seems a difficult thing, even as he's come to realize the larger truth that the revolution must be won. When at last the coming offensive is to be let loose, it'll have a dramatic effect on the changing course of the war, both here in Britain and all around the world.

10. Mortal Coil

Finally, in Aylesbury verdicts are announced. The wealthy men and the political types of old are all to be put to death, executed for their crimes. In announcing the verdict, the Popular Front's apparatchik, Catherine Baldwin, declares hanging the method to be used. In declaring so, she says, "the firing squad is a soldier's death, and these men are criminals, not soldiers." Although Valeri has been put to use before as an ad hoc executioner, the experience of having shot dead those Home Guard troops under the watchful eye of Elijah himself only a few months ago providing him a frame of reference on what to expect even though he's not to serve as an executioner. But it's not to happen right away. Sister Baldwin declares the executions to take place the next day, not at dawn but at dusk. This is appropriate, she says, because their deaths should be taken as a particular expression of the transfer of power from the few to the many, an important milestone given form. "As they have condemned so many others to hardship and poverty, so shall they be condemned by their own sins," says Sister Baldwin, "as each has refused to pledge themselves unconditionally to the struggle of the Popular Front, the wages of their sins shall be visited upon them."

It's only fortunate that this act should come at a time when the general strikes, the relentless orgy of hatred and recrimination that the strikes degenerated into seem to have no end. Therein lies the truth, the fundamental truth which still eludes even men like Valeri, simple as their thoughts are, consigned as they are to the physical struggle facing them every day. These executions, these hangings, they're not altogether unfamiliar to many of the men and women who'd served in the Popular Front for years, but they come as a uniquely transformative experience, the collective desire for justice given the ultimate form in the sacrifice of flesh. As for Valeri, well, he and the others remain in the field, even as they receive regular updates from Sister Baldwin on their screens. "I don't know what the season will bring," says one young man, one of the young men they'd picked up in their drive through the countryside, "I just hope they all get what they've had coming for a long time."

At their position, Valeri nods, saying, "their days of pitting the working class against one another will soon be at an end." Across the way, he sees Lynn Jackson trying out spots to rest her rifle, as if to shoot downrange. She nods at Valeri, as if to acknowledge the impending attack. "We've lost too much for any of us to give up now," says Valeri, "after all that's happened, I will keep fighting until I'm dead or the war is won." A grim determination, but one which the men and women under his provisional charge agree with, as shown by the nodding of heads and the clenching of fists. Although it seems harsh, the grim determination of these men and women, mostly young but some middle-aged, to fight to the bitter end is the only possible determination any of them could make. Now, there lingers the question of what to do with the labour unrest gripping much of the country, the newly-declared People's Republic having won the loyalty of most of the worker's councils in the larger urban areas but still facing the daunting task of bringing order to chaos. It's not so simple a task as to order these striking workers back to work, given as their inflamed passions are the product of so many years of impoverishment. And then there're the killings, the lynchings and the reprisals, in areas outside the Popular Front's control a relentless orgy of violence and terror of the old way of life given a newer, more orderly form in the murders of the militiamen in various parts of the country. Valeri won't be called on to carry out the hangings, as he and the others serving under Sister Simpson are needed to fight the enemy forces on the battlefield, whoever they might be, wherever they might come.

On the outskirts to the northwest, they seek to secure the motorway and with it a critical link between the Popular Front's strongholds in the Midlands and the newly proclaimed stronghold encompassing all of Greater London and much of the surrounding countryside. At the gun, they talk among themselves, while they talk the winds coursing around their bodies like a river around rapids, chilling them to the bone. "I hope the others are still fighting as hard as we are," says Lynn, "because we're going to need everyone to give everything they have to the revolution." Preparing to move on from Aylesbury, the 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury, will keep its namesake, even as Valeri and the others prepare to leave Aylesbury for the final time. The mark they've left on this city, indelible and only months earlier inconceivable, should be seared into their memories, if any of them should expect to live long enough to pass their memories down to whoever'll come next. And now, with more than a month left until the calendar's beginning of summer, it's already much hotter than ever. "D'you think this'll make them fight harder?" asks one young fighter. "It'll make me fight harder," says Valeri, "and that's all I can guarantee." Across the way, Lynn Jackson secures her position, then shouts to Valeri, "they're coming!" He looks down the road, seeing in the distance a few men advancing towards their positions. He nods knowingly at Lynn, who begins snapping out orders.

But while the little city of Aylesbury is governed by the newly-established regime, there're many others outside the control of the Popular Front who seek the guidance and the purpose of the cause of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. Manning the line outside the urban area, Valeri and the others hold fast with their gun, scanning the road and the adjacent fields for any sign of movement, for any enemy troops who might be creeping forward. It's not for the faint of heart nor for the weaker of wills, this incessant starting and stopping of the action, Valeri and the others manning the gun unsure when next they could be made to fight for their lives. It's almost dark out, the setting sun casting a sickly orange glow on the snow-covered fields, the harshness of the late-winter's cold making itself acutely felt in the chill infused into Valeri's body. Although Valeri and most of the other fighters have grown up in a time of unusual climate extremes, the summers far hotter and the winters far colder and stormier than before, the frigid temperatures present a discomfort he could never get used to. Some people will die tonight from exposure, not in the little hole in the ground where Valeri and the rest of his gun crew stand but in little nooks and crannies scattered across revolutionary Britain, in areas under the control of the new People's Republic and in areas under the control of the new National Forces coalition. This is to be the last major storm of this winter's season, as soon as it lets up the full brunt of an early spring to set in.

One man, a middling manager who'd cut wages and sacked workers on behalf of absentee owners of numerous small industrial concerns, is sentenced to death by hanging like all the other accused. His name's Earl Ingram, and he tries to plead for his life, insisting he was only carrying out orders on behalf of owners. Even as he's led to the gallows the day after his guilt was proclaimed and his sentence decided, he still refuses to admit wrongdoing, and in so refusing he spurns the rebel Elijah's offer of clemency. Although Valeri isn't present when Ingram is hanged, he learns of the executions having been carried out later in the day, during a pause in the fighting on the front lines when news is delivered he allows himself a moment of satisfaction. Even as he feels the pain of so much wear and tear on his body, still he can't help but think on the pain meted out a thousand times over on so many innocent men, women, and children, all across the country and throughout the world. When the men and women in his small unit learn of Ingram's execution, they talk. "This is a good day," says Valeri, "for all of us." He recalls having taken justice into his own hands, having executed the murderer of that little girl whose handkerchief he keeps as a memento to the innocent. "It's only the beginning," says Lynn, "if we fail then it'll all be for nothing." While reading reports on the executions in the city of Aylesbury and in other cities around Britain, Valeri recalls the surge of electric energy he'd felt, the adrenaline coursing through his veins whenever he'd put his hands on an enemy soldier and taken the life out of him.

Is Valeri Kovalenko a cold-blooded murderer, or is he a soldier discharging his duties in a dispassionate, methodical way? Even he doesn't know. If ever it seems as though he knows, as he must appear to know for the benefit of those under him, he doesn't. If he's the former, then he's only one of many cold-blooded murderers in mid-twenty-first century Britain. If he's the latter, then he's at the vanguard of a new struggle, once seeking dignity but now seeking dominance as well. It's a confused and disoriented time, when the vast bulk of the people in Britain remain fixated on their own personal short-term survival, even as the Popular Front begins the arduous task of exacting justice against the enemies of the working class here in Britain. Another man, a banker who'd made a career out of helping wealthy patrons creatively account for their holdings so as to relieve them of taxes, is sentenced to death by hanging like all the other accused. His name's Phillip Greene, and he tries to bargain for his life, insisting he was only performing his duties and paid every pound in taxes he was required to pay under the law. Even as he's led to the gallows the day after his guilt was proclaimed and his sentence decided, he still refuses to admit wrongdoing, and in so refusing he spurns the rebel Elijah's offer of clemency. Although Valeri isn't present when Greene is hanged, he joins in the rest of his brothers and sisters in the Popular Front in celebrating the occasion, learning of it as they do through a proclamation sent over the networks to their screens.

"We've held them off," says Valeri, "and the time to attack is almost at hand." But the order doesn't come, not yet, even as the sound of gunfire rattles off in the distance. After the latest exchange of fire with the enemy, it seems to Valeri as though the attack could be called off, that the absence of an order from Sister Simpson could mean they'll be called back to Aylesbury. His thoughts drift momentarily to that family in that little, two-storey house, wondering if they're still alive. But other considerations intrude. "Do you think they'll attack again?" asks Valeri, speaking privately with Lynn. "They might," says Lynn, "but even if they do, there's no telling what weakness they'll come with." Valeri nods his agreement, learning slowly to take solace in his counsel with the older Lynn. He'll need it, in ways he's only beginning to understand.

As the day gives way to the night, the appointed time for the executions of the wealthy men and the political types from the old regime draws nearer. This night is particularly hot and humid, even in mid-twenty-first century Britain overnight temperatures of over thirty degrees proving a formidable to withstand. A third man, a magistrate from the local court who'd sent many working men to jail for petty crimes over the years, is sentenced to death by hanging like all the other accused. His name's Winston Blackmoore, and he tries to argue for his life, insisting he was only applying the law as it'd been written, and that he bears no responsibility for merely following laws set by the society into which he was born. Although Valeri isn't present when Blackmoore is hanged, he finds himself imagining his own witnessing of the event, after the previous hangings have created in him a subconscious need to see it. Like most other working class men in mid-twenty-first century Britain, Valeri can recall having seen many wealthy men use the power of the courts to impose their will on everyone else, through entirely legal evictions, demolitions, purges of the workforce, even attacks on encampments of the unemployed. As he reads the latest verdicts from Aylesbury, he thinks it a fitting punishment that these men should be put to death by a court of the working class. In a moment of quiet before their offensive is set to begin, Valeri and a few of the others watch on a screen the proceedings, including the final judgements. But Valeri knows they must keep fighting. "If the Jews of that city are all killed before we can save them," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "then what good is it to seize the city?" Although Valeri doesn't disagree, he can't be seen to voice his opinion, conscious as he's becoming of the need to toe the line. He says, "a lot of people will die, regardless of whether we attack now or not."

These three men are only a sampling of those sentenced to death by hanging for various crimes, even the whole lot of those sentenced here today an infinitesimal portion of the criminals yet to be judged. Although Valeri and the bulk of the men in the Popular Front's garrison here in Aylesbury are consumed in defending the town from attack, they all hear of the verdicts and the sentences within a few minutes of their announcement. It's not to be the last time the old regime is made to account for its excesses, for its crimes. In fact, these early figures who've been hanged for miscellaneous crimes are only a small sampling of what's to come, the greatest criminals evading even this firm justice. As Valeri and the others prepare themselves to face another attack from across the countryside, it seems to Valeri as though the next battle has already begun. Suddenly, there's the rattling of gunfire up and down the line, the enemy launching a new attack square on the centre of their defenses, causing Valeri to leap into action. Manning the gun, he shoots down range, scattering fire across the approaching enemy gunmen, his rounds striking the middle of enemy position, punching holes in the sides of the enemy barricade. Valeri has seen many men and women killed since the revolution began, since even before the revolution began, thinking as he does back to that massacre of unarmed demonstrators years ago. It's a little while later, several days having passed while Valeri and the men under his provisional charge wait for their next orders. "I can't stand this blasted waiting," says Valeri, speaking with his lead hand, Lynn Jackson. "They know we're here," says Lynn, "they've always known we're here." The enemy attack on their position has ended, but the action must continue. "Can you hear the artillery," asks Lynn, turning to the darkness of the night. "I can," says Valeri. The heavier guns are hardly audible, against the chattering of rifle fire and the bursting of bombs filling all the miles between them.

But their attack is not to be without its costs, Valeri's platoon-sized unit having lost several men and women killed over the past few days. There are some reinforcements, in the form of young men and women culled from among the local population in Aylesbury. These impromptu trials and executions have given the new People's Republic a resurgent energy, as if the dark essence which guides their revolution has been placated by a round of human sacrifice, in Aylesbury and in select cities and towns under the control of the new People's Republic. But this, this is only the beginning. A much larger struggle has yet to play itself out, the dark essence which guides the revolution coming into contact with the angel of light which guides the counter-revolution. Next, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge get on the move again, this time following orders relayed to them by another Popular Front unit. As they march through the countryside, they sweat enough to require regular rests. The spring thaw, now over, has turned the countryside into a morass of mud. "Take that position," says Valeri, "and we'll be able to attain the high ground." Lynn snaps out the orders, within half an hour the position secure absent any interference from the enemy below. Valeri surveys their new emplacements from a central spot at the top of the hill, nestled within a bank of forest. It's the perfect view for him to consider the coming assault, if ever the order should be given. "If they approach shoot them dead," says Valeri, speaking of the enemy men defending the city, "but otherwise we conserve our ammunition." Again, Lynn snaps out the orders.

But other thoughts weigh on Valeri's mind, beyond those of the task at hand. In the city where once he'd lived as a young, ill-mannered malcontent, the future of the new People's Republic hangs in the balance, now, only a few months after it'd been declared. This, this fact is known to Valeri, in the vague and instinctive way he can know such a thing. He feels the wind curling against the back of his neck. He hears the foliage rustling in the breeze. The distant sounds of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting have become as an afterthought to him, his ascent from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's yet to be having changed him so much in so many ways, so many ways even he can't begin to understand. "Don't think too much about it," says Lynn, approaching Valeri a little while later, "focus on the task at hand." "I'll do my best," says Valeri, allowing himself a moment of weakness only his lead hand can see. "That's all anyone can do," says Lynn, "do your best and let events take their course." Valeri asks, "when did you become so wise?" Lynn says, "I'm not wise, I've just learned the limits of my own self." Although outwardly Valeri seeks to project an steely determination, inwardly he continues to harbour fear for what might come. After having witnessed so many cruel acts, he's not yet become fully desensitised to the violence and the degradation the war has subjected so many people to. When Lynn turns away and makes for her spot on the line, Valeri reaches into his pocket and draws out the little handkerchief he'd recovered from that dead girl. The handkerchief remains stained a deep, dull red, the dead girl's blood a constant reminder of the evil to be fought against. When they'd come across the site of that particular massacre, perpetrated as it'd been by the hand of the now-defunct Home Guard, Valeri had known he'd never forget it.

After Christopher Jenkins and Helen Reed had first admitted to one another their feelings, an immediate period of action had set in. "There's no room for anything unnecessary," says the local warden, appointed to manage the area by the apparatchik of the Popular Front. "That's fine," says Chris, "we're all here to do work." By the time they reach their destination, a work camp on the far side of the city, they've seen much that could give them cause for thought. "Look," says Helen, pointing at the sky. There's aircraft flying high in the sky again, but their contrails are lacking in the swirls and twirls that'd characterised the aerial combat between British fighters and Russian attack planes before the truce between countries. "They're flying straight," says Chris, "and they're not so high." They don't know it, can't know that these aircraft are neither British nor Russian but American, some of the first American military aircraft to have flown over British skies in half a century.

"We won't be slaves to anyone," says Helen, after having begun to work in the streets as ordinary labourers repairing the roads. "You're right about that," says Chris, "and we're not slaves anymore." They both work for guaranteed food and rent, plus a living stipend which can provide for other expenses. But in this time, with urban life in Britain having all but ground to a halt, these living stipends are all but worthless, the real value in their compensation coming in the form of food. As Chris and Helen are beginning to learn, the nascent People's Republic must muster every able body in service of the war effort if it's to survive this newer, deadlier phase in the revolution. But there's more to it than that.

The sight of so many bodies having become one great mass of discoloured flesh and the thick, acrid stench of human tissue decaying will remain with Valeri for as long as he lives. As Valeri and the others under his provisional charge prepare for another attack, other concerns present themselves. Few of the men and women in Valeri's platoon-sized unit have working screens, and with the networks down for good none of these can manage a connection with the outside world. It means little to Valeri, to be so cut off from the various technologies once taken for granted by men like him, and now to have been made to live with only the bare essentials. For a final restitution, the men who have been subjected to trials in Aylesbury and in cities and towns held by the People's Republic are to be marched through public, their sentences to be carried out at a makeshift gallows in the old psychiatric hospital, long abandoned but now repurposed by the Popular Front as a prison of sorts. But these executions are to be only the first in a wave of reprisals against the wealthy men of the old order, these immediate offenders punished but the larger effort to take much longer.

Elsewhere, Julia Roberts has become further embroiled in the difficulties of war. After Fred White's injury had taken him out of action for several weeks, Julia has become loathe to continue taking his place on the railyard's governing council. In the several weeks since her ascension to the council, there's been a series of rolling strikes, half of the council pitted against the other half by ideological and political struggles which Julia has only begun to understand. "This has got to stop," she says, speaking with one of the other workers while manning her post at the railyard. "There's no telling what could happen next," says her fellow worker. The trains they'd expected to direct have been delayed by the destruction of sections of rail lines leading out to the west. A few bands of Popular Front fighters have come and gone, heading towards the direction of the fighting, while a few have remained to guard this strategic location. "Do you think they'll take a side on the council?" asks the fellow worker. "I don't know," says Julia, "but I don't think we'll have long to find out." When more Popular Front fighters pass through, they head not west but east, carrying wounded to hospitals deeper in Greater London. Julia fears for her family; when she finally sees them again, they'll have shocking news to share with her. But she'll have even more shocking news to share with them.

As Valeri Kovalenko and the others under his provisional charge prepare for a decisive assault, he draws on some hidden reserve of strength to push himself harder than ever. Having become accustomed to sleeping as little as four hours per night, the fatigue in every part of his body is a constant companion, one which he's learned to work through. He sees the young man who'd joined their ranks from that little estate, he sees the young man struggling through the task of loading his rifle. But it's not for the faint of heart. Almost no one among Valeri's companions at the beginning of his joining the revolution are left alive, and many of those who live are badly injured. For the time being, Valeri and the others will have to content themselves with keeping their positions and warding off the occasional enemy attack, only to find, when the time comes, that it's all been for nought. In the evening, a few days after the executions in Aylesbury and elsewhere, Valeri and Lynn take to talking. "Do you see the lights in the distance?" asks Lynn, as she points at a row running alongside a road. "What's that?" asks Valeri, seeing only lights, nothing more. "They're new," says Lynn. She says she's been observing the sky, and she's seen aircraft seeming to fly an unusual path. In the city beyond, still in enemy hands, they're punishing working class people, killing and torturing based on such things as the colour of a man's skin or the language on his tongue. In Aylesbury behind, the Popular Front punishes men based on their deeds, based on the content of their character. It's this dramatic and shocking difference between the two that illustrates the growing divide separating the future from the anti-future, which Valeri and the others under his provisional charge can't understand, not yet, even as they're confronted with it.

For Joe Hill and Nina Schultz, these past few weeks have seen them experience even worse violence and degradation than before. After repelling the recent attack on their church, the rogue pastor who'd led this church determines not to abandon their posts. "This has got to be the best we can do," says Joe, speaking with Nina after both had observed some congregants leaving the church. "They no longer think this church is the safest place to be," says Nina. "But where are they going?" asks Joe. There's the distant sound of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting long into the night, seemingly overnight the viciousness and the brutality of the current regime here in Sunderland as in much of the rest of the country having escalated into a new campaign. "People are dying," says Joe. "A lot of them see no point in staying here," says Nina, "not only in this church but in this city." They realise there's little that can be done to protect the most harshly targeted. "You're right about that," comes the voice of the rogue pastor, approaching them from behind, "and this church may not necessarily be a place for refuge." What happens next, whether in the hearts and minds of the parishioners who remain or on the highways on which refugees travel, will change their lives, forever.

The next attack on Valeri's band of fighters outside the city of Aylesbury won't be the last, but it will be the most intense yet. Although the public writ large has little appetite for an uprising throughout the remainder of the country, the strength of the Popular Front and the resiliency of the working class from which it derives its strength are as boundless as the smoke-filled sky. "I'm glad they're finally getting what they deserve," says Valeri, "but it's not enough." To this, the others can only agree, with Lynn saying, "all the atrocities that they've committed can't be undone, but they can be avenged." For the first time, Valeri begins to consider the larger point. These early tribunals and the death sentences they're meting out are only a small sample of what must inevitably come. Many centuries of the degradation and oppression of the working class by their masters having produced so much pent-up frustration and the need for retribution that can't be sated by so few and so small a series of acts.

And in another part of the country, Marilyn Carter and her friend Dan Murphy remain in the custody of the local militia, but no longer in prison. Instead, they're put to work as slave labourers. The local militia in this part of the country, loyal by proxy to the National Forces, is continuing the tradition of the now-defunct Home Guard in employing the use of slave labour. In fact, the men who guard them as they work in the streets and in the local factories and warehouses are all former Home Guard, their commander having simply traded in one loyalty for another when the Provisional Government had been destroyed. In the street, as she works under armed guard Marilyn sometimes hopes she'll see the fighters of the Popular Front moving through, freeing them from the iron grip of this slavery. "You must always work hard," says the nearest guard, a new man in the area who none of the slave workers recognise. Neither Marilyn nor Dan have seen each other since being taken in by the local militia and tortured for information on the activities of the Popular Front in the area, information neither of them had. "I wonder where he is now," says Marilyn. After they'd seized their prison in a brief but violent uprising, the militiamen had put down their uprising with heavy casualties on both sides. "He was a good friend," says Marilyn, "and good friends are hard to come by in this day and age." Little does she know that it was her good friend Dan who'd surrendered to the militiamen and then under torture confessed to a litany of crimes he'd never committed. He's still in another section of the prison, under torture continuously giving up the names and crimes of many others. He hasn't yet given up Marilyn's name, but he will soon. This'll cause her only pain.

Although food, fuel, and other essentials continue to be imported, the extreme shortage of these continues to pose a lethal threat to life and limb throughout the country. Britain's hospitals have been so deprived of basic medicines and qualified staff that many people have long stopped going, even for serious, life-threatening emergencies. As has been the case with food, there are, in fact, bountiful stores of medicine and medical equipment hoarded in warehouses and on the docks of ports across the country, in both areas controlled by the forces of the Popular Front and those by its enemies. Strict capital controls have been imposed by the new regime, removing the few impediments to the transfer of capital into the country while all but outlawing the transfer of capital out. Although there are few in foreign countries who would seek to invest their ill-gotten capital in British enterprises, given the tumult of the war, the apparatchiks of the Popular Front declare this an essential step to restoring British industry and winning the war against the enemies of the revolution as quickly as possible.

Even when the Popular Front has been able to find and seize these stores of medicines and other essential supplies, the new People's Republic will have to continue to be put on a wartime footing, with careful rationing needed to ensure the survival of this new beginning. "I hope this will make a difference," says Valeri, when taking in the news on Aretha's screen. "These measures won't be enough," says Valeri, "but they're a start." Lynn says, "what makes you think they won't be enough?" She seems to pointedly imply that it's presumptuous of him even to suggest an opinion on what they've all just heard. "I know it in my heart," says Valeri, "every action we take will provoke a counter-reaction. This is no different." This seems to placate Lynn, who moves on to discuss other matters. In the country outside the city of Aylesbury, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge receive word of an enemy assault on their positions closer to the city. With so many of the Popular Front's men at arms deployed in small groups into the countryside, there's a weakened garrison left behind to defend the city, something which the enemy might seek to take advantage of. The enemy, that loose coalition of sectarian militia and nationalist forces, will soon launch attacks all over the country, at exactly the same time as the Popular Front launches a new offensive of its own.

But what Roy Cook will remember most about his brief time with the now-deceased Sabrina Hale is the way she'd always seemed to be able to smile, even during the harshest of moments. Although he now faces the prospect of life without even this tenuous grasp on the possibility of a better tomorrow, he won't give up, he'll never give up on himself. They'd never become formally married, as the old government has completely disintegrated by now and the People's Republic has yet to extend itself to such matters. Immediately after they'd agreed to become married, they'd left their small flat and gone on to work together, as if nothing had changed. "No, there's no way that's going to happen," Sabrina had said to him, the night after they'd become married. "You should consider it," Roy had said, sitting with her in their little flat after a long day of work, their first day of work as a married couple. But when the war had come to them again, in the form of a series of explosions ripping through the urban area, they'd become separated as though they'd never been together at all. It's not an unexpected event, as they'd been hearing of the increasingly bold attacks by the National Forces on territory and on urban areas held by the Popular Front and administered as part of its new People's Republic. Roy Cook had said to his new wife, "we'll do it together." And then she'd been killed. Now, as he faces the prospect of the enemy launching a new attack on the area, he can only think on how to survive alone.

But the war on the continent continues. Although the truce between the Russians and their allies on one side and the western coalition on the other holds, numerous conflicts continue throughout the continent. The British Army is in a dangerous position, bearing witness to the mass slaughter of many long-persecuted peoples. A rising tide of racism and nationalism has emerged in many countries in reaction to the wave of revolutionary unrest, with many attacks throughout the country. As must be the case, as must always be the case, it takes only the slightest nudge one way or the other to set off a chain of unlikely events which'll give rise to an entirely new wave of evil. The nuclear fire on the continent which precipitated the overthrow of the now-defunct Provisional Government was but a small taste of what's to come. The many countries in the grips of civil strife are each filled with many factions vying for power, all consumed in a relentless orgy of hatred of and violence.

For Valeri and the men and women under his charge, the once-simple task of surviving through the days and the nights will become soon complicated by the need to throw themselves deliberately into harm's way, into situations they can never understand but must be called on to fight through nevertheless. But the People's Republic is hardly in a position to negotiate an end to the war on the continent, committed as the new People's Republic is to the abolition of all countries throughout the world, even itself. This revolution, long the product of centuries of degradation and impoverishment, will soon reach its apex.

11. New Terrors

And this new reign of terror is not only meant to punish the offenders, not only to exact vengeance but to bring the restive working class districts under control, to win over the permanent and unswerving loyalty of the many worker's councils by offering a channel through which their impassionate need for vengeance should be satisfied. Although the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front commit to this path with determination and vigour, Elijah himself knows he's still facing the task needing to redeem himself for his momentary lack of faith so many months, over a year ago. And outside the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri receives word from Sister Simpson that their appointed time of attack is near, though she doesn't specify a precise date or time. Still, after several weeks of marching through the countryside Valeri and the others are relieved to hear that their time is at hand. All have looked to him as a leader, the kind of leader he'd have never thought himself, and it's in his leadership of this small, platoon-sized unit that his true future in the larger course of events is foretold. As he watches the city of Milton Keynes through a pair of binoculars, he feels a vague but altogether powerful sensation seeming to pull him away. "The time must be near," says Valeri, "this is what we've been waiting for." As the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front have been planning, a new uprising is to take place, not only in areas outside the control of the new People's Republic but even in the territory it holds. "Prepare for attack," says Valeri, turning to speak to his lead hand, Lynn. This time, he's calm, that same steely determination infused into his voice but with a hint of doubt even he can't detect. Although Valeri has been through much, he's got much left to go through before he can become the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's to be. Soon, Valeri and the others are to return to Aylesbury, even the imminent offensive throughout the country hardly enough to keep them away for long.

Although the main thrust of the National Forces' attacks on Aylesbury from the east have been routed, still Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson fight to defend the town. It comes seemingly at random, bursts of action, the sudden cracking of gunfire ripping across the open fields, cutting through the forests, even burying stray rounds in the sides of buildings. While advancing on an enemy position, Valeri and the others are pinned down along an old row of houses, the field up ahead obscured on either side of the road by trees. None of them can tell where the fire is coming from, only that it's coming from somewhere up the road. They can't advance without taking fire, but nor can they yield any ground to the unknown enemy, as they could find themselves trapped and outflanked. "I see fires burning," says the young man, "looks like, five or six." Although Valeri can't see with the detail the young man can, he sees the columns of smoke rising, rising from the urban landscape. "It looks like the number of burning areas has suddenly increased," says Lynn.

In Valeri's mind the sight stimulates memories of the assaults on London's liberated zones, back when he was still but an ill-mannered malcontent. It's these memories that compel him. "We may have no choice but to make an attack," says Valeri, "with or without word from Sister Simpson." In truth, there have been many unauthorized attacks launched by various men and women in the Popular Front, each of these part of a much larger course of events which have been in the making for hundreds of years. Although Valeri and the others under his provisional charge don't know it, can't know it, these routine, unauthorized attacks are part of the strategy concocted by the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front's leadership. But this is by design, it's always by design, even as the loose and disorganised coalition opposing them begins its offensive action still the Popular Front's leadership adhering to a very specific plan for its own future. While this attack is underway, inside the city more death and destruction awaits. A few more men are roused from among the local population, immediately turned to constructing new defensive strongpoints in anticipation of an imminent assault. All across the city of Aylesbury, the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs can be heard. Overhead, for the first time in months, Valeri and the others see fighter-bombers of the People's Republic's new air force streaking through the sky, seemingly heading for enemy positions deeper in the countryside. In the midst of another assault on their positions, Valeri and the others under his charge notice the fighter-bombers only momentarily, the enemy's attack up the road commanding their attention. Valeri fires his rifle right at the enemy, only out of the chaos noting his targets. Suddenly there's a significant decrease in the chattering of gunfire from friendly positions. "Keep fire on the road," says Valeri, pausing to shout orders to the others.

"Our people are running out of ammunition," says Lynn, shouting back from across the way. "Tell them to stand their ground," says Valeri, "fight hand to hand if they have to. Don't give the enemy one inch." As quickly as Valeri could say it, Lynn spreads the word, within minutes coming back to Valeri, telling him, "everyone will fight to the death." In the heat of battle it's difficult for anyone to imagine their own deaths, even as Valeri and all the others are pledged to fight to the death. But these men and woman have been fighting too long and too hard to give in. Although some have withdrawn behind cover, they all hold their positions. The sound of gunfire soon gives way to the subdued screams and to the muffled grunts of men dying. More than a few will be stabbed and then left to bleed out in whatever little crevasse of the city they'd fallen. Valeri's got nothing after the magazine in his rifle. He thinks to make it count. But advancing directly towards him is a band of enemy gunmen. "We hold them here," he says, speaking to the others in his band, before taking up the machine gun by himself and shooting a burst of fire directly into the enemy band, killing half and sending the other half scrambling for cover. A few others manning the line shoulder their rifles and add their rounds to the cannonade, scattering fire across the advancing enemy front. They rout the enemy, forcing back their attack, the enemy not even having the chance to pull their wounded back.

As Valeri fights off the enemy attack, inside Aylesbury the death sentences are carried out, the fifteen men convicted of various crimes led to the makeshift gallows in the public square at the centre of this small city. The enemy attacks which are, even now, penetrating the Popular Front's defences around the city have hastened the executions, Sister Baldwin seeking to carry out them should the enemy succeed in dislodging the Popular Front's forces. In a way, the executions are almost anticlimactic; their bodies are left to hang, limply, lifelessly dangling from the gallows for a while. But after such a long march through the countryside, it's a quick and easy thing for Valeri and the others under his provisional charge to return to Aylesbury, arriving as they do in the middle of an enemy attack on the city. There's a confusing array of small battles, other Popular Front bands arriving over the course of a few hours.

As Valeri and the others under his provisional charge take up positions along either side of a road leading into town, they come upon an enemy section, the enemy section in the midst of an attack on their own formation. "Keep your fire on the centre of the road," Valeri says, "and keep shooting until I say otherwise." As his lead hand, Lynn, snaps out the orders, Valeri checks over his rifle and loads a new magazine. "The enemy's thrusting deep into the city," says Lynn, a few hours later during a momentary pause in the fighting. "How could they assemble such a force so quickly?" asks Valeri. They've received a supply of ammunition from the Popular Front's central stores in the city, but it's not much, not enough to last them through the heavy fighting. Men lie dying. Nearby, the enemy had seized a small block of low-rise flats, only for some of Valeri's men to launch a furious counter-attack with only their knives and bayonets, along with a few pistols and rifles between them. It occurs to Valeri that he's never seen the enemy come for their dead. Every time he's seen the nationalist militia withdraw, they haven't fought to take their wounded with them either. "They're animals," he says, speaking with some of the others a few days later. "These are the same people who murder Jewish women and children and others," says Lynn, "you shouldn't ever expect then to show any kind of concern for one another."

But no one seems to know where the National Forces keep their headquarters, nor who makes up their commanders at the highest levels. These are uncertainties which the rebel Elijah plans to exploit to the fullest, his plans taking shape even as he's been forced to make changes in accommodating completely unexpected events here in Britain and across the world. As one of their last acts before leaving the city of Aylesbury, Valeri and the others in Sister Simpson's new battalion destroy stores of alcohol, tobacco, and other drugs, in a central square piling these stores up and then setting them alight. Although the battle to defend Aylesbury from an enemy attack has proven short, its significance isn't lost on Valeri and the others. This has been the first time the National Forces, that loose and disorganised coalition, have been able to mount a coordinated offensive on the new People's Republic, something which Valeri recognises almost as soon as the last shots have been fired and the surviving enemies have withdrawn their forces. He checks his screen for new instructions from Sister Simpson. On seeing none, he wonders to himself if her headquarters in the city had been hit. But with the heaviest fighting over, all that's left for the men and women in the city is to fight off the last, feeble attacks by the weakened enemy forces. It's only been several days since Valeri and the others under his provisional charge, among many more, had returned to the little city of Aylesbury. In the time they'd been away, making their way through the countryside, the little, two-storey house they'd taken up in has been the scene of heavy fighting, the structure itself still standing but damaged. When they come across it, Valeri tells the men and women to remain outside as he ventures in to check on the family. He finds them, all of them, the whole lot of them having taken shelter in the cellar when fighting erupted. "I've come to give you my regards," says Valeri, speaking to the obese, middle-aged woman at the head of the household. As they talk, the distant rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs can still be heard in the background. "I hope the war never comes back here," he says. But the woman says, "it will." She pauses, then says, "I hope you win it for all of us." She gives Valeri a small tin of food, and asks that it be distributed among the men and women. He agrees. It's the last time he's to see this woman, and already Valeri has come to recall her fondly. Her name is Myrtle McClatchy. He'll never see her again, but in the brief period he knew her he's learned to recognise her and others like her for who they are. "But what do you think of them?" asks Lynn, speaking of the small family. "They'll survive," says Valeri, "they always do. It's what people like them do." Lynn says, "it's what people like us do." Valeri nods, quietly accepting the correction.

That obese, middle-aged woman, Valeri has come to find her beautiful, even her wide and fat figure simply the style of her beauty. The woman's life had been spent cleaning and cooking, washing and weaning, scrubbing and sweeping, without any concern for her own well-being aside from a momentary blossoming at a very young age. She'd given birth to children, many more children than Valeri had seen at the house, from three different fathers. Although Valeri doesn't know her all that well, as he exits the house he begins to feel a kind of mystical, almost spiritual affinity for her, his conception of her beauty entirely aesthetic and non-sexual. A few more enemy attacks on Aylesbury are to take place over the next several weeks, with each repelled by successively stronger defensive efforts by the forces of the Popular Front. It turns out that the reason for the relative ease with which Valeri's platoon-sized group and many other such groups throughout the country had been able to explore the countryside had been the enemy's conservation of their forces in preparation for their own wave of attacks. After the forces of the Popular Front in the area have been badly weakened by the first coordinated counter-offensive of the National Forces, there's little left to sustain them. "We hold position here," says Valeri, "and wait for the signal to attack." In the spare moments which frequently present themselves Valeri continues his study, switching between reading his Bible and the foundational text of the new People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components,' learning as he is the art of self-led learning. Most of the practical aspects of being a soldier he'd learned through instruction from Sister Simpson and practical experience, or just from listening to his heart whenever it suits him. "Thinking of someone?" asks Lynn Jackson, approaching Valeri in the middle of the night when both should be asleep. "Someone," says Valeri. It matters little in the meanwhile what happens to any of them, with death so constant a companion in their day to day lives.

And the wealthy men who'd controlled so much for so long are not content simply to fade away in the face of the emergent People's Republic, no. They're still there, they're still there, in the shadows, concocting their own schemes to enrich themselves and to undermine the new regime. The ad hoc assemblies and worker's councils that've sprung up around the country, they only account for a small portion of the workers in the country, whether in the territory controlled by the Popular Front or outside its reach. When Valeri and the others under his charge take up their new positions outside the city of Milton Keynes, they observe the changes to the city. There's no longer columns of smoke rising from patches of burning urban areas. A few corpses are visible, scattered across the ground here and there. Actually, Valeri and the others don't have a very good view, the limited elevation of the hill they're positioned on affording them only a good look on the residential area nearest to them. "We could've prevented a massacre," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "if we'd gone in there before." The city seems almost deserted, with hardly any people visible and the few bodies simply left wherever they'd fallen.

"If we hadn't returned to Aylesbury then there'd have been a much worse massacre there," he says, referring to the likelihood of the enemy having gone on a rampage through the city should they have breached its defences. Still he thinks of that recent wave of attacks against Jews, wondering inwardly how many people the Popular Front had been able to save, how many still had been killed by sectarian gangs and racialist criminals. "It's not enough for us to win control of the territory," says Lynn, speaking from Valeri's side. They've had only a few hours to survey the city, several days after they'd left to return to Aylesbury. It's not the first time they'll find evidence of a massacre. Inwardly, Valeri debates with himself whether to tell the others about his having killed captured or surrendered enemies on two occasions in the past, back when the enemy constituted itself in the Home Guard and the hated Provisional Government, both now defunct. "There's nothing you could say that would shock the others," says Lynn, speaking in a much quieter voice, "I've seen it. A lot of others have, too." As they leave Aylesbury, the city which provides them its namesake, the men of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury, are confronted with the sight of a city seemingly taken in the night and made into something other than what it'd been. Even Valeri, after all he's been through, even he can't quite articulate the sensibility the city has about it now, nor how this sensibility differs from what the city had before. But the last in a long line of successive governments has proven to be more inept than the rest, the artefacts of governance seeming incapable of functioning. "What have you seen?" asks Valeri, intending the question as sincere and not at all reflexively defensive. "Many years ago," says Lynn, "when I was much younger, I used to see women killed in the streets. Well, I never saw anyone killed with my own eyes. They just disappeared in the middle of the night." Although Lynn is a former prostitute, Valeri, like so many other men born of Britain's working class slums, has been in the company of women like her for as long as he can remember. Elsewhere, in the small city of Hastings on England's southern coast, the violence of the nationalist militia have wrought particularly harshly on the local population.

An older man named Ron Fischer used to work at an area industrial concern, one which'd manufactured specialised equipment for use in the air force's planes but which has now become defunct. With no work to be found anywhere in the area, he's taken to showing up at the local port, looking for any fishing outfits that might need workmen on the boats. The ceasefire between national governments has meant a temporary respite from the dangers of working on the North Sea, prompting a resurgence of the fishing business. But it's still hard going. At the dock one day, he turns up to find many other workmen competing for a few open spots, and he throws his lot in with them. "You only care about me now because you need me," says Ron's younger daughter, after having been denied work at the fishing port. "I hope this is for a good reason," says Ron, "I hope everything's for a good reason." He says this even as the skies seem to open and the rain they disgorge seems to turn to blood, soaking the city outside in a thick slick of copper red. All the men who make their living on the fishing boats die at sea, although the naval men who serve on warships of various flags survive. "Everything happens for a reason," says Ron, speaking with his daughters and his wife a few nights later, "even if we can't always understand it." In one fell swoop, the whole of the city of Hastings has been devastated, as have cities across the British coast and the coasts of all countries consumed in revolutionary struggle.

As the wealthy men under the old regime had used the letter of the law to their own benefit, so should the working men under the new regime use the intent of the law to their own ends. But still the young People's Republic is in its early stages, consumed in the task of surviving through the early part of what will come to be seen as an entirely new stage in this war. The old way of life persists, with the worker's councils who've seized control of so many factories, mills, and yards still adhering to the same rules and conventions that'd governed those very factories, mills, and yards, save the election of workers to their governing councils and committees. And outside the control of the new People's Republic is a vast swath of land, even in so small a country as Britain the huge spaces seeming like small pieces of the sky. In the country outside the city of Aylesbury Valeri and the others under his charge take stock of what they've lost, several brothers and sisters killed in the battle, along with much ammunition expended and many of their few vehicles left inoperative.

Again, they must move by foot. Again, it's slow going. And in the smaller city of Newbury, life is equally hard. For an older woman named Joyce Stevens, the closure of most of the area's industrial concerns has meant no work for many years. Even though unemployment had come to be a way of life for many working class Britons, for Joyce living on the verge of homelessness, the closure of these industrial concerns has meant even greater hardship. In her little flat, her cupboards have been bare and her heat off for many months. "Do you know when the they'll be put down?" asks her husband, asking of the local market which has been out of food for some time. "I don't know," she says, "how would I know anything like that?" They were both out when they saw the skies begin to rain and the rain turn to blood, but they made it inside before they could become soaked. They had three sons, two of whom joined the army to fight in the war on the continent, one of whom was killed while the other remains stationed in Poland. Their third son is missing in England. "They told me this is one of the most difficult times," says Joyce, "which means we've got to leave or die." As she and her husband argue over whether to abandon their home, they fail to notice the continuing deluge of blood outside.

They march along the side of the road between towns, making for the city of Milton Keynes again. "That was not what I'd expected it to be," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, referring to the series of battles they'd fought in defence of Aylesbury. "Fighting is never what you expect it to be," says Valeri, "that's one thing I've learned since..." After arriving at their destination, twelve hours by foot into the countryside, they find themselves in the midst of a calm period, without the sound of bombs bursting or gunfire rattling to keep them company wherever they go. It's an early summertime again, with the heat and humidity overwhelming, Valeri's shirt sticking to his back and his unkempt hair a matted mess. In this revolution, men like Valeri have no time to spare for the indulgences of life, which means it's been several months since he'd last had his hair cut or his beard shaved. Nearly all of them sport a similarly ragged and haggard look. "...Wherever the enemy least expects us to attack, we'll attack," says Valeri, although even he doesn't understand the full meaning of what he says. "I don't expect every battle to be like that," says Valeri. He feels every ache in his body, and he pauses whenever the moment permits to gather his strength. "You shouldn't," says Lynn. At once, Valeri wonders whether she knows about his various minor injuries, even as he can only feel pain. But this, in turn, makes Valeri acutely aware of himself, as if he should be struck by phantom injuries that can be so easily concealed even as millions of Britons are suffering and dying from all manner of horrendous injuries and diseases. It's this knowledge that compels him to muscle a stoic look onto his face and march along with the others towards their next objective.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Shrewsbury word spreads among the locals that the forces of the Popular Front could be about to take Telford, just to the east. A young woman named Bonnie Wade discusses the matter among a few others at her workplace, a small hospital where she works as a nurse. "If they take Telford," says Bonnie, "then they'll come here right afterwards." She doesn't know what she's saying, nor why she's saying it. "It can't get any worse than it is," says one of her fellow nurses, another young woman named Hannah. It's almost nightfall, which'll mean the deluge of blood from the sky will likely intensify, flooding the streets of Britain's cities with a thick slick of copper-red. The young nurse Bonnie works with, Hannah, is the very Hannah who'd once lived with Valeri Kovalenko in that little flat in urban London. "Maybe they'll leave us alone," says Bonnie, referring to the militia who keep them working at gunpoint or nearly so. "Where could we go?" asks Hannah, before saying, "there's only guerrillas in the Welsh highlands, and there's open war everywhere else. Plus, there are people here who need us." A few months earlier and Hannah would've looked for any opportunity to escape. In the months since she'd come to be made to work at this hospital in the small city of Shrewsbury she's taken to having a fondness for the place. "We'll find out," says Bonnie, "one way or another." Although it's been quite some time since Hannah had last seen Valeri, their paths may cross sooner than either could expect.

But where is Valeri headed? His personal ascent from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's yet to be can only lead him through an unknown journey and on into an unknowable future. As they stake out their positions and watch for enemy movement, Valeri begins to feel tired and sore all over, in ways he'd never before felt tired and sore. Closer to thirty than twenty, he's still a young man in mid-twenty-first century Britain, although the platoon-sized unit under his charge has many women and men much younger still. The wounds he's been nursing, they make Valeri think of the moment he'd had the pleasure of meeting the rebel Elijah, of standing in Elijah's presence in that little church in the city of Birmingham. All those months ago, Valeri was still a young man, still new to the ways of the Popular Front and its guerrillas. Now, now, he wishes to be in the presence of their leader again, remembering as he does the minor pain and wounds he'd been nursing disappearing almost instantaneously on realizing he'd been standing in the presence of their leader. "Even on days like these," says Valeri, after they've turned in for the evening, "I still prefer to be up at night." He says this as he thinks about the men and women they've lost recently, not mourning for their loss but reflecting on their sacrifices as portending for the future. "If the enemy attacks at night," says Lynn, then—" "—we'll be on an even footing." Lynn nods her agreement. She conceals her knowledge of his steadily-mounting but still minor injuries, although there'll come a time when she'll tell him exactly what she knows.

Further afield, in the small city of Taunton a young man named Clarence Cooper sees first hand the incessant violence and degradation that's been unleashed by those following the banner of the National Forces. In the small city of Taunton, directly on the motorway between Exeter and Bristol, the now-defunct Provisional Government had taken to interning suspected rebels and their supporters at the large cricket ground near the city centre, and it's at this ad hoc internment camp that Clarence Cooper had been confined. The local authority released most of them, including Clarence, for the winter, and he'd returned home to his family in the area. But when the nationalist militia go on a rampage, they start by targeting anyone who's been subject to internment, but soon killing anyone else who looks at them the wrong way. "This thing should've ended a long time ago," says Clarence, before asking, "how can we show them we're no threat?" He thinks of his wife and children. "If they come around to round us up again," says Clarence's fellow worker, "what can we do but go with them?" Both Clarence and his fellow worker are in the streets even as they know of the violence erupting, as both men are serving as construction labourers for the local council, the only work they could get. Clarence abandons his work to head home, only to find the flat he lives in burning after being sacked by the nationalist militia, his family gone.

To Valeri, if he should be in a position near these urban bombings and gun attacks, he'd hear only the sounds he'd become used to hearing as a young man, the bursting of bombs and the rattling of gunfire in the distance. "Do we keep an extra watch?" asks Lynn. "Anyone who approaches our position should be searched," says Valeri, "and on all patrols have the men and women keep an eye out for anyone who could be carrying a bomb." Lynn nods. They've heard reports of bombs in the city of Aylesbury, and in the countryside beyond, but they have no way of knowing whether these reports are accurate or shadows flitting about in the darkness. They'll soon find out. Although the rebel Elijah has instructed his followers not to revere him as an icon, still men like Valeri can't help themselves from seeing in Elijah an heroic figure. Now, Valeri wishes he could find himself in the presence of the rebel Elijah, as if to recapture the power of the dark essence which guides the revolution and put it to use again in healing his injuries. But it's not to be. None of them will ever see Elijah again, not in person, with the war having placed greater demands on the rebel leader's time and energies than ever before. It wasn't all that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, that Elijah himself was jailed in one of His Majesty's Prisons, serving an indefinite sentence for acts of treason and terrorism against the old governments.

Finally, in the city of Cheltenham some of the worst fighting is taking place among the various factions. A short distance from Gloucester and directly on the motorway leading north to the city of Birmingham, Cheltenham and the area is sought after by many of the factions who've yet to coalesce around a single banner. For a middle-aged woman named Jody Mann this time has meant continued struggle. From her little flat near the city centre she lives in the middle of the fighting. She sees groups of fighters advancing down the street one way, only to see another group advancing up the street the other way only a few days later. The rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs not so distant can be heard through the day and night. "I have to keep on the lookout," says Jody, among a group of fellow residents. She lives with her brother and his two daughters. "She's going to die if we don't get her to the A&E," says her brother, referring to one of his daughters who's become gravely ill overnight. They've tried dialing 999 but the emergency services have ceased maintaining their lines a long time ago. After much debate, had while the young girl's condition seems to worsen, an agreement is had. "I'll remain here with the other daughter while you take the sick one to the A&E," says Jody. She sees her brother off, watching as he carries his gravely ill daughter, Jody faced with the inescapable feeling that she'll never see her brother or the one daughter ever again. As he disappears out of her sight, in the distance the sounds of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting seem to intensify, giving Jody immediate cause for concern. At the hospital they'll find only the dead and dying tended to by the few doctors and nurses left, no place for their young daughter. She'll die before a doctor sees her. He'll die on his way home, killed.

Eight days pass after they'd left Aylesbury for the last time, the men under Valeri's charge replenished slightly by a handful of fighters sent over from a nearby group. There've been so many deaths and so many more wounded and maimed, and still the population continues to provide whatever it can, whatever it must to sustain the Popular Front's war. In keeping with the rebel Elijah's doctrine of the people's war, the Popular Front continues to take what it needs from the very people whom it would seek to free, asking for voluntary contributions, if lacking then taking whatever they need at gunpoint. When next Valeri and the others are tasked with going on the offensive, much will have changed, both on the battlefields in Britain and across the world.
12. A Last Resort

After successfully defending Aylesbury from repeated enemy attacks, the unit Valeri serves in receives the designation of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury, the town conferring its name on them. When Sister Simpson, still alive, relays their new orders, to proceed north and east, securing small towns and estates along the way to the city of Milton Keynes, where rebel forces require reinforcement. This is a far cry from the warfare that Valeri had become experienced in, experienced inasmuch as a young man can become experienced in the life of a soldier. "Keep moving," says Lynn, the older and more experienced fighter coming to serve as Valeri's lead hand in directing the rest of them. "We're almost there," says Valeri, looking up and ahead. It isn't clear even to him when exactly he'd become the leader he is now, only that the provisional unit he's charged with leading has responded to his authority in rising to the occasion, to every occasion that's asked of them. Of course, Valeri's little unit is only one of the many platoon-sized groups in the newly-christened 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury. They've been designated as a battalion because there were approximately six hundred men and women, roughly a battalion, among the remaining Popular Front forces in and around the city when the battle for its defence was won. Valeri's small, platoon-sized band is only one of many subunits grouped together into this particular battalion. Many such bands of Popular Front fighters have been gathered into many greater groupings, the beginnings of a coherent army emerging out of the chaos of the revolution.

When Valeri and the others first put down, they occupy a position not far from their old, overlooking Milton Keynes. "The attack's to come very soon," says Valeri, after having received a message on his screen from Sister Simpson. "And we'll make them pay for every one of ours they've killed," says Lynn, "when the time comes." At this there's a chorus of subdued cheers from among the men and women, all of them looking forward to taking to the attack once more. Valeri pays particular attention to the surviving young man they'd taken in from that little estate, the young man having become in the short months he's been with them a competent fighter. They're all lucky to be alive. But across the country, victory remains elusive for the forces of the Popular Front, its enemies continuing to coalesce. Soon, the Popular Front's enemies come to be known as the National Forces, a vast and disparate coalition loosely organised around their constituent parts' opposition to the proclamation of the new People's Republic. There's more to it than that, much, much more, but for now this is all that's needed. As Valeri and the others serving in the 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury arrive in the city of Milton Keynes, it seems to Valeri as though this city itself might come against them. Valeri and the others arrive in Milton Keynes bringing memories fresh in their minds of having witnessed the meting out of justice in Aylesbury by the Popular Front's apparatchiks, their memories informing their future decisions in ways even they can't begin to fathom.

He orders the platoon-sized group of men he's been tasked with leading into five smaller teams, and directs each to occupy a particular position along the hill's face. It's from these positions that they'll advance, when given the order, into the city of Milton Keynes, seizing the city in coordination with the coming uprising. "Now the time will come soon," says Valeri, "and when it does, we'll have nothing left to fear." In between battles with the enemy, he's taken to reading, keeping on alternating between his Bible and his copy of the foundational text of the new People's Republic. In truth, he's begun to devote the better part of his reading time to the Bible, having started from Genesis, chapter one, and proceeded page by page. "Don't fire unless you see the enemy advancing towards our positions," says Valeri, speaking to his lead hand, Lynn Jackson, who forwards the instructions to the rest of the men and women. But not everyone among their number has turned to the Bible; in fact, most remain unenthusiastic on it, while a few are actively antipathetic to it. "Wait until you see the lead groups come out completely into the open," says his lead hand, Lynn, "and then we'll open fire with full force." Valeri nods. All up and down the line, the men and women are given similar orders, with the coming battle to precede an attack.

"Do you think they suspect anything?" asks Valeri, speaking a little while later with Lynn. "They suspect something," says Lynn, "and so do I." Both observe the younger Aretha Cordoba as she mans her position. They've moved downhill a little bit, perhaps twenty or twenty-five metres, enough to leave them protected against the sky. It took them a while to appreciate that the crest of the hill doesn't always make for the best position; when a few men were killed by gunfire in an enemy attack, it occurred to Valeri that their positions had been giving the enemy a perfect target as their bodies and their minimal fortifications were silhouetted against the sky behind them. "It can't be good to leave everyone in the dark about this like this," says Valeri. But the older, more experienced Lynn, says, "it doesn't really matter what they think, or what we do." As Lynn has come from a background in prostitution and hopeless despair, she is able to better tolerate the lasting implications of the limits of their knowledge. But Valeri, Valeri is still a young man, not yet thirty, although he's aware that in many other countries around the world his age would place him well outside the bounds of youth. His page by page, verse by verse readings of the Bible don't permit him any kind of in-depth understanding of what he's reading, but they permit him at least to lay the foundation for an in-depth understand which could come from later efforts. But while they prepare for their next attack on enemy positions, elsewhere larger events continue to mount.

The trials and executions in Aylesbury among many other cities and towns were only the beginning, a new wave of trials and executions to be unleashed following the Popular Front's announcement of a great Revolutionary Tribunal. As much an artefact of the long-building desire for vengeance, the Revolutionary Tribunal isn't to be formed for several months, to be convened until several months more. This new edict is disseminated by way of the data networks, kept up and running in some minimal way, the screens across Britain soon flashing with this news. It's to be several months before the first Revolutionary Tribunal is convened in London; each successive iteration of the tribunal will be held there. But for now, it occurs to men like Valeri, and to the people who serve under his informal leadership of this platoon-sized group, that this Revolutionary Tribunal will reserve its judgement for only the most heinous of crimes and criminals. "I've been meaning to ask you," says Lynn, "don't you speak Russian?" The question catches Valeri off guard, not because he's never been asked before on this topic but because it's been so long. "Nyet," says Valeri, thinking quickly. He gathers his wits in time to pre-empt her next question, saying, "I've never even been to Russia. My name is Ukrainian, but my family moved to England before I was born." Although Lynn is his lead hand, the equivalent of a sergeant in the pre-war army, she knows very little about Valeri, the latter continuing to withhold the details of his personality from all who would seek insight. But Valeri is only a man, as he is an avatar for the working class and its struggle, within him there a gathering series of contradictions that should soon find expression.

"I never went to upper secondary," says Lynn, "I took to the streets from a very young age." Left unsaid is the exact moment in her life when she'd turned to prostitution, although Valeri is left with the clear impression it took place even before then. "I was supposed to finish school," says Valeri, "but I never bothered to take my final exams. I started working." This was only ten years ago, well after his mother and father had been killed in their failed uprising. A tension between the two emerges, entirely fraternal, yet acutely felt, making Valeri suddenly aware of himself, in the way that he can be. But larger events continue to mount.

The last hope the Popular Front has for a quick victory over the counter-revolutionary National Forces are soon dashed. Although no decisive edge has been attained by either side, news of the counter-revolutionary forces having coalesced into a single faction is met with a muted despair by Elijah's disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front. Throughout Britain's working class slums, there'd been a huge, disheveled mass of people imported as slaves from much poorer countries in Africa, Asia, and certain parts of Latin America. It was always a fact of life under the old regime that such slaves should continue to be imported despite persistently high unemployment in those very slums. "What's to become of the rest of your family?" asks Lynn, a few days later. "I don't know," says Valeri, "they may have already been killed in this war. I never knew any of them. I never met any of them."

Lynn pauses for a moment, then asks, "none of them came to England?" Valeri shakes his head, and says, "for want of a meagre paycheque. They were all workers, ordinary workers." Their positions have been hastily dug, with sangers formed out of holes in the ground lined with whatever material was on hand. Valeri and Lynn sit some metres back from the line, up against a concrete retaining wall that couldn't offer any real protection but which they lean on anyways. The outer reaches of the city of Milton Keynes are littered with the wreckage of the old regime, still smoldering in places where buildings had been burnt by the former garrison. There had been massacres here, only with fewer bodies produced by each, the revolution's brutal character making itself known to Valeri at every turn. Even to Valeri and Lynn it becomes readily apparent how much their lives have changed since they'd begun fighting together. "After all that's happened I can't believe I'm about to live," says Valeri. "What do you mean?" asks Lynn. "I should be dead many times over," says Valeri, "after all I've been through, I've been through many things I shouldn't have survived. It's ridiculous that I haven't been killed yet, by a stray bullet or some piece of rubble falling on my head."

Soon, in the country outside the city of Milton Keynes, there's action again. This time, it comes in a form Valeri Kovalenko would've never expected. From within his little, platoon-sized band of fighters there emerges an unspoken agreement, with Valeri taking it upon himself to lead them through this difficult period, as if there could be anything better for them lying on the other side. As Valeri is beginning to appreciate, the way of the revolution is not peace but war, not leisure but struggle, not pleasure but pain. And this, this Valeri is come to embrace. Throughout Britain's working class slums, the huge, disheveled mass of imported slaves haven't gone anywhere, the exigencies of war denying them the ability to return to their home countries. There are those who have yet to turn to the cause of the Popular Front, fearing retribution should the Popular Front be defeated in war. The atrocities committed by so many against various people have become news around the world. "I don't know much about the larger picture," says Valeri, "but I'm starting to consider there may be things much greater than ourselves." In the summer's heat, Valeri's shirt sticks to his back, and his hair is a matted mess. "I think my life has led to this," says Lynn, "I think all our lives have led to this, one way or another."

In the country outside the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others under his charge make their final preparations for the coming attack. There's little left for them to accomplish in their current positions, the enemy having given them a wide berth. At this moment, at sunset on the night before the attack is set to begin, the dark essence which guides the revolution seeps into the countryside, along every back country road and through the forests and the rivers. "We'll be going on the attack soon," says Valeri, "it's in the latest messages from Sister Simpson." It's soon after, a few nights having passed in an eerie quiet. The enemy hasn't made any attacks on their new positions, not even the lightest of probes for weakness anywhere along the line. "We don't have enough ammunition to sustain any attack," says Lynn, "we can't figure out what's going to happen." But Valeri says, "we're to seize ammunition supplies from the enemy, along with any other supplies we find." And Lynn says, "what if the enemy's supplies are just as short as ours?"

Valeri doesn't answer, turning instead to the younger Aretha Cordoba. Each successive battle seems sure to kill them, and it's only by the grace of an higher power that they who survive are able to do so. "The attack is on," says Valeri, "we'll make it happen." But when next they receive word from Sister Simpson, they're given orders to hold position, the attack to be delayed by some unknown period of time. It makes little sense to Valeri. It has to make little sense to Valeri. The larger struggle which continues to play itself out here in Britain and around the world will soon overtake them all. In the meanwhile, though, Valeri will have to continue to make what he can with what he's given, a task facing every group of Popular Front fighters throughout the country. "If the last of them won't keep up," says Valeri, "then we'll have no choice but to leave them behind." But that's not all they'll have to grapple with in the time left until the next battle. Through the darkness of the night Valeri and the others survive, as they inevitably must, only to emerge into a morning already crackling with activity. "What do we do about them?" asks Lynn, referring to the refugees who continue to move through the area. "What can we do?" asks Valeri. It's not the desire of the dark essence that Valeri and the other revolutionaries should seize an easy, bloodless victory. Theirs is a struggle which lends itself to the difficult character of the revolution, arduous and without end. As for the coming attack on the city of Milton Keynes, all Valeri and the others under his charge can do is wait for the order to move. Even Valeri thinks on the possibility of launching the coming attack early, as if to countermand the authority of Sister Simpson and her careful planning. He doesn't know, can't know she's counting on at least a few of the units under her leadership launching their attacks prematurely, that such premature attacks should be carried out whether they want to or not.

Pressing on all their minds is the need to liberate stores of food in the city ahead, even as Valeri and most of the others are fully aware that there may be no food stores left in the city to liberate. As the next attack in their campaign should get underway, Valeri suddenly feels in the bottom of his stomach a sick feeling, as though the bile in his belly has forced its way into his digestive tract. It's only a momentary feeling, hardly there for the time it takes his heart to beat, but surely there. The debate they've been having amongst themselves, petty and childish though it may be, is a harbinger of a debate much larger and more consequential. Soon, they receive a new set of cables from Sister Simpson, in turn relayed from the highest levels of the Popular Front. Valeri reads them personally. They reiterate the Popular Front's commitment to protecting the country's Jews, Romani, and others from persecution and violence at the hands of sectarian gangs and nationalist militia. "We've all got to save as many of the innocents as we can," says Valeri, summarizing their communication for the men, "and punish those who would murder the innocents."

Although she doesn't say anything, Valeri can see his lead hand, Lynn, seeming to sense his internal conflict. He doesn't know it, can't know it, but she has a special gift for divining the thoughts and feelings of others. But this gift is entirely ordinary. This gift is granted to her by the dark essence which guides the revolution, the dark essence choosing this moment to reach into her and give her that which she needs. Although Valeri is an avatar for the larger working class struggle, his lead hand Lynn is becoming an avatar in her own right, she for the intellectual character of the revolution. Elsewhere, not far away battle rages, with some of the most intense fighting yet seen by the young People's Republic. The administration of justice is a compelling interest in the governance of the People's Republic, the revolutionary state seeking revolution beyond victory on the battlefield. "Don't be too cautious," says Valeri, speaking with a young man who seems unafraid of the threat facing them. "It's a good thing we've got all the fuel we can get our hands on," says Lynn, when she speaks next with Valeri in the evening before they plan their next assault. A temporary cloud cover has blocked the harshest of the sun, but has done nothing to alleviate the unbearable thickness of the humidity. "I remember the way we used to be," says Lynn, "the way it was always our fault. Even people just like us would have the vilest and most bitter ways of talking about us. It was sickening."

For Christopher Jenkins, things are different. After he'd admitted his feelings to his fellow worker, Helen Reed, events had begun to overtake them. The act of making it to work every day, of working every day to achieve what ends he can has become an end unto itself. As they could all die at any moment, if someone should see fit to launch a nuclear volley one way or another, Chris has begun to labour under the assumption that death, when it comes, will come without warning. "Some things are still sacred," says Helen, the next time they muster with the other workers at the start of their shift. "They don't want anything to be sacred," says Chris. They're talking not about the Popular Front nor its enemies here in Britain, the National Forces, but a larger conspiracy of forces that reaches around the world. "Every day the war comes closer to us," says Helen, "and I hope it never comes." Both Helen and Chris have lost loved ones, whether to the war on the continent or to the revolution in the streets, and both expect to lose many more. They have friends and family scattered across the country, but've lost contact with most. After they muster for their next shift with all the other workers, they receive news from the head of their work battalion, news which'll radically change the course of the war, both at home and around the world.

Next, one of the young men Valeri's unit had taken in since leaving Aylesbury, a man named Clark Peters, says he's come across an old lorry in a ditch. When Valeri arrives, he doesn't know what to make of it. But when his lead hand arrives on the scene, he begins to understand. "If we can keep this thing out of the enemy's sight," says Valeri, "then they won't know we have it." Lynn nods her agreement, and says, "the trick is to keep it out of sight." But both know this is easier said than done. Already Valeri envisions their attack taking place with this new lorry running right down the line. The cabin looks sufficiently armoured so as to withstand small arms fire. So long as the enemy's main gun remains inoperative, Valeri's fighters will be able to easily encircle them, and destroy them.

Meanwhile, Julia Roberts has continued her service on the council, maneuvering behind the scenes at the behest of her friend Fred White. Although she finds it difficult to rise to the occasion, the impetus provided by the changing course of the revolution makes it possible. She stays in contact with Fred, even though his medical condition takes an unexpected turn for the worse. But when he's to return to work and thus resume his service on the council, she receives a new message from their contact in the Popular Front: she's not to give back her seat on the council to him. She's to keep on serving, even once he's fully healed, if ever he should fully heal. "How could you do this to me?" he asks, when next she visits him to deliver the news personally. He's already been told by way of a similar message from the Popular Front's apparatchik, but still she wants to tell him herself. "I didn't ask for this," she says. "But you won't refuse it," says Fred. "I've been asked to do this," says Julia, "and I'll do it to the best of my ability, not for myself but for everyone." In the end, Fred ceases his protest, agreeing there's little point now. Men like Fred must learn to look beyond their own personal aspirations and experiences in order to fulfil their duties in facilitating the next step. "You must exercise good judgement and discipline at all times," says the Popular Front's apparatchik, the next time Julia meets with him, "and you must be prepared to do the right thing, no matter the cost." She agrees. He gives her instructions on how to proceed when next the railyard's governing council meets, on what votes to call for, even what to say and how to say it. When the time comes and the council next convenes, Julia steels herself against the moment, and recites from memory what the apparatchik has told her to say. By the time this next meeting is over, what's been said and done will have changed their lives forever. And it'll come to be just as the enemy, the opponents of the Popular Front are advancing, narrowing the area controlled by the Popular Front, leaving Fred, Julia, and the others at this railyard facing the very real prospect of having to resist the enemy without even while they face the enemy within.

"There's no one who's going to be able to make the right choice," says Lynn, seeming to Valeri to sense his thoughts, "no matter what action you choose, it's always going to seem like the wrong one." This gives Valeri some pause for thought. He asks, "when did you become so wise?" But Lynn says, "I'm not wise, I've never been wise." She pauses for thought herself, then goes on to say, "I think wise is the one word no one would've ever used to describe me." Then, as if to punctuate the moment, there's the bursting of gunfire, subdued and distant. Both Valeri and Lynn look down range, across the field. They can sense the coming battle won't end so easily. They both know that each successive battle will only be harder and more costly than the last. Although Lynn's talents are only beginning to become apparent, they've been there all along. She hasn't been aware of them until very recently, and thus hasn't been able to make use of them until very recently, but still they've been there. "Blind loyalty isn't something anyone would've ever described me as having," says Valeri, "I like to think I've got something for somebody." He recalls the manner in which they'd drudged across the open countryside and through the sewers and alleys of British cities only recently, as recently as a year or more ago. As they prepare for their next assault, more details begin to come out, details which'd been out in the open but which'd gone unacknowledged for so long.

For Marilyn Carter, life has become much more complicated in recent weeks. After having been put to work as slave labourers under the supervision of the local militia, she hasn't seen her friend Dan Murphy in a long time. She hasn't seen anyone she'd known from her life before she'd been enslaved, and she won't ever see any of them again. But there's no escape, no escape. After she and the other slave labourers have had it through a particularly rough and demanding day, sixteen hours of hard labour in the streets with only brief breaks for food and drink, even these under the watchful eye of the local militiaman. "We're going to take back everything," she says, speaking with one of the other slaves. "I don't know," says the other, a young woman whose name Marilyn hasn't learned. "What's there not to know?" asks Marilyn. "Let's do it right now," says another, a young man whose name she doesn't know either. "There's only two of them," says Marilyn, referring to the militiamen, "and there's thirty of us." But in truth Marilyn can recall the sensations of having been beaten and battered by the militiamen, her recollections so vivid and visceral that she suddenly stops where she stands. This draws the attention of the nearest guard, who advances on her. Before he reaches her, she falters, dropping to one knee. He comes to stand over her and says, "pathetic," then shoots a mean glare at the others before turning back to her and saying, "get back to work." There's no rebellion today, not here.

In the meanwhile, Valeri and the men and women under his leadership stand ready to begin their assault, but not without some reservations. After having made so much progress over the past several months in advancing steadily out from Greater London's suburbs, the long and slow slog through the countryside seems to Valeri almost as though it's reaching towards some kind of crescendo, even though it isn't. After he'd reached a kind of rapprochement with Lynn through the sharing of personal stories and experiences, Valeri might be tempted to presume them a fully united band, without factions or divisions of any kind. But he'd be wrong. "Are you thinking about it?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba. "I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't," says Valeri. "Do you believe this'll make a difference?" asks Aretha. "Not really," says Valeri, "but I think it's worth a chance." A few more nights have yet to pass before they go on the attack, but in that time they'll have much left to accomplish here within their own ranks.

But in the city of Sunderland Joe Hill and his friend Nina Schultz have much left to accomplish after the most recent attack on their church. Previous attacks had been forced off with some difficulty, with deaths and injuries on both sides and moderate structural damage to the building, but this attack has succeeded in breaching their defences and expelling the remaining parishioners into the night. "You can still see it burning from here," says Joe, "they must have added some material to the fire." He's long remained in the city of Sunderland, refusing to abandon his home to the relentless attack of the nationalist militia. But his friend Nina Schultz is no longer with him, the two having become separated in the weeks that've passed. Most of the parishioners of the rogue church have become scattered. "We know that our church isn't a building," says another parishioner from the rogue church, a young man named Cliff Manning. They'd both seen the fires lit a few weeks before, only as they'd been fleeing the church along with most of the rest of the parishioners. "Right," says Joe, "but I still wish we knew what became of him." He refers to the rogue pastor, who hasn't been seen or heard from since last making a stand against the militiamen who'd sacked the church. He'd been seen to fight their bullets and batons armed only with his Bible. No matter what course future events take, Joe will continue to remember the man as an hero, even when future events take a turn so shocking and so unexpected that neither Joe nor anyone else around will be surprised when it finally comes.

The pilots of Mobius squadron, reformed under the leadership of Brother Hatfield, are soon tasked with a new mission. Moving to an airport outside Greater London, they're to defend the capital from aerial incursion. Soon after, the enemy comes for them. In the middle of a pitched battle, Mobius squadron suffers more losses. But this is the last battle the pilots of Mobius squadron will endure for some time, the enemy's lacking in fuel and fighters forcing them to call off aerial operations. A few missiles are exchanged. Aircraft go down trailing smoke and flame. Losses are suffered on both sides. Few pilots successfully eject. Hatfield narrowly escapes death, the enemy's volleys twice missing him by metres. Mobius squadron returns to base having lost three more pilots. The next time Brother Hatfield takes to the skies, he's not confronted with enemy fighters but with an entirely different opposition, one they're unable to fire on by order of Elijah himself. "There's no order that says we can't get as close as we want to them," says Hatfield's number two, Sister Stephens. Hatfield gives the counter sign and says, "let's see how close we can get." A standoff ensues between the pilots of Mobius squadron and these new would-be adversaries, ending only when Brother Hatfield orders the squadron back to base. They've got precious little fuel to expend on confrontations with these yet-unknown adversaries, for now having to meet these foreign aircraft with only their presence.

"I've been fighting for a long time," says Hatfield, pausing to reflect on everything he's been through. It's a little while later, on the ground. He thinks primarily of the killing of his wife and children, not long after his defection to the cause of the Popular Front along with the rest of what'd been his squadron. He's the only one left in the squadron from that time, with Stephens and the others having been combined under his leadership from similarly decimated squadrons. "For what it's worth," says Stephens, "we've all been fighting." And she means it in the same way he does. By the time this night is through, they'll have been ordered to sleep in the airfield, ready to scramble at a moment's notice. The next action they see won't be against these new adversaries but nor will it be against the nationalist air forces in Britain, such as the latter are. Instead, it'll be against an old foe, one they've fought before, one they'll fight again.

On the night before they begin their first advance on the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri speaks with his lead hand, approaching her with rapprochement in mind. He isn't sure exactly what the cause of this minimal, barely-perceptible fragmenting could be; he isn't even sure it's there at all. Most of the men and women are at their positions, with those asleep cradling their weapons as they sleep. "It's not all bad," says Valeri, "sometimes you can see as far as the horizon." He's come to speak with Lynn a few metres from the front, shielded as they are by a row of hedges and fences set along the road. "It's not what you think," says Lynn. "It's not?" asks Valeri, his voice piquing and his head cocking slightly. "I hope we never have to go to Liverpool," she says, "because I don't want to go back there." She then proceeds to tell Valeri a story he'd never asked to hear but which he's moved by nevertheless, a story he's heard before from others but which seems new every time he hears it from someone else.

But for Roy Cook, the past few weeks have meant continued work even despite the hardships imposed on him personally by the death of his young wife, Sabrina Hale. Her death hasn't meant any time for grieving, as the factory where he works has continued to require six day weeks and twelve hour days. At work one day, he stumbles a bit and stutters with his hand, resulting in a misaligned machine tool and damage to another piece of equipment. His lead hand comes around and asks him to consider taking the rest of the day off, but he refuses. "I can work," he says, "and I'll keep on working until I'm dead." The implication of the offer is known to both men; although they need an operator at his position, and they need that operator to work long hours, they could find another and train him fairly quickly. It recalls another moment Sabrina and Roy had before her death, in that brief period when they were married.

"I hope the war is over soon," he'd said, "so our children don't have to live through any of it." But she'd said, "no matter when we have children, they'll have to live through something." He didn't know it then and doesn't know it now, but this was around the time that she'd begun thinking about her own application to become a member of the People's Party, one of the two co-equal leaders of the Popular Front. Her application would've been denied, as she'd had no experience, no credentials in working to advance the cause of the Popular Front, nor any endorsement from an existing member. But she'd been thinking about it. This fact will become known to him soon enough, and it'll come to him around the time of a shocking new sequence of events, events which'll change the course of the war, forever.

For the first time in the several months it's been since the People's Republic had been declared, foreign military aircraft fly British skies. But these aren't Russian bombers threatening nuclear annihilation on British cities; these are American planes on reconnaissance missions, surveying Britain's cities for evidence of something, anything at all. Flying from bases in Newfoundland they're at the edge of their unrefuelled range. An aircraft carrier will soon arrive in British waters, but won't put into port anywhere. In truth, since the nuclear firestorm on the continent the Americans have been transferring military assets to the Atlantic, away from their principle combat theatre against the Chinese in the Pacific. Absent any clear objectives or targets, they seem to be flying for the sake of flying, making a presence known in ways that satellites in space never could. The American military had long ago closed its last bases in Europe, and now finds itself without any. Nobody knows when or where the Americans might first choose to make themselves felt, but at the highest levels of leadership in every warring faction from Madrid to Minsk is coming to an anticipation of the inevitability of their involvement. It's only the rebel Elijah who seeks to bring the Americans into the war, if only in ways even he can't begin to comprehend. For now, like all the others, Elijah must content himself to watching and waiting for the right moment to intercede, confident as he is that the coming storm will lay bare all weaknesses and obscure all strengths. This can only favour the revolution he leads, he believes, but he's wrong.

13. On Bread Alone

But even in the mid-twenty-first century, Britain is critically dependent on food imports, with the vast stores of hoarded food now liberated giving the new People's Republic time. But this time is only as good as the once-rebels in the Popular Front make it, in the city of Milton Keynes Valeri Kovalenko among them. Here, the 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury arrives after the first executions have already transpired, in a much larger city than Aylesbury a correspondingly much larger number of executions ordered. Now, though, as Valeri and the others take up position along a strategic motorway, the young man thinks, in the way he's learned to, on the latest proclamations from the Popular Front. It's some small feat, to have learned to practice the art of fighting a war he couldn't ever understand, no matter how much time he devotes to study. The latest series of attacks have resulted in a dearth of strategic positions for both sides, even as the forces of the Popular Front But when next the enemy attacks their positions outside the city of Milton Keynes, none of them can know whether they'll survive much longer. "They've occupied a position just across the road," says Lynn Jackson, "we can't get around them." Valeri looks over the map, picking out a smaller road that runs along the back of an industrial estate. "What about there?" he asks. But his lead hand shakes her head. She says, "there's no telling how long they could have been there. They'll have us in a box." Valeri asks, "then what can we do?" But his lead hand can't answer. It seems they're up against a wall. Several of their men and shot dead. The line seems about to collapse. It's not to be. A few weeks earlier, and Valeri had been among a group of rebel fighters who'd been dispatched into the countryside on a ranging mission.

Now, he must grapple with the focus of their new mission, among the leading elements of the Popular Front fighters who'd arrived at the city of Milton Keynes now under orders to prepare for the next assault. But Valeri notes the promised uprising as absent from the city before them, although he keeps this note to himself. "We can do it," says Valeri, "we've got to do it." Even in the middle of the onset of an early summer, sometimes Valeri can feel the chill of a late-winter's wind curling up the back of his neck, sending a shiver running the length of his spine. He can vaguely sense the dark essence which guides the revolution looming over him in everything he does, through every step forward he takes. But it won't be enough. Soon, the attack is on. Dwelling in Valeri's mind is the necessity of their own survival, if only because he knows they can't secure the city for future elements of the Popular Front if they're all killed. He knows the enemy will kill them all if given the chance. He knows the enemy won't take prisoners. But the action which preceded this attack hasn't yet subsided, the whole countryside seemingly filled with the sounds of bombs bursting and gunfire rattling. After advancing through the countryside surrounding the city, Valeri finds his brothers and sisters pushing into the urban area. They make their way along a highway, flanked on either side by embankments with residential areas perched on top. Although Valeri is aware they could come under fire at any time from any enemy troops positioned along these embankments, he determines to follow their orders to the letter. Sister Simpson had instructed them to advance along this highway, and so it's along this highway they'll advance.

In the thick of the action, they come across a roundabout occupied by an enemy position, one which they must seize if they are to succeed in penetrating the city's defences. "It's been a few hours," says Valeri, taking aside Lynn and a few others ahead of the position. There's the sound of gunfire, but most of it's too distant to be threatening, leaving Valeri and the others to wonder why the enemy isn't resisting their probe more seriously. For the first time Valeri thinks they might not be able to accomplish their objectives. But he puts this thought aside. "The city is ours for the taking," says Valeri, "all we have to do is reach out and take it!" Although they've been through a lot of battles since being struck out on their own, all of a sudden it seems to Valeri as though they're immersed in a cannonade of fire, a relentless volley coming at them from all directions. The city all around them seems alive with a restless energy, yet subdued, as if by some nefarious spirit. A light wind tugs at the scene, carrying the pungent stench of rotting human flesh. Even before Valeri and the others had advanced along the road into the city, the ground had been cluttered with spent shell casings and shards of glass. For the first time in several months, Valeri begins to think of the possibility of his own death which confronts him now.

In the thick of battle, Valeri's band of fighters aren't the only ones engaged in attempting to thrust into this city. From the south and the southeast, other bands of rebel fighters make their attacks, some advancing along main roads, others walking along rail lines, still others slogging through fields. The sounds of battle seem to emanate from everywhere, all at once, sometimes distant and faded, sometimes cracking like a bolt of thunder. In Valeri's small band, they've come across a stretch of city which offers plenty of good spots for their fighters to take cover, offering a momentary respite in the form of good defensive positions. "I can't see anything," says Valeri, "we should stop here and get our bearings." He looks down the road, trying to make out the nearest enemy positions, standing as tall as he can without exposing himself too much to enemy fire. But his lead hand, Lynn, says, "we should've hit that roundabout by now." She's standing over the younger Aretha Cordoba, both of them reading her screen intently. "There's a last line ahead," says Lynn, "and they're going to keep on attacking us." Even as they work through this problem, they're made vaguely aware of other bands of Popular Front fighters in the area, some attacking, some under attack. "Let's just push forward until we hit that roundabout or we'll all dead," says Valeri, "whichever comes first." Lynn nods.

All across the way there's the sound of gunfire bursting, cracking through the air, with Valeri's brothers and sisters positioned in a line that presents as broad a front as possible to the enemy. "I can't believe they were able to gather such a large force so quickly," says Valeri, "if they're as strong here as they seem to be, then they must be stronger everywhere." But when some of Valeri's brothers and sisters strike out towards higher ground on the enemy's flank, the attack is on, with the enemy soon forced out of position. There's much discussion among some of the men, including Valeri and his lead hand, on the attack, with the bodies of the dead only sparingly scattered across the road. They know the other bands of Popular Front fighters must be suffering heavier losses than they, with many brothers and sisters dying on this day. It seems to Valeri as though these sudden attacks serve some higher purpose, with the forces of the Popular Front in a continuous state of advance over the preceding months. Even when there's little prospect of immediate victory, Valeri considers, they must continue their relentless attack. As they overcome this enemy position, they police the bodies briefly, taking what little ammunition and weapons they find before moving on. It never occurs to Valeri that these men might've just as well been conscripted into service at gunpoint, although he wouldn't treat their remains any differently if he knew.

It only takes a short while for Valeri's small, platoon-sized group to penetrate deep into the heart of Milton Keynes, only for their attack to come under assault. They come across no stores of ammunition, but the bodies of enemy men when policed yield some. Although the last of the Popular Front forces in the area have begun their own attacks on the city's defences, each is isolated from one another, their individual forces attacking piecemeal, being routed piecemeal. It's a furious, frantic action, with men shred to pieces by machine gun fire and with bombs bursting all across the way. If they're to survive through the attack, Valeri knows immediate action is needed. But he feels paralyzed with a sudden fear. It's not altogether unlike him to become so paralyzed, inwardly at least, with the better part of him seized instead with a boldness. As Valeri is becoming an avatar for the larger working class struggle, he can't fully perceive the limits of his own abilities, not yet. "Where do we go?" asks Valeri, turning to his lead hand, Lynn. "I don't know," says Lynn, "they're holding the line up ahead." Valeri peers out from behind cover. He can see the enemy has moved a machine gun into position at the roundabout, but they're not firing it yet. "New word coming in," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, her eyes fixed on the screen in her lap. "Well out with it," says Valeri. "Hang on," says Aretha, "it's breaking up." Although Valeri is frustrated, he allows Aretha a moment to work her screen, during which time he turns back to face the battle. Their position is precarious, but seems to be holding, for now. The enemy's gun up ahead remains silent. Valeri wonders why they'd brought it to the scene of battle if not to fire it. Still, even in this time of pitched battle there are occasional moments of silence, brief interludes when neither attacker nor defender could tell what to do next. But in the nearby factory which is still under the control of a private manufacturing concern, the workers react to the sounds of battle by carrying on with their work, as if unconcerned by the fighting. The young man Vincent remains at his post like all the others, knowing as he does that the appointed time for them to rise is not yet come. Although he remains at his post with all the other workers, he accomplishes very little work, like all the others talking about the nearby battles throughout the day. The industrial setting which sees Vincent and the other workers confined to their place of work won't be their tomb, as Vincent and the other men and women here will determine to do the right thing and take a stand for themselves when the time is right, no matter the cost.

This is a moment of furious action, with assault seeming to come from all sides. "Everyone's falling back," says Aretha, "or surrounded." It's at this time, almost this exact moment that the dark essence which guides the revolution chooses to influence Valeri's thoughts, albeit in a manner he can't directly perceive. There's the sound of gunfire, almost instantaneously seeming to come from everywhere at once. But the heavier sound of artillery is still absent. The gun up ahead remains silent. It's been several hours since they'd come into contact with the enemy, and still they have yet to advance past this position. "I can't see anything past that hill," says Valeri, "it's too well covered in shrubs." At his side, Valeri's lead hand, Lynn, seems able to communicate her thoughts and feelings to him without having to speak, but only in a vague and instinctive sort of way. "I wish you'd stop that," he says, half-expecting her not to answer, not with words. At once, Valeri can smell the noxious stench of some unknown industrial chemical wafting in, carried along by the same wind that tugs at his shirt. So many fires burn in their immediate vicinity that Valeri can't tell the source of the smell.

But when Lynn makes herself apparent, she seems to know what to say to the men and women without Valeri even having to tell her. "Keep shooting," says Lynn, speaking not to Valeri but to the forward positions she's staked out, "keep up the fire." It's only been several hours since their initial foray into the urban area, and already their line has begun to falter. Deeper in the city, at that small factory where the young man Vincent works, all the workers are ordered by the managers to remain at work even as the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs seem to draw nearer. It won't be long until the whole lot of them join in the action, when their own uprising will begin. They've been in contact with representatives of the Popular Front, and something very special is about to occur, here and across the country. Although there hasn't been any major fighting between factions here in the city of Milton Keynes until now, there's been the same unrest here as there's been throughout the country, for as many years. "We can't hold this position," says Valeri, "we've got to press deeper into the city." After this latest setback, Valeri doesn't know what could possibly lie in their future, without the influence of the dark essence to help. "We haven't received orders to advance any further," says Lynn. "I don't care," says Valeri, "we're keeping up the attack." Although Valeri's insolence seems very much unlike the disciplined soldier of the revolution he seeks to be, in fact his decision is but one small part of a much larger scheme. The rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front have come to rely on the impetuousness of its fighters, treating as they do the ebb and flow of battle as a force of nature to be accommodated rather than controlled. A few more hours pass. There's little shooting as both sides are critically short of ammunition. "It doesn't matter how long we've got," says Valeri, speaking to a few of the men in a moment of quiet. "We've got to make progress," says Valeri, "we keep on the attack."

Already they've lost several brothers and sisters, some killed, some critically wounded. At least one has died after bleeding out on the road. But these young men and women, they seem determined to keep on fighting, the better part of each of them seized in a fighting spirit that even their fear of death can't compel them to break away. In the heat of battle, all that Valeri can think to do is keep on fighting, even as there's little prospect left for a successful assault. The moment arrives when he runs out of ammunition for his rifle, and without any of his brothers and sisters having any to spare he can't keep on shooting. Even as the fighting between factions in the streets reaches an apex, a new work day begins at the factory where the young man Vincent works. It's been only several days since the revolution had come to the city of Milton Keynes, a city largely spared the ravages of fighting thus far. But while Vincent works, already the leaders of men are becoming imbued with the character of the revolution, the dark essence choosing this moment to infuse itself into the fighting spirit of the workers in this little factory. But news comes. "More enemy troops may be on the way," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "there's word the local commander's got reinforcements." Left unsaid is source of this new reinforcements, it seeming impossible to them that the enemy could summon so many troops to oppose them. After a nearby Popular Front attack had been withdrawn, the enemy has taken to diverting forces used to rout that attack to routing Valeri's attack as well. "I don't care," says Valeri, "we keep on fighting, we'll fight them hand to hand if we have to." But it takes only the slightest glance for Valeri to change his mind. It suddenly occurs to him that this is the very same argument, the very same position he'd taken at another time, in another place. In a moment of personal growth, Valeri comes to realize his place could very well be unknown even to him.

Neither Valeri nor any of the others at this battle can know it, but the enemies of the Popular Front here in Britain have continued to build their own alliances, negotiating a complicated series of agreements, with the bulk of their strength coming from reserve units in the military, from those who had been taken into the now defunct Home Guard. "We've got to press the attack," says Valeri, after a few more hours have passed and they remain stuck in that same spot. "I don't know if that's possible," says his lead hand, Lynn. She's just come back from surveying their forward positions, returning to Valeri so they can decide on the way forward. They haven't received any further instructions from Sister Simpson. Even after they've linked up with another band of rebel fighters in pressing the attack, they still can't move forward. For the first time in several months, Valeri contemplates the possibility of his own death, not in the abstract but in the very real, the concrete. But this contemplation is fleeting, the exigencies of war forcing his thoughts into the danger facing them. After a burst of gunfire forces him to take cover, it no longer seems to him like something so distant. In fact, several of the others at Valeri's rank, roughly equivalent to a lieutenant in the pre-war British army but without a lieutenant's formal officer training, have been killed in their attack on the city of Milton Keynes, leaving lead hands in their bands of fighters to pick up the slack. "What do you make of that?" asks Valeri. He's speaking with Lynn, a few hours after they'd first spotted an enemy position. "I don't know," says Lynn, "I can barely make out the line."

Another platoon-sized band of Popular Front fighters has taken up a position on their right flank, permitting them to ease on their pressure. They signal the flanking band with direct messages sent by their screens. "Do they have any idea what it is?" Valeri asks. "Hang on," says Lynn, before turning to the younger Aretha Cordoba to dash off a message. A response will come soon, within a few minutes, but the next move forward won't come for hours, several hours, in the meanwhile the enemy line continuing to gain strength. All throughout the urban area to the south and south-west of the city centre the action progresses slowly, with select Popular Front units advancing while most fall back to positions outside the main urban area. And deeper in the city of Milton Keynes, the young man Vincent finishes another day at the factory, only to face the prospect of having to survive through the night. The power's gone out in this industrial quarter, although this industrial quarter's well away from the fighting. With the other workers at this particular factory Vincent will have to spend the night on the factory floor, the factory where he works safe from the mayhem gripping parts of the city. While on the floor, the workers can't manage much sleep, Vincent and several others around him listening to the ebb and flow of battle as marked by the sounds of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting in the distance. When the noise becomes barely audible against the booming silence, Vincent and the others can finally manage some sleep, knowing not what the morning will bring but the threat of death again.

After so many weeks of relentless action the ranks of the Popular Front fighters are badly depleted, and they won't be able to hold their positions so recently staked out. This becomes readily apparent even to Valeri, although he's determined to fight to the finish. It doesn't even occur to him the exact moment at which he'd become so fanatically devoted to fighting the revolution; there may not have been any such point. No longer the ill-mannered malcontent who'd rebelled against any injustice whether real or imagined, now Valeri is becoming the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be. As he takes to their position and shoots his rifle at the oncoming enemy, he's fully prepared to die, in his mind so that others may live. But it's not to be. As his rifle clicks empty and he fumbles for another magazine, he feels a hand on his shoulder. It's his lead hand, Lynn Jackson. "Live today, fight tomorrow," she says.

Although they've only been in a fighting unit together for some months, he's already learned to trust her. "Fall back," he says, then raises his voice to shout, "withdraw!" Lynn nods, then turns to shout, "everyone fall back!" By the time night falls, they've beat a retreat from the city of Milton Keynes. It seems to Valeri as though they leave behind more questions than answers, this battle not decisive but stinging nevertheless After the last in a long series of engagements, they'll make it out of the city. After only a few days in the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri's band and all the other Popular Front troops in the city are unceremoniously expelled, defeated. But they'll be back. Once they've licked their wounds and resupplied their forces with armaments and ammunition, they'll take up the offensive again. Valeri knows this from the way he's come to learn that the revolution is offensive, not defensive. "They won't come now," says Valeri, speaking quietly with his lead hand. "They've got to wait a day to get into position," says Lynn. "We'll have to leave in the morning before they come for us," says Valeri, "but as long as we do that then we'll make it out of the city without encountering any further attacks."

After they've put down for the night, Valeri surveys the brothers and sisters in his band, seeing some new faces out of the same group of people with every look around. As the wind carries and the heat of the unseasonably early summer sets in, Valeri finds himself contemplating the notion that the changing course of the war might come and go like the changing season, without anyone on the ground being able to notice any specific moment but able nevertheless to sense. Fires continue to burn in the distance, some of them seeming beyond the horizon, like lit matchsticks trailing smoke into the sky. But in fact it won't be so easy. Under a vigorous assault from unknown enemy forces, Valeri and the others have found themselves trapped in an impossible situation. Of course, Valeri and many others have disobeyed orders before. Such a ragged and undisciplined group of fighters couldn't have the temperament of trained soldiers. Instead, they make mistakes. After another day of fighting, clawing their way back out of the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri receives permission from Sister Simpson to put down for the night, and promptly relays the order through his lead hand, Lynn. They set down on the grounds of an old urban park, with the city's landfill to their left and a major rail line and a residential area beyond to their right. "Do you think we'll be able to make it out alive?" asks Valeri, speaking with his lead hand, Lynn. "Of course," she says. "I shouldn't have made the decision to attack so quickly," says Valeri, "it's my responsibility for all the deaths." But Lynn stops him, saying, "it was certain that we'd attack whether we were ready or not." But this, this Valeri doesn't accept, not because he simply doesn't want to but because he can't.

It seems to Valeri altogether anticlimactic for them to be pushed out of the city only so soon after they'd arrived. The distant thud of gunfire seems to grow into a cacophony of noise, like a hard rain lashing at every hardened surface on the ground. At some point Valeri takes to counting the dead, as if by their absence to arrive at some definitive number. But the bodies can never be completely accounted for, not so long as they remain in hostile territory. Unlike their enemies, the nationalist militias and sectarian gangs, the men and women of the Popular Front's armed forces don't abandon their wounded but carry them along. One of the edicts from the rebel Elijah had been in regards to their wounded, ordering all bands of Popular Front fighters to carry their wounded and leave no man or woman behind if ever they should be forced on the retreat, and Valeri determines to follow this edict rigidly and resolutely.

But it's not only in the city of Milton Keynes that men and women must make these decisions, nor only among the forces of the Popular Front. In the distant city of York, a young woman named Phyllis Copeland secretly hopes for the re-emergence of the still-distant Popular Front, risking her life in doing so. Most of the Popular Front fighters in and around York have been eliminated in the aftermath of a sequence of uprisings, leaving women like Phyllis under threat of execution if seen to openly express sympathy for the revolution. Thousands of workers remain on strike, with the area's industry and transport paralyzed. Even the threat of attack by the local militia isn't enough to compel the workers back to work. "They're going to come soon," says Phyllis, speaking with another striking worker. "They had better," says the worker. At home, it's no different, in the little flat Phyllis shares with her family a multitude of opinions expressed, each more passionately than the last. "You can't go on saying that," says her elder brother, not one of the workers on strike but nevertheless forced off work by the strike. "I can say it because it's true," says Phyllis. They have little to eat, and fall back on staples such as plain bread and rice for many meals. "We shouldn't care who wins," says their father, "only that the war ends, and the sooner the better." Both Phyllis and her brother accede quietly to their father's position, for the moment accepting the truce. Many men and women, whether elderly or not, are like Phyllis' father, uncommitted, but capable of being made to yield to a successful, victorious revolution. As the streets of York will soon become bathed in blood again, it remains to be seen if there are enough men and women like Phyllis here to see this revolution through to its rightful end.

But when they put down for the night, they're still within range of the enemy, still within the urban area around the southern edges of the city. Valeri has come close to death before on several occasions, and he's been aware for a while that at any time a stray round could shoot him dead. Far from home, far from wherever home might've been Valeri and the others under his charge have put down for the night, they remain at risk from enemy attack. Whenever they put down for the night, they must post watch. As has become customary, Valeri asks for volunteers to serve on the first watch, taking great care to assure the others that he'll be on first watch with them. There's no shortage of volunteers; before Valeri finishes making his way through the others, he's got enough for the night. Moreover, there are those across the country who can't be made to volunteer, no matter the grave dilemma facing them. "The night would be a perfect time to escape," says Lynn, "or at least put a few more kilometres between us and the enemy." But Valeri only says, "we've got to get some rest. This part of the city is reasonably secure." Lynn cedes the point, saying, "no less safe than any other." In truth, the enemy is too badly depleted of manpower and munitions to pursue them, or to attack them on their way out. Rather, the enemy will allow them to put down for the night, and will allow them to continue their slow escape from certain death.

In the city of Brighton, also still in the hands of the National Forces, an older man named Isaac Hill works not in a factory or mill but in a primary school as an ordinary caretaker. He lives on school grounds with his family, as has become custom, but then so do many of the teachers. The devastation wrought by the course of the war has meant many new homeless, and most of the teachers and their families who live in the school have come to do so for this very reason. When Isaac makes his rounds at the end of the day, he must now adjust to the sight of so many teachers and families, even with a few pupils whose parents have been killed or gone missing, putting in for the night, a sight unthinkable even a few years ago. "The water's broken," says one teacher, approaching Isaac near the end of his rounds to complain about a faulty tap in his classroom. "I'll shut off water to your room," says Isaac, "and you'll have to get what you need from the next room over until I can fix it." The teacher nods and thanks him, before heading back to the room. But when Isaac goes to shut off the valve to that room, he knows he must shut off water to three other rooms concurrently, else leave water streaming into the one classroom with faulty pipes. In the night, he posts notices to the affected classrooms, before retiring to be with his wife and children. "I hope this war's over soon," he says, "regardless of who wins." In the night, tonight, they'll hear sounds of the intensifying fight in the city's streets, the bursting of bombs and the rattling of gunfire seeming to become louder and more frequent. Over the next few weeks, more families will turn up looking to live at the school, none of them teachers. The headteacher will accept them all. In a few months, when the local militia turn up looking for rebels, they'll find only terrified men, women, and children. Isaac will see the militiamen decide on taking their lives anyways.

In the days that follow that night, Valeri and the others march out of the city of Milton Keynes, finding refuge outside the built-up urban area. They link up with a few other bands of Popular Front fighters, all of whom they find to have suffered greater casualties than them in the recent fighting. Some of them agree to submit their surviving men into other bands, including Valeri's, a reorganisation shortly thereafter approved by Sister Simpson. "Every time we fall back it dims the prospects of ending the war soon," says Valeri, thinking ahead. "You're right about that," says Lynn. "Are you hurt?" asks Valeri, having noticed a slight wince in Lynn's face when the light strikes her just the right way. "Yes," says Lynn, "but I'll be fine." Valeri is, of course, nurturing his own minor injuries, Although they've been serving in the revolution alongside one another for only several months now, Valeri's already learned to intuitively sense her talents. But the people are too tired, hungry, and sore to be able to spontaneously join in the uprising, forcing them all to remain at their work stations even as the last surviving rebel fighters withdraw over the course of several days. In many bands, the dead outnumber the survivors. In Valeri's small, platoon-sized band, he notices they've lost several killed in their ill-advised attack into the city of Milton Keynes. He swears to avenge them when next they take to the attack.

Elsewhere, in the small city of Ryde on the Isle of Wight residents face a different set of challenges, but challenges no less daunting. A middle aged woman named Lois Page has been out of work for many years, the area's traditional reliance on tourism having produced profound impoverishment when the revolution that preceded this one by more than fifteen years failed. Her sons, both adolescent, have been talking of leaving home to head into England to join one faction or another in the revolution. She doesn't want them to, but they're growing to become the age when she can't stop them. "This could be the last time we see each other," she says, with them at supper one night. "Don't say things like that," says one son. "I can't stand this place any longer," says the other. But the ferry taking them sinks en route to Southampton, caught in a crossfire when nationalist troops along the coast unexpectedly open fire on another across the channel leading into the city. When Lois learns the ferry went down ablaze, with no survivors, she cries for as long as a mother can for the deaths of her children.

But in the city of Colchester, not far from the nearest Popular Front held town, still-different challenges present. An older man named Dewey Barret has been mustered into service not by the local authority but by a private militia controlled by the head of an industrial estate. This makes him equivalent to the Home Guard of old, even though he makes no loyalties to any particular authority beyond his own. Dewey Barret works hard in the streets every day, made to do so at gunpoint, his body broken and his muscles aching, but his spirit remaining unbowed. One day, in the middle of all this, he works repairing a rail line that leads through the northern part of the city. He works even as the sounds of battle, the bursting of bombs and the rattling of gunfire seem to emerge from the horizon and draw closer with each passing day. "I get it," says one of his fellow workers, "they need something more than this." But Dewey doesn't say anything, not yet. "Could they be planning something?" asks another worker. "It's not like they've—" They're cut off by the approaching guard, who shouts at them to keep working. They're not putting down a rail line but pulling it up. "I've got no children to look after," says Dewey, later that night in their little flats, "so I've got nothing to lose." On this they're agreed. But when they turn up for work the next day, the fighting spirit has left them, each and every one of them bereft of energy, as if sapped by some nefarious and unseen creature in the night. They don't know it, can't know it as such, but this is the moment the angel of light, the counterpart to the dark essence which guides the revolution, chooses to make itself felt. The true depth and breadth of the implications of this turn of events won't be seen for some time, but in the meanwhile men like Dewey and his fellow workers won't see freedom but continued enslavement because of it.

However long it's been since the execution of the royal family, the brutal killings have inspired a number of others, in Britain and around the world. Although the British monarch had not had any real power for centuries, the value of symbolism is not lost on those who would prosecute the revolution. The bodies of the king and the rest of the royal family had not been buried, rather left to rot in the ditch where they'd been unceremoniously dumped after their executions. Their carcasses had been picked clean by rats and mice, and their bones covered in mud by the melting of the winter's snow and ice. Nothing remains to mark the spot. Even as the area where they'd been apprehended has fallen under the control of nationalist militia, still there's nothing left to mark the spot. A few months will pass, and the images of their broken, lifeless bodies thrown in the ditch will continue to splay across screens around the world. But there will be no more tears shed for them. Here in Britain, the progenitors of the now-defunct Provisional Government have no more reason to need a symbol such as the king, while the working class and the Popular Front have other enemies to worry about.

Still, the symbolism of the king having been brutally killed remains important, as it had come to precipitate a wave of retribution against criminals major and minor, present and historical, with even the limited tribunals and their judgements thus passed but a small taste of what's to come. After having seized power and established the new government in Westminster, Buckingham Palace had been razed, burned to the ground along with every other landmark associated with the old regime. Flags of the new People's Republic fly from flag poles, from streetlights, and from the sides of buildings. In some places other flags loosely associated with the Popular Front's revolution are flown, such as the flag of the old Soviet Union, those of various political parties including the red and gold banners of the Worker's Party and the People's Party, or even simple red banners made out of cloth hastily painted red. In time, those who would raise these flags will be called on to act on their displays, whether they realise it or not, whether they want to or not, the power of symbolism being made abundantly clear.

Even in centres like Manchester, well within the territory controlled by the Popular Front, the hardships experienced by working class men and women are dramatically more severe than before the revolution began in earnest so long ago. In Manchester, a woman named Amy Barker lives in one of the working class districts seized in uprisings which led to the founding of the People's Republic, an act which has made their lives no easier. There isn't much work to be had, even under the demands of the war, which means the working class councils formed to govern their own cities and homes must provide work for their own. Amy's in charge of managing some of the resources provided to them by the Popular Front for their survival, having been elected to a committee of her peers, by her peers. Every day she must carefully ration food, water, clothing, even certain basic medicines according to the edicts of the Popular Front's apparatchik, who's given instructions to her personally. "I know times are hard now," she says, speaking with a few of the others, "but once the war is over, they'll get better." She says this with a kind of strained confidence, which she's sure must come across as forced but still puts out there anyways. "When the enemy is defeated and all Britain is under the rule of the Popular Front," she says, "then we'll enjoy a renaissance." She's hopeful that her work on this committee in conjunction with a future recommendation from the apparatchik who handles her will give her the standing to enter either the Worker's Party or the People's Party, and they will. For every man or woman who finds themselves unable to muster the energy to fight, there's someone like Amy Barker, who will always have some inner reserve of energy to draw on. This inner reserve is granted to her by the dark essence which guides the revolution, which she doesn't know about but benefits from like any other.

But one place this crucial turn of events is plainly manifested is in the many churches across the country, at least in those parts of the country under the firm control of the new People's Republic. At a small church not far from the spot where Valeri puts down for the night, a revolution of an entirely different kind is had, one which has been in the making for centuries. Although the Anglican church is long defunct, there are those who would've attempted to continue that aged, spiritually vacuous body's de jure control over the hearts and minds of worshippers throughout Britain. As part of the Popular Front's exercising control over the area, the worshipers at this particular church are empowered to expel the wicked and institute their own worship. On either side of the pulpit are two flagpoles, from which there'd draped the flag of the United Kingdom on one side and the Royal Standard on the other. Now draped from those poles are the Worker's Party on one side and the People's Party on the other. These parties, together, make up the co-equal leaders of the Popular Front, and it's these parties, together, which lay the path toward a new renaissance. But in the middle of this church, directly behind the pulpit, there stands a massive cross, erected only after the old authority had been expelled and the rogue ministry had asserted the existence of a new authority in its place. Despite the battle taking place nearby, and the threat of attack at any time, worshipers now flock to this church. For so many years the old Anglican church had led a ministry utterly dead, arrayed in purple and scarlet, adorned with gold and jewels and pearls, along with the old Catholic church, and many others. Critically, the Popular Front had signed an agreement to incorporate into its ranks this church and the rogue ministry which now controls it and several other churches in the area. This church will send a representative to a local council, from which will elect members of a larger council. Now, a new beginning can take shape.

For so many years, decades that became centuries, it'd been preferable, even fashionable for the screens to be filled with propaganda pictures conveying the preferred ideology. Talking heads would occupy the central, larger part of each screen, with barely-legible text scattered across the rest, some scrolling, some fixed in place. It never really mattered what the material facts behind any given picture were, only that they were presented in the way they were, denouncing all kinds of waste in the form of workers left unworked or teachers left untaught, never pausing their breathless outrage to consider the implications of their breathless outrage. Even to men like Valeri, in some vague and visceral way, the absurdity of these talking heads and their daily screeds were self-evident, while to others such absurdity may have been manifest as a strict and honest truth. As he turns in for the night, Valeri wonders what the coming day will bring. Still, one of the many things Valeri's learned over the last few years is that those who would purport to fight against their revolution are cunning, resourceful, themselves not limited to those tools that are immediately apparent to men like him. Not everywhere in Britain is the scene of such heavy fighting, however. In parts of the country firmly under the control of the Popular Front, a new wave of unrest is about to be unleashed. Although Britain has been in a near-constant state of upheaval for decades, it's only now that this upheaval is beginning to serve a larger purpose, out of the chaos there emerging a perverse, disjointed kind of order.

14. Emanations

Almost as soon as they'd arrived, the 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury is pushed out of Milton Keynes by these relentless enemy attacks. Some of the rebel forces withdraw along the backroads and across the fields, but most are ordered to fall back along the motorway connecting Milton Keynes with Greater London, still a ways away. As there's no direct route between Aylesbury and Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others must march through the countryside until they reach their designated position. In the country just beyond the city, Valeri and the others have formed a defensive bulwark against the enemy pursuit they're sure is to come. But after several days of waiting, still the enemy doesn't come. So late in the summer's season, the weather has yet to turn, with the heat thick and swampy. Even Valeri can't remember when the summers weren't so hot and humid, yet still every summer seems the hottest and most humid yet. He's become so used to the smell of human ripeness that it doesn't even register as much of a smell at all. But he can never become used to the noxious odour of human flesh rotting.

Even as the battles in the city continue to play out, Valeri can detect the faintest stench of rotting human flesh, as if the source of the stench is far enough away only to just be smelt. He doesn't know that the source of this stench is not only the bodies of dead fighters from either side, but rather the bodies of innocents massacred inside the city by some of the local militia. After all the crimes that've been committed over so many months, the smell of so many corpses can never shock him, nor can it blend into the background. "Here's good enough," says Valeri, and they set up camp in the open countryside. "I don't know how long we'll have to be here," says Lynn, "but if we don't get any reinforcements soon then the enemy could attack us." But Valeri says, "I hope they do," while looking her right in the eye. "If we don't know what to do," says Lynn, "then surely the enemy doesn't either." Although Valeri can see through his lead hand's specious reasoning, he doesn't object, preferring instead to let the moment stand. It's all any of them can do, as they must all come to grips with the loss of many of their own in so rash and ill-advised a move as their initial attack. When Valeri's band had first been set out, they'd had around fifty men and women at arms. Now, after the recent action, they're down to around thirty. Not all of the difference has come in the form of dead; many have been seriously wounded, too seriously to keep on fighting. From her headquarters in Aylesbury, Sister Simpson advises them there's to be no reinforcements sent out to them, as there's none ready.

After having run out of ammunition, the gun crew Valeri had served in is effectively disbanded, Valeri and the others becoming riflemen. A cache of rifle rounds have been found and distributed among some of them, but these rounds won't last long. "I'm no hero," says one young man, a man named Edmund, "I'm just here to fight." And Valeri says, "I think there are no real heroes," and then pauses before continuing to say, "only those of us who can keep on fighting." The young man Edmund, he says nothing, only nodding firmly. By this time, some days have passed since their unceremonious expulsion from the city of Milton Keynes, and they've established contact with some of the others in the area. While Lynn helps some of the brothers and sisters fashion a defensive position out of an old, upturned lorry, Valeri works with his operator, the younger Aretha Cordoba, trying to get more brothers and sisters sent to their unit. But the only messages he receives from Sister Simpson are rather cryptic statements that these reinforcements are needed elsewhere. It becomes abundantly clear to Valeri that Milton Keynes is not to be a decisive battle in the revolution, but the implication which bothers him is that the decisive battle must lie elsewhere. In that, he's wrong, wrong to question his own limitations even as circumstances conspire to make them manifest. "What are we supposed to do now?" asks Valeri, a little while later speaking in private with his lead hand, Lynn. "Wait," says Lynn. "For what?" asks Valeri. But Lynn doesn't reply, seeming to prefer instead to let the silence speak for her. The rebel fighters Valeri's come to see as his own brothers and sisters are but a small part of the much larger struggle, as they fight their way across the British countryside the real revolution about to begin in a wave of strikes yet to be. The workers have by and large not yet returned to work, a fact which makes itself manifest whenever Valeri and the others enter a new township, however small and obscure. Sometimes workers come out to greet them, but mostly inhabitants look on them with a mix of fear and awe. Valeri's band comes flying the red and gold banner of the Popular Front; already they see that very banner, or more often some close, homemade approximation of that very banner.

Elsewhere, the war on the continent begins to take a new and unexpected turn. Across Europe, Jews and others have been targeted by various nationalist forces for persecution and murder, with the left wing parties offering protection. Many persecuted groups, Jews first and foremost, have heard of the brave acts undertaken by the Popular Front in Britain to protect the country's Jews from a similar fate, and it's the spreading of stories of these brave acts that's beginning to entice a flow of refugees west. The flow of refugees inside Britain has grown, and they seem to be following every road in every direction, each following the shifting front lines. After their expulsion from Milton Keynes, the forces of the Popular Front had found themselves taking refugees with them, each battle having produced a new surge in people seeking refuge from the fighting. But when next Valeri and the others under his charge encounter the enemy, they're not sure how to react when the enemy provides only a brief and lacklustre fight. "It seems like it's getting hotter a lot earlier every year," says Valeri, "it's hardly April and it's already too damn hot out." His operator, the younger Aretha Cordoba, says, "it's too late for anyone to be saved." They continue to receive reports from refugees fleeing the city that the massacres continue, only at halting, disjointed rhythm, sometimes days or even weeks passing between discoveries of persons to be killed by nationalist militias and gangs of sectarian youths.

Even as the great bulk of rebel fighters occupy positions around major cities and dotted throughout the countryside still there's the territories seized by a patchwork of factions, only loosely aligned with one another but aligned nevertheless. In the morning light, Valeri peers into the city beyond through a pair of binoculars. He spots a flag he doesn't recall seeing before, a black and blue design flying from the roof of a four-storey building. "What do you make of that?" he asks Lynn, then hands her the binoculars. "I don't know," she says, after having looked over the flag for a moment or two, "but we should get on the line to Simpson's office." In fact, Sister Simpson hadn't yet moved her post closer to the city before the bands of fighters under her leadership had been expelled. It occurred to Valeri, at some point in the past few days, that she might've well expected their attack to be defeated, but he doesn't mention this thought to any of the others.

Sometimes, it seems to Valeri as though the path he's followed is not at all like the path he'd have imagined for himself, even in his wildest dreams. After having rebelled all his life against any injustice, whether perceived or real, he now fights at the vanguard of a new revolution. He is becoming the man he ought to be. But all the death he's seen and meted out doesn't weigh on his mind or on his heart, even as he begins to come to grips with the futility of the larger struggle. "What happens next?" asks one young fighter, a younger sister named Lynette Shaw. "Reinforcements are coming," says Valeri, having just gotten off the line to Sister Simpson who remains at her headquarters in Aylesbury. "What happens when they get here?" asks Lynn. A group of them are situated behind the forward positions, with only a few metres separating them from the brothers and sisters on watch. "Do we attack then?" asks another young fighter, a younger brother named Ben Solomon. They all, even Lynn, seem to be looking to Valeri for leadership. "It doesn't say," says Valeri, although he knows as well as anyone else that in the absence of new orders their previous orders are left to stand. "We're the most exposed of all our units in the area," says Lynn, a little while later, after she and Valeri have had some time to consider their options. But Valeri is becoming determined to be the leader he can never truly be, the leader he's always been destined to become. "If they're likeliest to attack here," says Valeri, "so much the better. Let them come." It doesn't always seem to Valeri as though he should be so bold and outgoing. It's at this very moment that his inner doubts should be so strong, so overwhelmingly strong. Even as he looks over their new defensive positions he fully expects them to lose so many men and women with the next enemy attack, which must be imminent. By now, it's almost summer, that ill-defined period where the heat and humidity of a post-climate Britain has become oppressive, thick and swampy enough to physically restrain anyone caught outside. When they march, Valeri has to put extra effort into each step forward, as if walking along the bottom of a pool filled with warm molasses.

Seemingly, a quiet interlude emerges. As the season turns quickly, days seem to blend into nights. It wasn't all that long ago in the grand scheme of things that Britain's climate would've meant seasonal changes barely perceptible, with only rain and mild cold. But now, after so many decades of runaway climate change, the boundary's become so sharp, so stark, it almost seems as though the trees have yet to shed their leaves before the first snowflakes have fallen. A few days have passed since their unceremonious expulsion from the city of Milton Keynes, and already Valeri's itching to return. He checks several times a day with Aretha for any updates on their orders from Sister Simpson, but the only new messages are continued instructions to hold fast. "I'd have half-expected to receive a reprimand," says Valeri, one night, after a particularly uneventful day on the line. "You can never really be sure what to expect," says Lynn, "not in this day and age." Valeri says, "you speak like an old soul." Lynn says, "next to many of our brothers and sisters, I suppose I am." And Valeri says, "I'll give you that one." Still there's periodic bursts of action, an enemy force spotted nearby leading to an exchange of fire, no one killed on either side. Soon, Valeri orders the brothers and sisters to fall back a little, a few hundred metres back to a better position at the edge of a forested area just off the road. He declares it a better defensive spot, with cover afforded by the trees while a slight elevation permitting them a good field of fire across the highway. But in truth, even Valeri doesn't truly know what he's doing, not yet, governing these brothers and sisters as he is almost entirely by instinct. They receive a new supply of food and ammunition from behind the lines, but one which only partially replenishes their badly depleted stores. This doesn't bother Valeri much, as he's grateful for any supplies at all. They were meant to seize whatever they could from their attack into the city of Milton Keynes, in accordance with Elijah's edict that their revolution should be sustained by the very people it seeks to liberate, but were not able to seize any food or other supplies during their brief foray into the city. Now, with only the meagre sustenance they've received from a recent resupply, they must confront the possibility of seizing what they need from nearby locals, as they've withdrawn from the city of Milton Keynes the only nearby locals a few rural settlements and tiny, tiny towns. This prospect never gets any easier to Valeri, no matter how often they must commandeer the resources they need, no matter that it's sanctioned by Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front.

For his part, Valeri eats only as little as he needs, relying on a spiritual sustenance to keep him going whenever his hunger seems about to overcome him. After having eaten a small tin of beans, one night, he turns to his readings and his studies to divert his attention from the emptiness still gnawing at his innards. The civilian refugees who continue to make their way past, along the roadway, sometimes present to his brothers and sisters, asking for food, and it takes every ounce of strength in Valeri's body for him to deny them any. The most difficult to deny food are the children who present to Valeri without their mothers or fathers, some seeming as young as ten or twelve years. One young man who seems the youngest of all asks only once for food, on Valeri denying him the young boy moving along. "I know how hard it must be for you," says Lynn, a few nights later during a pause in the fighting, when not a single burst of gunfire can be heard across the way. "Not only for me," says Valeri, even as he hardly can hear anything for all the booming silence throughout the night. Such quiet is deeply unsettling to Valeri, who grew up in the working class districts of London, where there couldn't ever be heard such a silence owing to the sounds of the city all around him. "Still," says Lynn, "it's going to get much worse before it gets better." Valeri turns to look her over, then asks, "how do you know that?"

But he feels stupid for even having to ask her. She says nothing, unknown to Valeri choosing this moment to make use of her recently-acquired gifts, instead of speaking making her intentions acutely felt. "Right," says Valeri, after a moment's pause, "I know what you mean." Still, they've all faced the possibility of having lost their loved ones before, with the revolution having visited itself upon every element of British society. Even though Valeri had already lost his mother and father in the failed revolution that preceded this one by more than fifteen years, he continues to rue this loss, with no single act of vengeance against a vast and impersonal enemy capable of slaking his thirst for justice. Now, in the darkness of the night, there's visible fires burning in the distant city. Looking into the night, Valeri prefers to imagine each as the funeral pyre of a particular family, a particular group of people made to suffer and die at the hands of the same wanton criminals who'd killed his parents, who've killed so many innocent Jews and others in recent British history. For now, though, the unspoken conflict among the brothers and sisters under Valeri's charge seems content to remain unspoken, making itself felt only when the moment permits. Even within such a small band of fighters there emerge factions, even factions within factions, all looking to Valeri to provide them with the unity they can't, couldn't achieve on their own. In this moment of inaction, when they are forced neither to defend nor attack, Valeri can only choose to press forward on the path laid out for them. The study which he's received from Sister Simpson only several months, nearly a year ago, couldn't have prepared Valeri for the trials he now faces. It's precisely because Valeri is unprepared that he's among those destined to lead the way through to the future, if only he should reach out and seize his destiny with both hands.

All throughout these days following their failed attack on the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others keep on hearing of the unrest gripping the area, of the demonstrations in parts of the city. Their main source for information continues to be the flow of refugees out of the city, even as the flow of refugees has slowed to a trickle. "I wonder how many there are in other parts of the country," says Valeri, half-talking to himself as they look over a gaggle of civilians walking along the side of the road one night. "Now there's not so many," says Lynn, at Valeri's side. Valeri begins to ask, "and how do you..." But he catches himself, remembering as he does his lead hand's still-developing talents. It occurs to him that they might be able to make good use of her newfound abilities in battle, if only she could project them further afield. "It doesn't work that way," says Lynn, after which Valeri doesn't persist in his questioning. It isn't even clear to Valeri exactly what Lynn's new gift is, nor its boundaries. Even as Valeri comes to grips with his lead hand's still-developing talent, he doesn't know that even Lynn remains unaware of the limits of her own abilities. They have this in common; in each of their lives, the path forward sees each exploring the limits of their gifts.

In truth, Valeri is beginning to appreciate Sister Simpson's last words during their final study sessions. She'd said that their study wasn't complete, that it could never be, and that it was precisely this fact that made it essential that their study should come to an end. The tension between that which can never be and that which must be is only becoming evident to Valeri as he must strike out on new ground every day. It's something that may not be readily apparent to the casual observer. Even as the brothers and sisters in Valeri's platoon-sized band of fighters seem to remain in one place, gathering their energies for what might come next, there's a violent and dramatic conflict at play. This conflict is hidden from view, readily apparent only to the most advanced of revolutionary thinkers. For now, this precludes Valeri and those under his charge from seeing it. "We haven't seen any enemy movement for days now," says Valeri, speaking with the younger Aretha Cordoba one night.

Lynn's nearby, far enough away to be out of earshot when he's speaking in a normal conversational voice. "No new orders from Sister Simpson," says Aretha. For a moment, Valeri wonders if she might've developed the very same talent as his lead hand, as he'd been thinking to check for new orders. But when he looks at Aretha he can see from the little glint in her eyes that she must not have any new gifts, that she is simply come to know Valeri by observing him closely over the past several months. "I know what you must be thinking," he says, "and it's true. I can't even begin to describe it." Valeri intends to refer to the vague but powerful feeling that sometimes comes over him, a feeling he doesn't quite appreciate but which he can comprehend anyways. In the night, it always happens in the night, Valeri looks into the darkness just in time to see the number of burning areas in the city beyond suddenly increase, which Valeri immediately recognises as proof on the violence having run amok. "Many people are dying," says Valeri, "and we'll be there to bring their murderers to justice." This is something he's come to be sure of, with all the fervent devotion of a deacon ministering to the faithful.

Through this period the trials convened by Sister Baldwin and the other Popular Front functionaries throughout Britain don't cease but continue at a steady ebb. In Aylesbury, Sister Baldwin has few left to sentence, so small a city as it is, but continues to take testimony anyways. The early wave of trials and subsequent executions has largely finished, which should lead inevitably to the next wave, the next wave of trials and executions demanded by the thirst for vengeance of the working class. As Sister Baldwin collects testimony in anticipation of the next wave of trials and executions, she steels herself against the task at hand, her nerves as strong as ever but her vision becoming clouded by circumstance far beyond her control. Still, she continues to work in raising troops to serve in the Popular Front's forces, including some to be sent out to reinforce Valeri's small band of fighters, though not soon enough. For Valeri, this period of relative quiet so soon after their expulsion from the city of Milton Keynes is rather unsettling, eerily carrying a deafening loudness even through the darkest of the night. Although the burning areas in the city beyond them have kept on burning through the night, the flames seem to have turned a hazy violet colour. It's as if to suggest to the killings and the vicious retributions in the city have faded into the evening sky, the nationalist militia and the sectarian gangs having themselves largely turned in for the night. "Do you really mean the things you say?" asks Lynn, his lead hand joining him at the centre of their line. "Always," says Valeri, with enough conviction even to momentarily fool himself. He pauses for a moment to consider his thoughts, before he says, "if you don't, then why are you here?" But Lynn says, "we'll be going on the attack soon." Valeri asks, "so soon?" Lynn says, "so soon. It's going to be difficult, but we can pull it off." After some discussion, they separate for the night, Lynn heading for sleep while Valeri mans the line with the others. There's little to talk about with any of the others, not so long as they're all consumed in their own survival.

Elsewhere in Britain, the wealthy men whose interests and whose excess resulted in the revolution now spiralling out of control face their own fate. In certain parts of the country, in those still controlled by forces opposing the new People's Republic, these wealthy men have taken to securing themselves in compounds. These compounds are guarded by groups of armed men who owe their loyalty to one flag or another. As the loose and disparate array of forces who oppose the new People's Republic have begun to coalesce into a single fighting force, so have those who oppose them, the rising of the forces of good provoking in reaction the rising of forces of evil. It was a series of crippling strikes that'd brought down the old, hated Provisional Government, and it's to be a series of crippling strikes that'll bring down the remnants of the old, hated Provisional Government. These remnants persist despite the best efforts of Sister Baldwin and all those Popular Front apparatchiks like her to rein in the simmering unrest. But what even Sister Baldwin doesn't know, can't know, is that evil facing them down will soon be capable of crimes none of them could've ever foreseen. When next Valeri and his lead hand Lynn discuss the coming attack, their discussion immediately transitions to something far more profound. "Will you ever give up on that?" asks Valeri. He can tell she's purporting to talk about the mistake he'd made, the mistake so many other Popular Front bands had made in their premature attack on the city of Milton Keynes, that she'd objected to his decision but nevertheless chosen not to oppose it once it'd been made. "Will you make the same decision again?" he asks. They've both been debating among the others the very same points, even as the demands of war require their full attention at every moment. They accomplish this by devoting themselves to both tasks equally, to each task exclusively at the same time. As the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs seem to recede into the distance, barely audible against the countryside's din, Valeri and Lynn have at it, air their growing differences but emerging from their airing of grievances still on the same side.

After all Christopher Jenkins has been through in the past few months, he remains capable of everything a man should be, though sometimes barely. The factories, warehouses, and power stations in his neighbourhood all remain standing, along with the apartment blocks, but their residents must endure chronic power shortages. This evening sees their part of the city having endured a fifth straight day without power, though water remains connected. "I'm going to join the army," says Helen Reed, the next time she and Chris see one another. They haven't spoken of his confessed love for her. "Good luck," he says; it's all he can think to say. They're not in a private place, but in their block's foyer, the oppressive heat having made their upper-floor flats unbearable until the sun sets. They've seen each other less and less since he'd told her of his love for her, although this is mostly due to the frantic change in the course of the war. By the time she's had the chance to act on her desire to join the armed forces of the Popular Front, their lives will have changed radically, along with the lives of everyone else in wartime Britain.

Still there's a tension in the air, almost palpable, whenever more than a few people gather in the night. Their little encampment on the edge of a forested area is the countryside well beyond the furthest reaches of the city of Milton Keynes. Whenever Valeri checks with Sister Simpson, he finds their orders are to remain in place. Whenever Valeri asks for further instructions, he's told to report all enemy movements but otherwise hold position. It's frustrating, too frustrating for Valeri, still the ill-mannered malcontent in him chafing and chomping at the bit. "We're still at fewer men than we were before," says Lynn, "I hope the enemy is as hard up as we are." It's late at night, and Valeri can't sleep. They've made their beds inside the forested area behind them, with their manned positions right on the edge of the forest. "This blasted waiting," says Valeri, "I still haven't learned how to put up with it." At that moment Valeri is beginning to come to grips with the changing course of the revolution, that it's to become something entirely different from what it's been all along. "I've been meaning to ask you about her," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, speaking of the relationship she's seen Valeri developing with his lead hand. "I can't explain it," says Valeri, "but there's something about her." Aretha, sounding incredulous, asks, "about her?" And Valeri continues, saying, "I can't even describe it. But then I don't have to." It's implicitly understood by both that he means this in an entirely spiritual way, that the vague but powerful sensations he sometimes experiences are further evidence on the influence of a power, a force far greater than anything he can directly perceive. In the meanwhile, they must continue to grapple with the difficulty imposed on them by the scarcity of food.

Elsewhere, at the governing council which Julia Roberts serves on has grown increasingly dysfunctional since their last visit by the Popular Front's apparatchik, leading the Popular Front's apparatchik to consider drastic and immediate action. Meeting with the apparatchik in secret, Julia and a few other members of the council receive new instructions on how to proceed. "You must hold a vote on whether to merge your organisation with those of several other nearby railyards, rail lines, warehouses, and factories," says the apparatchik, "once you do this, you'll form a provisional committee to govern them all." Although Julia has been in agreement with the apparatchik, she still has misgivings. In a private conversation with her after the meeting is finished, she confesses these doubts, and suggests he should replace her on the council with someone who has no doubts. "I have weakness," she says, "and you should have people who are strong on the council." But the apparatchik simply shakes his head, then looks at her and says, "it's because you are weak that you are strong. We need more weak people on councils like yours, not fewer, because in weakness there is strength and in strength there is weakness." Julia says, "I don't understand." And the apparatchik says, "you don't have to." Even as he's reassuring Julia on the path forward, she can't help but devote her thoughts to her friend and former colleague, Fred White, whose spot on the council she'd only so recently taken. When she goes to see her next to make amends, he's not there; the nurse says he's been discharged. She doesn't have any time left to see him, not today, and she begins to consider the true implications of his sudden absence. Before she can find him again, he'll find her, in the mean while she having much work to do.

For Joe Hill and the others under the rogue pastor, Cliff Manning, the intervening weeks have proven particularly difficult. In the city of Sunderland, as in many other cities and towns under control of the National Forces, the violence continues unabated. Work can't resume at most of the area's factories, warehouses, and docks, with the nationalist militia and gangs of sectarian youths terrorizing the population. "I'm tired of standing here," says Joe, "I want to get back to work, or get out there fighting." It doesn't occur to him that the violence perpetrated by the nationalist militia and sectarian gangs is in search of any who would seek to align themselves with the forces of the Popular Front. The rogue pastor, Cliff Manning, knows this, and he tempers Joe's simmering anger. "You can go out and return to work," says Cliff, "all that matters is that you keep your heart pure and given over to the struggle." A few days later, after months in hiding, Joe Hill returns to the machine shop where he'd worked, hoping above all hope to find work still there for him. He's in luck; the foreman explains that the critical shortage of trained workers means his position has gone unfilled continuously since he'd left. But his friend, Nina Schultz, isn't there. They'd worked together for years before the revolution began in earnest. With the networks down as often as they're up, as well as Nina's personal distrust of those very networks leading her to establish a minimal presence on them, Joe has no way of contacting her, nor any of her family.

Still elsewhere, in the slave labour battalions where she serves at gunpoint working the streets of Norwich, Marilyn Carter can't quite bring herself to act out on her revolutionary sympathies. Many others in the slave labour battalions find themselves in a similar situation. These slave labour battalions, they're roughly equivalent to the Labour Brigades under the now-defunct Provisional Government, except those compelled to work in the slave labour battalions aren't paid even a pittance, nor are they offered the promise of future release. "This has all got to end sometime," says Marilyn, working alongside a few others. "Not soon enough," says one of her fellow slaves, a middle-aged man named Arshdeep Singh, who'd been imported to Britain over thirty years ago to work as a slave on construction sites and in warehouses and never allowed to go home. Marilyn has struck up a friendship with the man, although she wonders where her friend Dan Murphy must be. "Would you go home?" asks Marilyn. "I may have no home left to go to," says Arshdeep. He's heard, as they all have, of the troubles in India, of the civil strife there. "Have you heard from any family recently?" asks Marilyn. "Not in a few years," says Arshdeep. As soon as the guard returns, they stop talking, the guard's constant presence for the remainder of their shift making it impossible for Marilyn and Arshdeep to keep on talking. By the time her friend Dan Murphy returns, by happenstance finding himself in with her work detail, Marilyn will have made a new friend.

The trade unions which had once been a nearly ubiquitous part of life in Britain now find themselves relegated to the role of bystanders in the revolutionary struggle, their betrayal as recently as a year or so ago remembered by all. Valeri, for his part, believes he'll never forget the sight of his old mentor, Mark Murray, among those who'd taken to the screens to denounce the burgeoning revolution. Now, Valeri is sleeping on the ground, without even the warmth of any kind of blanket; instead he sleeps in his clothes, as do most of the men and women under his charge. "It's too cold," says Valeri, as he wonders on the recent cold snap. Across the line, a few of Valeri's brothers and sisters have fires burning, each of them having cobbles together some wood and spared the fuel to get their fires going. "We could sleep closer to them," says one of Valeri's troopers, a young woman named Carmen Cooper. "It's fine," says Valeri, immediately wishing he hadn't said anything. But even as Valeri steels himself against the harsh weather, they've still not seen the worst of it, as it's still technically not the summertime yet. It's still late-May. Britain hungers for food. Britain should be able to feed itself. Using modern, industrial agriculture, the country is more than capable of growing enough food in various forms to provide for every man, woman, and child living here. But the difficulties associated with the war, both the revolutionary struggle here at home and the fighting on the continent, have conspired to produce starvation on a staggering scale, not seen in Western Europe since the artificial famine in mid-eighteenth century Ireland. Even as the action seems at an ebb, still the strikes which characterised life under the old regime continue, with vast parts of the country almost completely bereft of functioning labour and power.

Finally, for Roy Cook the recent escalation in the killings and lynchings have largely spared him, living as he does firmly inside the territory controlled by the Popular Front. But this fact does him no better, the death of his young wife several months ago having motivated him to become rather morose and inclined to depression. Still he continues to work, even after that day when his lead hand had offered to send him home. He knows his labour is needed, given the demands imposed on them all by the war and the revolution. Prior to this moment, some months after the death of his young wife, Roy hadn't been a fervent supporter of the Popular Front, accepting the rise of the People's Republic it controls but limiting himself to this acceptance. When the Popular Front's apparatchik next comes around to survey the work site, Roy begins to feel something different. "...As hard as you all have been working," says the apparatchik, "you must work harder still. The revolution will get harder, not easier. The challenges we face will become more grave, not less." This causes Roy to shout out, saying, "all power to the Popular Front!" This draws the attention of the apparatchik, as well as the rest of the assembled workers. Even Roy doesn't know where it comes from. "Listen to this man," says the apparatchik, pointing at Roy, "listen to your brother." This exchange sets Roy in a new direction, one which he couldn't have ever expected when this all began. When events take a dire and unexpected turn, he'll be forced to confront his own limits and rise above them.

It's around this time that the first American reconnaissance planes are replaced in their flights over Western Europe by bombers, the latter intended as a highly visible show of strength. But when Elijah sees those first bombers flying far overhead, he doesn't believe the American ambassador who has reassured him in cables that this show is meant to deter the Russians from launching a second nuclear volley, the second hypothetically aimed at Britain. In truth, the rebel Elijah is acutely aware of the true intentions of the American ambassador in cabling him these messages, and decides to let these messages go unanswered. "Let them meet with silence," says Elijah, speaking with his closest disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front's leadership, "and let the silence they meet with induce them to act foolishly." Over the next few days, Elijah and his disciples discuss the next steps, aware as they are of the impending uprisings throughout Britain. In a rare moment of tranquility, Elijah leads his disciples in contemplative prayer, marking the exact moment at which he begins to win the favour of the dark essence that guides their revolution. Eventually, Elijah and his disciples will dispense the wrath of the revolution on those who would seek to arrest its progress, and that's to include the American ambassador, whose death is assured.

15. Broken Link

In the post-industrial wastelands of northern England there's little opportunity for the Popular Front to grow, as these have always been the heart of the Popular Front's support. As this early summer's heat wave has pushed millions out of their homes and into the streets, it seems impossibly quiet in the cities of Liverpool, Manchester, even Birmingham. After a several-days-long rainfall that provided some relief to this summer's season, the clouds over Britain clear, allowing sunlight to fall on the rain-slick rooftops and streets. When next Valeri takes to the front of their positions, his first concern is to secure the line against the enemy attack he's sure will come next. The fighters of the Popular Front have staked out positions throughout the surrounding countryside, his brothers and sisters on the edge of that forested area outside Milton Keynes while many other bands of rebel fighters are nearby. Everyone's been positioned carefully, with Valeri's band of fighters told to hold position until the moment is right. A few more nights pass. The late-summer's heat has given way to the drudgery and the grey of an earlier winter. No one knows what to expect of the coming season, not in this time of a rapidly warming global climate brought on by centuries of runaway pollution and rampant excess. He thinks the last few weeks of attack and retreat, attack and retreat have made the men and women frustrated. "We seek to abolish the old way of life," says Valeri, "and make way for the new. But it's so much more than that." Lynn watches and listens from the sidelines, visible to Valeri who looks in her general direction as he leads the men and women in study, while not seen by the men and women who look right at Valeri, who hang from his every word. She looks at him with a kind of cross eyed look that he can't quite decipher.

But he continues with his leadership of study even as he keeps an eye out for her. "We know our work is difficult," says Valeri, "and we know there are to be setbacks as sure as there are to be victories. We know this because it is written." He holds up his copy of 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components,' the foundational text of the People's Republic. There are particular passages that directly predict the hardening of hearts against their struggle, in some of those sections contributed to the text by one of the rogue ministries comprised of members drawn from old churches. Valeri doesn't seek to supersede the authority of the Popular Front, but to reinforce it. The food stores liberated by the Popular Front's forces continue to feed starving locals, rationed carefully as the stores are by the very forces that'd seized them. The committees of volunteers self-selected from among the local population continue to dispense food, conscious as the whole lot of them are of the need to make sure these stores last for the indeterminate future. Wherever the new People's Republic will go, it must face new trials, new challenges. Of all the arduous challenges they've faced, the men and women who make up the fighting arm of the Popular Front have greater challenges yet to face. "You never seem to grow tired," says Lynn, speaking with Valeri later that night. Most of the men and women are asleep or on watch. "I've always enjoyed the night," says Valeri. He doesn't recall whether this is true, only that he believes it to be true now.

"Do you know how many of them take your lessons well?" asks Lynn. "I'm no teacher," says Valeri. "But we're all teachers," says Lynn, "and we're all students, too." This Valeri can only acknowledge with a slight nod and the tightening of his jaw, before turning away. The two of them proceed to have one last discussion on their likely future actions, on the hypothetical orders they might be given to take up the attack, before he retires for the night. All that remains for them to do, in the time between now and when they must take up the offensive again, is to prepare themselves to receive eventual reinforcements and to steel themselves, collectively and as a group of individuals, against the daunting task ahead. On this night, Valeri's last thoughts before managing to drift asleep are devoted to the many deaths that must lie ahead. While he sleeps, the world keeps on burning, here in Britain and across Europe the bodies of so many innocents continuing to pile up as so many forces continue their reactions against events at large. Outside Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others could come under attack at any moment, even as they can't directly spot any individual enemy positions in the countryside, nor in the parts of the city's urban area closest to them. The enemy doesn't seem to be interested in pursuing them out into the countryside. It's a strange sequence of events that defies any attempt by Valeri and the others to explain them. When Valeri wakes up, after four hours of restless sleep, the situation is no clearer, neither here nor around the world.

In New York, the figure known to the world only as Lucius continues to exert his influence, aligning the powers of men against the revolution nascent in Britain. Although Lucius is a sickly, disfigured man, he's seen in New York by the powers of men as a courageous, even inspirational figure, able to reduce even the most hardened of hearts among the wealthiest and most powerful of men to a babbling mess. This Lucius figure, he seems to have an hypnotic power over wealthy men, able to bend their perception of reality to his whims. Elijah knows of Lucius, even as Lucius takes great care to avoid inserting himself directly into public view. The new People's Republic, it poses little direct threat to the powers of the world, the Americans and their Chinese rivals, because it lacks advanced weaponry and a large standing army. Although some squadrons of warplanes and a handful of naval vessels have joined the revolutionary movement, the bulk of the army remains on the continent, the navy and air force interned abroad. No government has recognised the existence of the new People's Republic, and the chair reserved for the old United Kingdom at the United Nations and its committees remains unoccupied, the placard on the table in front of the chair still there, reading out the country's name, with the little toy Union Jack still adorning the table. For the last time, a young man might see fit to turn the desk's lamp off and dust the light film of dust from the desk's top, only to come back in the morning and switch it on again.

After several days have passed, Valeri and the others continue to monitor the changing situation in the city of Milton Keynes. The number of fires burning in the distance seem to have increased over the past few days, which draws the attention of Valeri and several others. "The whole city looks to be on fire," says Valeri, "and it's getting worse." He looks on the city through a pair of binoculars, noting that the burning areas seem to have blended into one another. "We can't tell when they'll be ready," says Lynn, referring to the reinforcements that're to come from Aylesbury and beyond. "They'll be ready when they're ready," says Valeri, "until then, we wait." Now, Valeri and the others in 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury occupy a miscellaneous stretch of countryside outside the city of Milton Keynes. They dress their wounds and stockpile supplies in a handful of depots along the road behind them, preparing for another attempt to seize Milton Keynes. The enemy who'd pushed them out only a little more than a week earlier similarly prepare, fortifying their positions. The National Forces are not present in Milton Keynes, although in the city there're a loose coalition of various bands of fighters. The Popular Front's forces, the men of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury and the hodgepodge of others rolled into the area are too disorganised and too poorly supplied to be able to stage a lightning attack into Milton Keynes. As Valeri mans his position, along the road leading out from Milton Keynes, he sees the road covered in dirt and debris, turned a deep, dark brown, torn up in places, churned with the mud and sod underneath.

It's around this time that there are periodical exchanges of fire between Valeri's men and women and the nationalist forces who've suddenly come out of the city to confront them at long last. "There's not so many of them," says Valeri, "this can't be all they've got." He says this as the last few bursts of gunfire are exchanged between opposing forces, before the enemy beats a quick retreat back into the relative safety of the urban area beyond. His lead hand, Lynn, shouts at the men and women to cease fire, knowing they're only wasting ammunition firing in such uncontrolled bursts. "It doesn't matter what they're up to," says Valeri, a while later, "we've got to stay in position." It's agreed, all around. "You might not be ready to hear it," says Lynn, "but we'll have some forces in position soon." This strikes Valeri as such an odd thing for his lead hand to say, even as she knows he's prepared to take up the attack as soon as he's given the order. He knows as well as she does that there are, that there must be other bands of rebel fighters somewhere in the country taking up the attack. This is not the only city where nationalist forces are preparing for their own offensive, both against the populace and against the rebels of the Popular Front.

As the Americans have been fighting a costly war across the Pacific with the Chinese, they have little with which to threaten intervention in Europe. They'd long ago withdrawn the last of their forces from bases on the continent. In the period immediately before the downfall of the old United Kingdom, they'd hastily withdrawn their last forces from shared bases in Britain, too, seeking, then, to avoid being drawn into exactly the kind of war they're to be drawn into by this character Lucius. Although Lucius doesn't think himself a tragic character, it's precisely because he's so given to flights of fancy that he's so dangerous. He owns the loyalty of esteemed men, of the wealthy and powerful. In a time when the poor and powerless are in the midst of a great rising, the devious Lucius seeks to command his own rising in reaction and opposition to the great rising underway. But in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, the small band of rebel fighters under Valeri's leadership soon receives its first reinforcements from Sister Baldwin in Aylesbury. These constitute ten fighters, six men and four women, all younger than twenty-five. Valeri takes it upon himself to address these new fighters, which he does later in the evening. "This is to all the new people," he says, "you've all done the right thing in joining the forces of the Popular Front. I don't care what faction you come from. Ours is an army with only one faction. If we all die tomorrow then we'll all be of one faction again." At his side throughout his address, Lynn nods with his every pause. "They'll come for us soon," says Valeri, "and I hope they get here. We'll institute worker's rule of this country our we'll all die trying." But Valeri is not given to inspirational speeches, and his lacklustre attempt to rouse the passions of the new men and women falls short. The men and women respond to his speech with nods, then give the one-fisted salute before he sends them off to the forward positions. Inwardly, he doubts himself, but outwardly he continues to project the same steely confidence he's always sought to project. It'll convince the new men and women, but won't convince Lynn, who seems to be able to use her talents to reach inside him and draw out his real thoughts all the same.

A new cable arrives from the American ambassador, handed to Elijah when he's in consultation with the dark essence which guides the revolution. Alone, his solitude is disturbed by the young aide who enters his quarters, the young man apologizing for the intrusion even as Elijah insists no apology is necessary. The Americans, it seems, wish to reiterate their offer to establish relations, but with a twist. This new message, it ends with an assurance not only of the Americans' good intentions but also that they're watching everything the new government does. When next Elijah meets with his innermost disciples, a group of twelve men and women at the highest echelons of the Popular Front, the subject of this new development, this additional line on this latest cable, is given a storm of debate. "It's an unmistakeable threat," says one disciple, a woman named Martha, "and it must be dealt with accordingly." The full implications of this line of thought are realized acutely by all present. "It could mean the opposite," says another disciple, a woman named Joanna, "it could mean they have no idea what we're doing, what we're planning, and they want to try and make us think they do." This line of thought impresses a different set of implications on those present. If the American ambassador had sought to sow division among Elijah's closest disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front's leadership, he's failed. But this is not the last of the American ambassador's attempts to sow division among Elijah's closest disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front's leadership; even the American ambassador will be the servant to a larger scheme.

For Valeri, the new reinforcements mean they must be about to go on the attack again. He may not know when, but he can certainly predict where. They don't have any machine guns, nor the support of any artillery, but then neither do their opponents. A few days after having received their reinforcements, Valeri counts the men and women as still below full strength, although it isn't clear t him what exactly would constitute full strength. "I hope we attack at night," says Valeri, speaking with a small group, Lynn and Aretha among them. "Why?" asks one of them, a young man who was among the most recent reinforcements. "At night it's easier to sow confusion among the enemy," says Valeri, "and to make them think the attack is coming from all directions at once." In truth, Valeri knows there's little point in them discussing the finer points of strategy, given that they're all going to be given orders to march on the enemy positions at one time or another, regardless of their opinions. "I have a lot to say," says Aretha, "and I don't know if there's any place or time to say it." But Valeri only shakes his head slightly and says, "whatever you've got to say just say it. We could all be dead tomorrow." Aretha comes with news from the headquarters of the Popular Front in London.

Already the Popular Front has been disseminating its propaganda depicting the American military as a tool of imperialist aggression, although this is only a half-truth. Elijah is becoming consumed in the task of managing the larger war effort, subjected as he is to the repeated temptations to accede his burgeoning revolution into the pantheon of nations worldwide. In truth, the master manipulator Lucius has been making private overtures for some months now, seeking to persuade Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front's leadership to become like any other government, to take the place of the old United Kingdom at the United Nations in New York and to assume all the corresponding responsibilities and entitlements. The rebel Elijah steadfastly declines. He understands this is an attempt by Lucius to tempt him into abandoning the path laid out for him and for all working class peoples, but he doesn't feel even the slightest tugging on his heart to compromise the principles of the revolution, liberation of all peoples around the world. In the country just outside the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others take stock of what they've lost. Lynn and Aretha remain, but several of theirs have been killed, including two of the three youths they'd picked up from that little estate. The lone survivor of the three is the eldest, the son, a young man named David but whom Valeri knows to refer to only as Brother Henderson. Immediately Valeri is reminded of himself at a much younger age, only this Brother Henderson has had a much quicker immersion in the ways of the Popular Front than Valeri'd had over the past two years. When Valeri comes around to the position manned by Brother Henderson and two others, he receives the same firm, one-fisted salute he's always received, even from Brother Henderson. He sharply and promptly returns the salute.

But outside the city of Milton Keynes, there's little time for intense debate, the preparatory period now underway providing them with much time and little ways to fill it. The new men and women sent out to Valeri's position each bring a rifle and a few magazines' worth of ammunition, but little else. Already the season has begun to turn, an unusually hot summer in the midst of giving way to an unusually cold and early winter. It's only late-June, and after months of furious fighting none of the combatant forces have much in the way of fighting power. When Valeri next receives additional weapons and munitions, he's told by Sister Simpson not to use them except in self-defence, until ordered otherwise. Several more weeks will pass before events overtake them, in that time Valeri and the men and women under his charge growing no closer to one another but also growing no further apart. In the day they can hear the distant chattering of rifle fire, punctuated only occasionally by the sporadic thudding of heavier artillery, the sounds of battle travelling freely through the open air of the countryside. After having fought their way out of the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri's men and women are permitted at least these few moments of rest. The news that Aretha had brought was news on the burning of more synagogues in areas held by the nationalists. When Valeri had asked whether that'd included the city of Milton Keynes, Aretha had only nodded glumly. This leaves Valeri with a sick feeling; he realises that their failed attack had likely ensured their enemies would engage in such atrocities. Worse still, he considers the possibility that they may have actually provoked such crimes.

At this time, when the still-young People's Republic effectively controls only a small portion of the territory of the old United Kingdom, there's much internal discussion among Elijah's disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front even as their plans for the next offensive are already laid. "I assure you," says Elijah to his twelve closest disciples, "the People's Republic which we have founded is but a passing episode in a much longer history." It's this meeting, seemingly indistinguishable from all the others they've had, that should mark the beginning of the next stage in their movement's long and slow ascent to the annals of power and beyond. The rebel Elijah, in consulting with the dark essence which guides the revolution, has come to believe in the precarious path they must now walk, with the full vigor and enthusiasm of a prophet leading his people to their promised land. In truth, the rebel Elijah knows the great evil which even now gathers its strength against the new People's Republic, both here in Britain and around the world.

And on the continent, the British Army continues to face off against its former adversaries, in the meanwhile many countries having recalled their expeditionary forces. It started with the minor players, the Canadians, Australians, and the South Africans, along with a few others, who pulled their comparably small contingents from the front and returned their troops home. In Poland, the British army continues to oversee a mass slaughter, the right-wing nationalists who've seized power in Warsaw seeking to purge their countries of its Jews, Muslims, and Romani peoples, among others. A relatively minor incident takes place, one day on this long and brutally hot summer, when a young British soldier named Dewey Drake happens across two Polish youths roughing up a Romani girl in the streets of some miscellaneous small town in the eastern part of the country. It doesn't matter exactly what leads to him shooting the two youths dead. It only matters that he shoots them dead, rescuing the Romani girl, returning her to her family in the town.

But in so rescuing this little Romani girl from nationalist youths in Poland, Drake inadvertently sets off a firestorm of consequences, with the right-wing nationalists extending their ire against foreign troops on Polish soil. Over the next several days, a confusing and disjointed sequence of events lead to the British Army on the continent being pronounced as expelled by the Polish government. With nowhere else to go, and no means of returning home, the officers in charge of the Army have no options. Finally, it emerges in secret that the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front have been negotiating with various governments and revolutionary authorities to bring back the Army from the continent; although no firm agreement is made of yet, the Army begins its march westward, over the course of several weeks to pass through Poland and into Germany, losing many men along the way. All this must happen while events in Britain continue to mount with increasing urgency, men like Valeri seemingly fixed in place even as the whole world burns down around them.

When news of the attacks on the British army reach Elijah and his closest disciples, he acts quickly, as he always must. In the countryside, Valeri and the others under his charge are so far removed from the battlefields of Eastern Europe that it might seem altogether antiseptic to them, this news of the killings of Jews, Muslims, and Romani peoples. But here in Britain, too, there are those very same nationalist elements that continue to murder these peoples. Only behind the lines, in territory controlled by the new People's Republic are Jews, Romani peoples, and others in Britain safe from attack at the hands of the nationalist gangs and sectarian forces that run amok throughout the rest of the country. As Valeri receives a supply of ammunition for the men, he quietly smoulders at their continued inactivity, even as so many innocent people are dying their orders remaining to keep watch. "It's not only them," says Lynn, "they're everywhere. The whole world is going up in flames. The war never really ended." She refers to the truce between the Russians on one side and the loose coalition of Western forces on the other, a truce that continues to hold despite the wanton violence on both sides of the lines. "The most important thing we can do is win this war as quickly as possible," says Valeri, "the sooner all Britain is free, the sooner the killing will end." He leaves it unsaid but acutely felt by all the implication that their continued orders to stand by are dragging the war out, by however long this part lasts. His lead hand, Lynn, says, "sometimes the larger struggle is unknown to people like us." But Valeri doesn't take the hint, saying, "I've had enough of this blasted waiting." He resolves to strike at the enemy, in whatever way he can. In the several weeks that've passed since Valeri's band of fighters had received their few reinforcements, little has changed in the field; they remain at their position, having received no more men or ammunition before they're to take up the attack once more.

But first he must make sure all is as it seems. The next battle won't be fought with bullets or bombs, but with a weapon far more powerful. As Valeri has taken to reading in his few spare moments, he becomes more aware of the power of the dark essence that guides the revolution, although he doesn't know it as such. "Have you thought anything about what I've said?" asks Valeri. "I've thought about it," says the younger Aretha Cordoba. "Then you must know what I've come to know," says Valeri. "I don't know anything," says Aretha, "I joined the fight to help end the war." To this Valeri can only nod slightly, as if to acknowledge her statement but also to deny its meaning. "Think about it some more," he says, after a few more moments of silence. This time it's Aretha who can only nod. Valeri has been trying to induce the younger Aretha into seeing the light. "It's not enough just to fight on the side of good," Valeri has said, "you've got to honestly and enthusiastically believe in its goodness." Even this Valeri has only discovered recently, discovering these things only as he speaks, yet speaking with the force and conviction as if he'd known these things all his life. But once the Popular Front forces are ready to attack Milton Keynes again, new developments have forced their hands. The uprising which has been planned by the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples in the Popular Front is soon to be underway, only days from erupting across the country. It's this impending action that looms over men like Valeri Kovalenko, whether they realize it or not, looming large like the gathering of the blackest of storm clouds on the distant horizon. Although the latest in a round of enemy attacks on their positions has been repelled, they have little with which to mount an attack. It wasn't all that long ago that Valeri and most of the others were guerrillas fighting an irregular war, not long than that since Valeri was nothing more than an ill-mannered malcontent. Now, as he stands on the cusp of becoming the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's to be, all could become lost. What Valeri and the others don't know is the wave of unrest building throughout the country, in both areas under the control of the new People's Republic and it areas outside its control. In friendly-held cities, the Popular Front shouldn't seek to suppress this unrest but to use it, to direct the destructive energies and the enflamed passions of the working class against an enemy, the rebel Elijah instructing his disciples to persist in preparing for the coming offensive.

And now, now Valeri must rise to the occasion, still learning as he is to be the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's yet to be. But no more is he an ill-mannered malcontent, a transformation made clear by the straight-jawed look he works to keep on his face at all times, even when confronted with evidence of the atrocities of the old regime. After having made their positions they can only wait for the impending enemy attack, in the meanwhile their own personal discourses seeking an outlet, finding one in any convenient moment. Valeri's immediate task, one which'll take him some months to accomplish, is to make his mark in convincing Aretha and some of the other men and women under his charge to join him in belief.

Not far from where Valeri and Lynn put down for the night, in the city of Northampton there's relentless violence anew. A young woman named Veronica Johnston takes shelter from the killings in her cellar, with her family prepared to ride out the current wave of violence. "How can we stay here much longer?" asks her brother, who lives with them after expelled from his flat by nationalist militia. "We don't have a choice," says her husband, who's been out of work for years. "You're right about that," says her father, a man who's physically enfeebled but mentally spry and sharp as ever, "we can't join in with the rebels. But we also can't stand in the way if the gangs and gunmen come for us. And there's only so many places in this city we can run to." By the time this night is through, this family won't have made a decision, but will have come closer to fracturing. Veronica will be cut down in a hail of bullets, a few days later fired upon by the militia. The rest of her family will scatter, fleeing their home forever.

As men like Valeri steel themselves against the enormity of their tasks, the course of the revolutionary struggle seems to sputter and stall, the field between his position and the outskirts of the city of Milton Keynes seeming to stretch over a thousand miles. It's not to be very long, a few days until he and the others in 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury launch another attack, their objective to be the total seizure of Milton Keynes. Since they've taken up positions across the motorway, Valeri's heard only the occasional rattling of distant gunfire, an eerie silence having seemed to settle over the landscape. And the onset of the uprisings which are soon to take place has been delayed once more, the dark essence that guides the revolution seeing fit to withdraw its influence at exactly the moment when the Popular Front should need it the most. On the front lines, Valeri turns to his lead hand, Lynn, and says, "I don't think we have to worry about them attacking our positions," while pointing down range. "It seems so strange to be just waiting here," says Lynn, "after we'd fought them off at Aylesbury." To this Valeri nods his grim assent. Down range, the enemy positions they'd staked out some weeks earlier remain, but with seemingly fewer troops than before. "What do you think about the young one?" asks Lynn, later, only a little while later, when the two have a spare moment to talk. She's referring to one of the young men they'd picked up from that little estate outside Aylesbury. "They seem to be learning rather quickly," says Valeri, "I suppose the revolution has a way of making quick learners out of us all." He recalls his own misspent youth, even as he's still a young man by any reasonable measure. Exactly as he'd used to treat his body like a machine at work, his muscles smoothly, rhythmically contracting and expanding. Almost a month has passed since their first offensive against the city of Milton Keynes, and in that time much has changed.

Elsewhere, in the small city of Scarborough on the Yorkshire coast, life has become more difficult than ever. The local militia occupies the Scarborough castle, mounted on a raise mass of rocky land overlooking the city. A young man named Ian Morrison works on the city's docks, competing with so many other young men for what little work there is to be had in fishing. The city's hotels have all shuttered long ago for lack of holidaymakers. Today, one day, he's turned away, the fishing vessels bringing in an unusually high catch but Ian among those not chosen to work. "How can they turn me away?" he asks, back at home later in the day. He says, "I've known those men for more than three years, they know I work the hardest. But they don't choose me." He lives with his young wife, in a little flat not far from the docks. "They'll choose you again," she says, "I don't always get work up on the castle." Ian looks both ways. It's an open secret that the militia in the castle have chosen that place for its high ground over the rest of the city, should an uprising take place. His wife hasn't said what work she performs for the militiamen, and he doesn't ask. But by the time this city sees fighting, very few secrets will be laid bare.

But not all is as it seems. After the last in a long series of firefights with enemy men, the way forward has been laid bare. The National Forces are beginning to coalesce into a single fighting force, albeit one with many conflicting loyalties and no clear goals. In the country outside Milton Keynes, it's only been a week since the men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury were expelled from the city in heavy fighting. While working on their emplacements, Valeri and the others see the beginnings of an enemy probe on their position. "Don't fire," says Valeri, his lead hand Lynn relaying his instructions to the fighters. "Conserve your ammunition," says Valeri, "and let them approach." But they don't approach, coming within two hundred metres before halting their advance. This time, the order is obeyed. "They're getting better," says Valeri, "every battle they seem to get more disciplined." He's speaking not with his lead hand Lynn but with the younger Aretha Cordoba, later that night. They've been observing the enemy troops for several hours, and in turn have been observed. Hardly a single gunshot has been heard in that time. "If we get the order to attack then we'll find out just how good everyone's become," says Aretha, "we're all here for the same reason." In the distance they see the enemy continuing to watch them, and Valeri orders continuous watch posted. After all that's happened, after their having been expelled from the city it seems unlikely to Valeri that they'll get another chance so soon.

Not far away, in the city of Bedford the last wave of uprisings never truly ended. A young woman named Mandy Mills has taken in with some of the residents still in rebellion, and she's put to work building barricades and manning the defences. Like most of the ordinary working men and women, Mandy has no gun, using only the implements of work to stand. "Why don't they come?" asks Mandy, speaking with a small group of others who remain. The city of Bedford is controlled by nationalist militia who've pledged their loyalty to the Royalist Association, a loose authority banded together out of a desire to preserve the country's monarchy and outrage over the Popular Front's killing of the royal family. Like many other authorities, those who follow the Royalist Association have little real cooperation with one another. They fly the county flag, a blue flag with three crowns and a pair of wavy light blue lines, along with the royal standard of the British monarch. Mandy and the other insurrectionists only occupy a few key points throughout one part of the city, living in the flats and shops they've taken to occupying. "They're coming," says another, "and they'll come for us soon." They hear screams in the distance, along with the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs. "Will the rebels come to help us?" asks Mandy, when next she sees the young man who'd gone off to meet with their contact in the Popular Front. "Not soon enough," says the young man. With no end in sight, Mandy and the others can do nothing but fight on.

The coming uprising which'll take place throughout the country are only the latest in a long series of battles, in many parts of the country not under the direct control of the Popular Front's forces uprisings continuing since even before the new People's Republic was declared as founded. "There's only one way to the future," says Valeri, "and this is something I'm beginning to understand." Although Valeri is only one man, as he is becoming an avatar for the larger working class struggle he must begin to develop a new kind of consciousness, one which extends beyond the simple, even primitive awareness he'd come to have. There's no action tonight, no fighting anywhere along the line. A notification flashes across Aretha's screen from Sister Simpson, which Valeri's in the perfect position to read. It's a notice that all units in the area are to be ready for imminent offensive action, as soon as the signal is given. "At last," says Valeri, "we can begin." His lead hand, Lynn, approaches to read the message. "What do you think?" asks Valeri. But Lynn doesn't say anything, at this very moment her newly-developed talents making themselves manifest entirely even without conscious effort on her part. Her talents, they won't make themselves available to her again for a long time, months even, in the meanwhile forcing her to suddenly make do without. "I may not have the ability to see into the future," says Valeri, speaking with Lynn a few nights later on the eve of the impending attack, "but I know when something's wrong." But Lynn again says nothing, seeming to force the same look across her face that she manages every night.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Swindon, the coming uprising has its obstacles. A middle-aged man named Frank Logan has been watching the course of the revolution for some time, having lost both his children. He'd had a young son and a younger daughter; his son had been killed in a bomb attack by the rebels, while his daughter had been gunned down in the street by the now-defunct Home Guard. His wife disappeared a few months after. He takes shelter along with many others in one of the city's churches, a haven for rebel sympathisers as well as those caught in the crossfire when their lives were turned upside down. "You must remain here," says the rogue pastor in charge of this particular church, "for it's only here that you can be safe from what's about to come." The rogue pastor says this from the pulpit, addressing the crowded church in preparation for the coming uprising. "I'll remain here," says Frank, "because there's nowhere else to go." Beneath their feet, the floor rumbles periodically in time with the distant bursting of bombs. "If you've come here but don't yet believe in the revolution," says the rogue pastor, "then you should prepare for what will come." Because Frank has already lost his entire family to the war, he has no particular affinity for any faction. He goes to the head of the church just as the militiamen begin to knock the front door down, and he prays for an end to the war.

But the Popular Front must continue its work, behind the scenes, to firmly establish its rule. In truth, the declaration of the founding of the People's Republic in Westminster was an essential step in this process, but not the last. In the outer environs of Greater London, working class assemblies continue to meet, following a loose schedule in meeting at churches, universities, and old union halls. The Popular Front's apparatchiks continue to work through these assemblies, exerting influence, disseminating the edicts of Elijah and his highest disciples in reshaping the very foundation of all Britain's life. At this particular assembly, held in an old, disused shopping centre long repurposed as a church for one of the many rogue ministries that've cropped up in recent years, little is accomplished but for the venting of rage and the expression of continued support for the Popular Front. But at this particular assembly, a key moment is had when one young man approaches the head of the crowd and angrily denounces the failure of the Popular Front to bring the war on the continent to an end. This angry denunciation elicits roars of approval from the crowd.

In the night, the rebel Elijah attends a strategy meeting with his closest disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, wherein they discuss the coming wave of attacks throughout the country, both in areas under the control of the new People's Republic and outside those areas. It's only been several months since the declaration of the founding of the new People's Republic, and already Elijah has grown weary of the ongoing strain of carrying on without the dark essence. Still seeking atonement for his momentary lapse in faith over a year earlier, the rebel Elijah has come to the realization that his declaration of the founding of the People's Republic has not yet appeased the dark essence. The coming uprising, Elijah has designed it with a rapprochement in mind, his closest disciples working with apparatchiks from the Worker's Party and the People's Party, the two, co-equal parties at the heart of the Popular Front. As the other parties, churches, trade unions, and student organisations have been made to accept the leading role of the Worker's Party and the People's Party, they're notified but not included in the planning of the coming uprising. As Elijah consults with the dark essence, as he silently seeks its forgiveness, all he can do is try.

In fact, Elijah is aware of the emergence of these various talents in people like Valeri's lead hand, Lynn. Finally, in the parts of the country where the planned uprising will begin shortly, there's an eerie air of calm. In the city of Huddersfield, a middle-aged woman named Heidi Lambert takes one last trip into the streets in search of food and other supplies before the uprisings are set to take place. Although she lives in a city controlled by the Popular Front there's still to be an uprising here. Besides, the nationalist forces sometimes launch attacks from the north. At a still-shuttered shop, she finds nothing, at another, nothing, still another, nothing. She's hoping to find extra food beyond what they've been allotted by the office of the Popular Front's apparatchik, to last them through the coming battle. But she returns home empty handed. Her husband isn't there. "Where is he?" she asks. None of her family know. They can't get through to him as the data networks have gone down. In truth, he's already dead.

But the executions which had preceded these events were only a foreshadow. In the outer environs of the city of Birmingham, an impromptu tribunal is held for the conviction of several former members of parliament, from the old Labour and Conservative parties. Some of these men are known to have voted, when in parliament, in favour of trade pacts that'd closed factories in Britain and cast thousands out of work. Their fate is assured. But the Popular Front apparatchik who presides over the tribunal which will implement justice against these men is careful to stress the character of these trials. Although these men will be convicted and sentenced to death for their crimes, it could as well have been another group of men, warns the apparatchik. By the time these men's sentences are carried out, word has spread, resulting in a small crowd coming to witness the hangings. Some of the men and women in the crowd carry small screens with which they use to record the event, to spread their recordings across the world's data networks. This has happened before, and it serves an important purpose. In pride there is shame and in shame there is pride. In asserting their right to prosecute these political criminals, the apparatchiks of the Popular Front are seeking to avenge by proxy the shameful deeds perpetrated against the working class here in Britain, and necessarily expressing their pride in asserting their proxy for the working class. But so are they baring the shameful misdeeds of so many generations for all the world to see, to willingly take pride in the act of doing so.

These uprisings, they've been delayed far too long. Nearly everyone seems to know they're coming, even as they're to take the whole country by surprise. By the time they begin in earnest, much will have changed in the cities and towns throughout Britain. Even in areas controlled by the Popular Front these uprisings will take place. It makes all the difference in the world to the rebel Elijah, who continues to declare all the world as the domain of the working man whose revolution he seeks to advance. The People's Republic is only a passing phase here in the ascendancy of the working class revolution to greater heights. After having consulted with his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, the rebel Elijah retires for the night, but doesn't turn in, not right away. Instead, as has become his custom, he steps outside into the darkness and allows himself the consultation of the dark essence that guides the revolution. Elijah knows that their coming offensive must inevitably provoke a counter-offensive; but there's more to it than that. As Elijah looks out into the sky and feels the influence of the dark essence, he can only vaguely sense what's come. The unholy alliance that make up the leadership of the National Forces—Lucius and Damian—are in the midst of reaching out to a third party, not the Americans but someone else here in Britain. By the time this unholy alliance is made whole, entirely new forces will have been unleashed, the revolution here in Britain necessarily provoking a counter-revolution capable of unspeakable evil. This causes Elijah some frustration, knowing that there must be some aspect of the revolutionary struggle which lies just beyond his knowledge. He knows of Lucius and Damian, but even this new, third figure remains unknown to him.

But the dark essence, it doesn't allow him this knowledge, not yet. Still the rebel Elijah must pay the penalty for his momentary lack of faith, even as it's been over a year since. And now, now the rebel Elijah can only bare himself for the dark essence, asking for a forgiveness even he can't deserve. After much soul searching, after a night spent in solitude seeking that which can't be found, in the morning Elijah gives the orders. He meets with his disciples and says to them, "transmit the orders. Begin the uprising." With that, their next offensive is on.

16. Awakening

Finally, it begins. In the morning Valeri rises with the others to the not unfamiliar sound of silence seeming to emanate from the distant sky. As they hear this, Valeri turns back to face the others, holding his rifle in the air. His voice is become almost hoarse, but he finds it in him to shout anyways, saying, "now's the time to give it all we've got!" The men roar in agreement, a few voices emerging from the indistinct shouting. "Kill them all!" shouts one man. "No surrender!" shouts another, his shout recalling the old slogan of the working class parties from the pre-revolutionary days. A third voice can be heard to rise above the din, the voice of an anonymous young woman, her voice firm as she says, "all power to the Popular Front!" The National Forces had installed an overseer to put down unrest, but this office is soon surrounded by a hostile mob, the whole city seeming to have risen overnight. But this is no spontaneous uprising, no impassionate surge, rather a carefully and deliberately planned and executed attack, launched in coordination with a planned offensive by the Popular Front's badly-depleted forces. It's on the way to their attack that Valeri and the others finally receive word on their true objectives, this offensive taking place all throughout the country.

As Valeri's brothers and sisters advance through the outer environs of the city of Milton Keynes, the sounds of battle seem to be all around them, all at once. "I didn't expect it to be this easy," says Valeri, although he at once regrets having said it. His lead hand, Lynn, says, "I wouldn't count on it." Deeper in the city, the young man Vincent is among the workers who seize their own workplaces, their factories and mills. But what makes their struggle unique is the fight back. For the first time in this revolution's long and winding course, these workers are among those set upon by the dogs of war. "I hope this is the decisive battle," says Valeri, speaking with a few of the younger fighters under his leadership, "but if it isn't, then so much the better." He tries to project an image of steely confidence and learned wisdom, but even he can tell from his nerves that this attempt isn't altogether successful. Still, as the day begins with more death and destruction here in the country outside Milton Keynes and throughout every corner of Great Britain, he'll have ample opportunity to gain the confidence and wisdom he's to need. But this young man Vincent, still on the production line when the rebel offensive begins in earnest, he quickly and quietly determines to do what he can to help. He approaches a few of the other workers on the line and swiftly agrees with them that now's the time. With nearly all of the local militiamen occupied elsewhere, whether fighting off the rebel offensive or engaged in murderous rampages against innocents, they have an opportunity which they may not have again.

As Valeri and the others hang on to the sides of an armoured personnel carrier, recently taken over and repaired after abandoned by its previous operators, they ride towards the city of Milton Keynes, unsure when or where the enemy should meet them, sure only there'll be death when they do. And when they arrive, there's the chattering of rifle fire and the bursting of bombs, this attack marked not by a triumphant entry into the city but a frontal assault. Valeri takes up a position at the top of a hill, with a few others looking on the urban area below, watching as the enemy continues to move along a street almost perfectly perpendicular to the Popular Front's point of attack. "We've caught them unaware," says Valeri, before turning to the younger Aretha Cordoba to say, "send word. Bring the guns forward and do it quickly, before the enemy has moved on." The killer instinct which Valeri has begun to grow inside him craves the battle that's about to unfold, but the disciplined soldier he's becoming restrains him until the moment is right.

Quickly, quietly, the machine guns are brought forward and trained on the mass of enemy troops, with the heavier, Bofors guns moved by another band of fighters onto an opposing hill. "Wait for the signal," says Cordoba, "we're to catch them in a crossfire." Valeri nods, and looks beyond the enemy troops into the urban area that rolls over the hill to the east. He can't pick out the Bofors guns, but he knows they're there. "Wait for it," says Valeri, speaking in a low voice, speaking to himself as much as anyone else. But just before the moment for them to open fire is to come, there comes instead a moment of silence, a moment in which time itself seems to come to a halt. The attack is on. The enemy has changed their positions since their last attack into the city, and this Bofors gun is nowhere to be seen. For a moment, for only a moment Valeri thinks it might've been silenced, if not by their action then perhaps some kind of mechanical failure, or by the enemy fleeing in terror at their rapid advance. "Have everyone move forward," Valeri says, speaking to his lead hand, "along these two streets in a broad front." Lynn nods and relays the order. She seems to Valeri to be somewhat hesitant, as if she knows what must be coming, pausing as she does only for a moment before turning to snap out the orders.

There's the tremendous crack of cannon fire, the Bofors guns across the way shooting first, covering the street in a string of small explosions. "Fire, fire," says Valeri, hardly waiting a half-moment before squeezing the trigger on his machine gun, raking fire along the street. "We're giving it everything we've got!" says Stephen Potter, himself with a rifle, shooting at the mass of enemy troops. In the confusion of battle, it's not always easy to tell when men and women have been shot dead, with Valeri pausing to check back over the line, counting a few of his own dead or wounded. They have no field medics; an attack by another band of rebel fighters aims to seize the local hospital so as to capture medical care for their own. In the urban area below there's a great mass of death, blood and broken bodies scattered across the pavement like so much useless confetti.

By the time the battle clears and the surviving enemies have surrendered or fled, Valeri can scarcely calm himself for the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the taste of blood in his mouth. But this battle, seemingly lost in the wider war the revolution's turning into, will prove to be no victory. It's not only the staggering scene of death and carnage that Valeri must push through, it's also the intense fear that fills every part of his body. He would be paralyzed by this fear if not for the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution, the dark essence choosing this moment to exert its influence on him and others like him, to give them a courage and a stamina they'd not ordinarily have. "Don't stop," says Valeri, shouting at the others to press on the attack, "if they want to die fighting then I say kill them all!" There's the sudden roar of so many voices, Valeri's men and women seeming to emerge into a new day. "Valeri," comes a voice, "don't forget where you've come from." This is a startling moment for Valeri, and briefly he contemplates that he might not've heard what he thinks. This voice doesn't occur to him again, not right now, and gives him only the slightest pause for thought as he's in the midst of the fiercest fighting yet.

"Valeri," says Lynn, approaching him from behind as he stumbles slightly, "are you all right?" Valeri shoulders his weapon, nods slightly, and carries on. Gunfire seems to crack and pang all around him, and it's only by inches one way or another that Valeri survives. By the time this day is through, many of his brothers and sisters will have perished, but for themselves. Already several have died, including a few of the recent arrivals from Sister Simpson, sent into arms only a short time after having joined the revolution, now cut down by the enemy's bullets. But Valeri has no time to mourn their loss, nor to anger for their having been killed, their attack demanding his full attention.

Once Valeri and the others have advanced into the street and formed a new front line, they see a range of positions down the road, just out of range of their guns. But in the midst of the uprising throughout the city, they can still hear the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs all around them, seeming at once to come from every direction, receding into the distance even as the noise draws closer by the minute. Before the day is out the Popular Front will have seized the city of Milton Keynes, Sister Simpson moving her field headquarters right into the city centre even as the last of the National Forces loyalists and their troops are still holding onto some sections of the urban area. With the summer in full swing, it's hot, too hot, with the air seeming to bend and curve around every brick wall, along every road in the city. But Valeri is wounded, in the way he'd been wounded so many months, nearly a year earlier, when he and a few of the others had been little more than a band of guerrilla fighters under the leadership of Sister Simpson. The cure to his wounds, then, had been his receipt of the word of Elijah, in his heart the dark essence that guides the revolution choosing that moment to make itself present in him, to use him as a vessel through which it could express itself. Now, he lacks in the presence of mind to ascertain the truth of the dark essence, its power to selectively impress itself upon him in order to guide his role in the revolution. "No matter what happens," says Valeri, "we must always press forward." After Valeri and Lynn have been serving as soldiers of the revolution for the past several months together, they now stand on the precipice of their greatest trial yet. "There can be no retreat this time," says Valeri, speaking as he feels the killer instinct moderated by the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution. He still doesn't know what the dark essence is or what it does, but he is able to feel its influence from the electric sensation running the length of his spine whenever he turns to fight.

"The enemy won't attack now," says Lynn, "not after we've got them on their heels." They've managed to seize a crucial junction, and stand poised to advance deep into the city. But their orders now are to hold position; heavy losses in all forward bands have led Sister Simpson to combine bands of fighters, with Valeri's to be rolled in with another nearby. When he'd asked who would take charge, Sister Simpson had said that the leader of the other band had already been killed. Even though Valeri knows he should be above such things as pride, some part of him remains committed to his own pride. Across the city of Milton Keynes, every one of the Popular Front's bands of fighters is faced with the same dwindling of men and women, only to need to go on the attack again, soon. "I think you're right about that," says Valeri. They've advanced through one neighbourhood, encountering only light, sporadic resistance from enemy forces along the way. "First team," says Lynn, hurling her voice above the background noise, "take that position!" The food shortages, already plaguing all Britain for years, have now escalated into open starvation, with bodies seemingly strewn about the countryside wherever battle has recently left its mark. Other bands of rebel fighters are advancing through the city of Milton Keynes, each charged with securing a particular position, Valeri's brothers and sisters encountering little resistance in their second attack.

But it's not only in enemy-held territory that the Popular Front has engineered this offensive. No, these coordinated attacks take place even in areas controlled by the Popular Front and its new People's Republic. Deep inside the heart of Greater London, crowds of angry workers fill the streets around the old city of Westminster. Each man and woman in these crowds hurls their voices at the annals of power, inspired by the example of the rebel Elijah to take in with the uprising against all annals of power, declaring many of those who fly the flag of rebellion to be in league with the wealthy men who'd once so occupied those glimmering, glass and steel towers that'd thrust at the sky. But in the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others find themselves reaching deeper into the urban area, this second offensive taking them into the city centre. "This is almost too easy," says Valeri. They come across another enemy position, at the intersection of two streets near the city centre. "Second team," says Lynn, "up in that position!" She points at the third floor of a commercial building with bombed-out windows and burnt sides. "No," says Valeri, "I'll take them up there." After a night of holding their position, they must take to the attack again, this second day of their offensive action set against a sea of fire and smoke. "But come back soon," says Lynn, "you should remain at your command post." Valeri nods, then heads off, seeing the men and women to their third floor defensive position. The enemy counter-attack could come at any moment, which Valeri takes to mean that it is coming at any moment.

Although the old houses of parliament in Westminster haven't been rebuilt following the rebel Elijah's ordering of their razing nearly one year ago, still the crowds mustered into service for this uprising flood the area. But this uprising won't be the last in a long line of uprisings aimed at unseating the established power, whether that power's been established only recently or a thousand years ago. All throughout the city of Milton Keynes and across Britain, the workers who've seized their factories, mills, and warehouses face the threat of imminent reprisals. After having deposed the previous managers and instituted their own self-selected council of workers, those at Vincent's factory in Milton Keynes fly the closest they can manage to the rebel flag from the front of their factory. It's a white bedsheet hastily painted red, with a daub of yellow added almost as an afterthought. Vincent has heard of the unrest even in the areas controlled by the Popular Front, and he can't understand this. He joins in the other workers in using the implements of their work as weapons, attacking the offices, seizing the few managers they can find. Vincent personally grabs one particular manager by the lapels, hauling the man out into the main yard before throwing him to the ground. There's cheering and roaring from some of the assembled workers, although most simply look on with a mixture of bemusement and horror on their faces. This takes place even as Vincent and the others can hear the distant sound of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting, seemingly in time with the ebb and flow of battle. But when Vincent takes a nearby piece of loose concrete and uses it to smash the manager in the side of the head, the cheering and roaring unexpectedly stops, yielding to an uncomfortable disquiet. Vincent turns to the others and says, "well, what did you expect? We've been taking someone else's orders for years. Now it's time we made orders for ourselves!" This sudden burst of enthusiasm and confidence in the extreme takes the others by surprise, only to be punctuated by the sudden bursting of bombs and rattling of gunfire nearby. When Popular Front forces are to arrive, they'll find Vincent the workers here engaged in a pitched battle with one another, though most of the workers will have already fled. It's this kind of pitched battle that's set the stage for the new revolution, seemingly indistinguishable from the old but completely new nevertheless. This new revolution, it's to take place everywhere throughout Britain, in areas controlled by the Popular Front and those controlled by its opponents, on factory floors, in warehouses, on the docks at every port, even in the aisles of all the old disused shops with their shelves bare but for the crawling of insects in search of food. This new revolution must win.

But for the Popular Front there still remains the arduous task of building an entirely new system of government, arising from an entirely new way of life, even as Britain remains in the grips of a revolutionary fervour this task confronting the Popular Front. The countless worker's councils that've sprung up in recent months to control factories, housing blocks, warehouses, and many, many other aspects of daily life all pledge their loyalty to the Popular Front and its new People's Republic, but so long as the Popular Front remains limited in its control to only part of Britain then so will this nascent worker's self-government remain limited. Still leading the men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury, Sister Simpson's first order of business is to combine the remnants of her battalion with elements of a few other Popular Front units that've converged on the city, out of the whole lot of them finding enough men to replenish the battalion back to full strength. But it's not enough. Immediately the order goes out first to ask for volunteers among the local population, and if not enough volunteers present then to conscript whoever's needed. Even still the sounds of battle linger in the distance as the first volunteers are given armaments, while some of the regulars are sent into the field to conscript anyone they find who might be suitably capable. "This position is secure," says Valeri's lead hand, Lynn Jackson. "Now we wait," says Valeri, "until we attack or the enemy does." But neither they nor their enemy is in any condition to mount an assault, with manpower low and ammunition stores lower. Some of the conscripts are given rifles with only one magazine's worth of ammunition, and no reserve supply available to any of them. "They must be as hard up as we are," says Lynn, "or else they'd have taken advantage of our state by now. We couldn't hold off a determined assault with what we've got." And to this Valeri only nods. They wonder when they'll receive more reinforcements, more ammunition, although this is a topic they don't openly discuss. Soon, the orders are given, and the attack is on. Their objective for the second wave of this attack is to be an intersection on the far side of the city centre, along with several other bands to seize the rest of the central urban area in a lightning attack. The confusion sown behind the lines, on both sides, by the ongoing uprisings will benefit the fighters of the Popular Front, enabling them to succeed with a significantly inferior force.

The ability of the Popular Front to raise troops so quickly seems to confound the enemy, even as men always seem to be in short supply. A decisive battle could be in the making, with the Popular Front positioning its troops in strategic areas. It seems to men like Valeri as though they're all on the cusp of something more, like being on the edge of a cliff, about to be cast into the abyss below. For the first time in the several months since they've become a coherent fighting unit, Valeri begins to think of the men and women as something more. "It's hard to tell where the fighting is," says Valeri, "they're out there ahead of us, but they're also behind us. Whenever we seize a position from the enemy, there's another position that seems to pop up out of nowhere."

But his lead hand, Lynn, says, "I'm sure it seems that way to them as well Let's keep advancing." As the uprising in the city before them escalates into a full-blown battle, across the country the streets similarly turn into the sites of pitched battles. It's a lost cause, with the many militias and sectarian gangs attacking the crowds of striking workers. Even as the new wave of revolutionary fervour erupts across the country, in Milton Keynes the men and women under Valeri's charge make final preparations for their attacks, having advanced this far into the city in under twenty-four hours. "We have new instructions," says Aretha, her screen in one hand as she walks towards Valeri and Lynn. Amid the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs all around them, it falls to Valeri's small band of fighters to form the crux of the attack, the pivot against which the remaining forces must swing. "There are more men on the way," says Aretha, "and they'll be here in a day." Their losses, already heavy, threaten to become more severe as they must take up the attack in such a weakened state. But this is the genius behind the strategy. In attacking while the whole city seems to burn around them, they'll seize what they could not seize with a larger force in calmer times. But we don't grieve for the loss of a few men, knowing as we do that Valeri and the others under his provisional charge must carry on. The night has fallen, immersing the whole country in a sea of darkness, so early as it is that the fires of liberation burn in the distance like the setting sun. "Brother Kovalenko," says his lead hand, Lynn, "it's time." Valeri nods. He turns to put himself to the task, and steels himself against the uneasiness and against the lack of confidence he has in the plan laid out for them. The attack is on. It seems almost anticlimactic, their assault on the city over almost as soon as it's begun. They ride in the back of their lorry, with a few other vehicles having been confiscated and brought to the front to support their advance. It almost resembles a combined arms assault, with a column of vehicles leading the way while men and women on foot support the attack in a long, broad front. Valeri recognises the lead hands of other bands of rebel fighters, but he doesn't recognise many others. Badly depleted from the recent fighting and from that first failed attack on the city, Valeri has only around three dozen brothers and sisters left under his charge.

They secure a cross street which isn't far from the spot where they'd been forced away the first time, and Valeri takes the lead in setting up the next step. "This was almost too easy," says Valeri, "I don't like it." His lead hand, Lynn, isn't at his side, meaning he's talking with a group of young soldiers, one of whom asks, "you don't like it?" After a momentary pause, Valeri says to the young man, "I'm suspicious of it." At that moment, a burst of gunfire cracks across the way, snapping Valeri's attention like a burst of light in the night. The men and women scatter to their forward positions, a few of them returning fire, harmlessly shooting in the general direction of the enemy. "They've occupied that position," says Valeri, "in the second floor. We can't take them directly but we can get around them." Lynn nods, and says, "and then we'll set the building on fire. They've only got one way out. They'll be trapped. We can shoot them as they try to jump from the windows." But they both know it won't be so easy. While Valeri and the others have advanced this far into the city, others have completed their movements, with the decisive actions to seize Milton Keynes won. It'll take some time for the Popular Front to pacify the city, to bring order to chaos, with the many workers' councils who've seized their own factories, warehouses, and other industrial estates looking to them for leadership.

Soon, the rebel Elijah instructs his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front to create a secret protocol, to be used to find and exact justice upon those who would seek to perpetuate the last vestiges of the old way of life. Elijah declares this protocol to be secret only for a short while, some months. Although Elijah's offer of clemency for all who would pledge themselves to fight for the cause of the Popular Front remains open to any who would take it, he knows that anyone who remains unwilling to follow their banner must be beyond hope. All along, a core part of the rebel teachings has been the willingness to extend clemency to anyone who would fight for the Popular Front, to serve in the army of which Valeri's now a part. And while Valeri and the others of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury are bringing order to the recently-liberated city of Milton Keynes, in London the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples in the Popular Front receive still a third cable from the American ambassador, again requesting an audience. But this, this fellow who was the last American ambassador recognised by the now-defunct Provisional Government, Elijah sees in him a threat not to the new People's Republic but to the whole future on which the new People's Republic is dependent. But the most decisive battle has yet to be fought, as there's no vast army fighting for control of any patch of land, recent offensives notwithstanding. "We don't know what's coming," says Valeri, "so we should prepare for the worst." After having secured the streets outside that two-story, de facto enemy fortification, they'd communicated set the building on fire, then waited for the enemy to jump. With other bands of enemy fighters having surrendered elsewhere in the city, Lynn had thought to communicate an offer to accept their surrender, to which Valeri had reluctantly agreed. As the building had burned, flames licking ever closer to the roof, their offer was rejected, enemy men leaping from the windows. Every last one of them, Valeri's men had shot them dead, just as the building they'd fortified themselves in had gone up in smoke and flame. Half the city is burning, without any way of fighting the fires as the local authority has long ago disbanded the city's firefighting brigades.

In truth, the American ambassador, like the others who call themselves diplomats, lives on borrowed time. As his innermost disciples debate the minutia of the American ambassador's latest cable, Elijah devotes the better part of his time to crafting not a reply to the American ambassador but an offering of himself to the dark essence which guides their revolution. Although Elijah is aware of the need to consider the Americans' actions, still he thinks of the longer war yet to be fought. Although the American ambassador is an agent of a foreign power, the rebel Elijah won't grant him the recognition of any kind of official reply. Now, with Valeri and the others of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury firmly in control of the city of Milton Keynes, it seems obvious to Valeri what must come next. Although many workers had already seized their own workplaces, their miscellaneous factories, mills, and warehouses, the greater bulk of them have remained uncommitted, but for the odd malcontent. After Sister Simpson has moved her headquarters into an old residential quarter of the city and declared the rule of the Popular Front, Sister Baldwin moves in, bringing her various and sundry apparatchiks to impose order and prepare the city for what's to come next. "Do you see what they're doing?" asks Valeri. "They're burning the whole country," says Lynn. "Still no orders?" asks Valeri, turning to his operator, Aretha. She says to him, "nothing new, still hold this position." Valeri nods, then turns back to face the street. They can see enemy troops in the distance, just down the road, almost out of sight. "What do we do now?" asks one young fighter, when Valeri leaves his temporary command post and attends to their foremost position in the street. "Shoot anything you see," says Valeri, "and don't stop shooting until they're all dead."

This takes the young fighter by surprise, even as it takes Valeri by surprise to hear himself say it. He knows it runs contrary to the rebel Elijah's teachings, but he feels compelled by the notion that no offer to surrender is necessary here because the enemy won't take it. He doesn't know that this compulsion is given to him by the dark essence which guides the revolution, given to him at the very same moment that Elijah himself is in a silent communion with the essence. But when Valeri next turns up with the others for muster, Sister Simpson has an announcement to make. As Valeri and the others are to head back into the countryside as part of a renewed offensive, it seems to Valeri not altogether unlike that early, heady times of the revolution, even if he hadn't thought of it as a revolution yet. That was so many years ago, when he was still an ill-mannered malcontent, only another stone-throwing youth even as he'd been too old by then. Whenever the next wave of unrest takes place, Valeri and the others under his charge will be there to see it through. "Does it say when?" asks Valeri, speaking with his operator, Aretha. "No," says Aretha, "just that we should be ready to go at any moment." But both Valeri and the others have learned by now this almost assuredly means they're not to be on the move any time soon. The whole city seems alive with anger, the violence unleashed by the current wave of uprisings continuing unabated. "Can we help them?" asks Lynn, speaking to the refugees that're soon to be filling the streets, as well as the workers in the area who've seized their places of work. What once might've seemed impossible for anyone to remember or to have conceived of, now the revolution in Britain stands on the precipice of something more.

But in the meanwhile, Christopher Jenkins and his friend Helen Reed have gone on separate paths, condemned as each is. Chris went to join the armed forces of the Popular Front along with Helen, but was denied for want of skilled workers at the factory where he works. Now, some months later, he's taken in with a group of fellow workers who've seized their workplace in the ongoing uprisings, even as they're well within the territory controlled by the forces of the Popular Front still the urban area around them bristling with a revolutionary fervour. He mans the barricades which they've formed in the street right outside the front of their factory, along with workers who've joined them from other industrial concerns in the area. They've already deposed their own elected council and formed from among the remainder a self-selected provisional council to govern all industrial concerns in the area, a super-council. Chris Jenkins isn't among those who had self-selected themselves to form the committee. He'd been ordered by those on the new council to deliver members of the old council to the nearest band of Popular Front fighters; it so happens that Helen's among those fighters who receive them. "What's going to be done with them?" asks Chris. He's heard of the tribunals, though he doesn't think the old councilmembers will be subjected to the same fate. "Their fate will be determined," says Helen. She doesn't know what to say, but she relies on the advice of her lead hand in speaking with the full force of any confidence she can summon. She doesn't know that she'll be among those who're to be chosen to dispense the justice meted out by the local apparatchik of the Popular Front. By the time that task is through, both her life and Chris' will have changed, in ways neither of them could've ever foreseen.

Although it may seem hard for men like Valeri to conceive of, halfway through this unusually harsh and hot summer the worst is yet to come. In late-July a heat wave is unleashing on Britain, on all Western Europe temperatures that smash records. In parts of Britain temperatures of over forty-five degrees are recorded. Many more deaths occur during this heat wave; there are too many to count. Most of them are the elderly, the weak and frail who are predisposed to suffering the ill-effects of heat and humidity. One young woman, a tall, thin woman known to Valeri only as Sally reports on the many casualties among the civilians in the area, but Valeri's powerless to do anything about it. Even as he hardens their position using whatever materials they can find, he can still hear the sounds of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting in the surrounding urban area, along with the screams and the moans of the dead and dying. "The rest of the city is ours," says Lynn, after having been given the all-clear from Sister Simpson. "That was easier than I'd have thought it would be," says Valeri, although he immediately realises the absurdity of this comment. "There's people coming," comes word from one of their fighters at the foremost position, looking north. "Gunmen?" asks Valeri, immediately stepping forward to have a look. But he can see it's only ordinary people, men and women leading prisoners forward.

For Julia Roberts, this current wave of uprisings has meant something new for her. She finds herself in with representatives from workers' councils from area industrial concerns, all of them having deposed their previously existing councils in order to form a new super-council. Although Julia had already replaced her friend, Fred White, on the council that governs the railyard where she works, still there had been many who would've opposed her continued membership. She'd followed the instructions given to her by the Popular Front's apparatchik to depose the other members of the council, a necessary step before forming the area super-council on which she sits. After having been discharged from the local hospital, Fred would've gone to spend most of his time with his family, but for the crushing poverty and deadly shortages requiring his returning to work immediately. "What are they telling you to do now?" asks Fred. "Now, we wait," says Julia, "for further instructions." The new council has formed and voted to transfer all power to the Popular Front, the vote unanimous. The apparatchik has ordered the industrial concerns they represent to work, and has instructed them to follow a set of rules in reporting opposition to the war effort, which Julia has sworn to obey. "Are you really going to do it?" asks Fred, referring to these very rules.

"Without hesitation," says Julia, "and if you ask me that again then you might be reported." Fred asks, "are you threatening me?" He seems genuinely astonished by her boldness. "No," says Julia, "I'm simply stating a fact. My own personal feelings are irrelevant. What matters is what's at hand." In truth, Julia is as full of doubts as ever, behind the steely confidence she's learned to project there lying an uneasiness over her chosen path. Her family, once cut off from her at the railyard are about to return, and it's their imminent arrival which weighs heavily on her mind even as she meets with the rest of the council to vote harsher measures against counter-revolutionary elements. The true impact of these harsher measures won't be seen for a while, in the meanwhile Julia's life is to be turned upside down once more.

For a little while it seems as though the revolution might grind to a halt in the face of such a terrifying display of the power of nature. Fighting has ceased once more. Several months have passed since the winter which saw the declaration of the founding of the People's Republic. Although much has changed in those months, much has yet to change. As agents of change Valeri and all others who fight on behalf of the Popular Front do so with the knowledge that their struggle is bound to end in failure even as it's destined for total victory. "What do we do with them?" asks Valeri, speaking privately with his lead hand, Lynn. "Transfer them," says Lynn, "we just got off the line with Sister Simpson, she's establishing a temporary facility for holding prisoners at the football stadium off the A5 road." Naturally, the messages from Sister Simpson don't say what the purpose of transferring them into custody for holding at a repurposed football stadium, but then Valeri and his lead hand have both learned not to ask.

For Joe Hill, having returned to work at the machine shop has only marked the beginning of a new set of troubles. Within the grasp of the National Forces, the city of Sunderland offers no chance for liberation at the hands of the advancing rebels, which means men like Joe Hill must rise on their own. In the midst of a strike, all production work at the machine shop stopped within a few weeks of Joe's arrival. But that's not the end of it. The foreman who'd given Joe his job back after so long an absence has been taken into custody by the workers who're leading the strike, along with the few others in management who were on the premises at the time. Here there's no super-council to be formed, with the workers engaged in securing their own survival. "I shouldn't have wasted my time coming back here," says Joe, speaking with a group of other workers who've taken shelter inside the shop's cavernous interior.

"Don't say things like that," says another worker. "Why not?" asks Joe. "You'll wind up like all the others," says the other worker. This Joe acknowledges only with a nod. Soon, some of the striking workers come to take the managers and the foreman out into the main yard, using the implements of their work to kill a few, threatening to kill the remainder if the local militia storm their compound. Other factories, mills, and warehouses in the area are facing similar threats. As Joe knows he'll be killed by the militia on leaving, if he should attempt to leave, he and the others have no choice but to remain and take part in the coming fight, no matter its outcome, no matter their own personal feelings on it. Soon enough, a radical new turn of events will force them all to fight as hard as they can. While Joe is forced to throw his lot in with these striking workers, he wonders on the fate of his friend, Nina Schultz. She could already be dead, and it's the not knowing that gives him pause for thought.

A new stage in the course of the revolution is about to begin, the dark essence which guides the revolution seeing fit to assert itself, to infuse itself into the course of events both large and small. A momentary calm emerges. A stilled image catches a thousand and one moments. After all they've been through, after all they've sacrificed, these few men and women continue to put one foot in front of the other and to pull themselves through the day. As Valeri is an avatar for the many millions, he's learned long ago to treat his body as a machine, to learn and then rehearse from memory a series of smooth, rhythmic motions, whether he's on the production line at some shop or on the battlefields of the revolution. But as the war at home continues to take its new and terrifying turn, no amount of rhythmic contractions of his body's muscles will help Valeri nor any of his brothers and sisters in the Popular Front to survive. To do that, they'll have to learn an entirely new set of skills, the better part of the war having been lost even as an entirely new defeat lies in all their futures. After they'd seen off the prisoners given to them by ordinary working men and women, Valeri and Lynn agree that they should hope not to receive any more. But their hopes are soon dashed. They and some of the other bands of rebel fighters continue to receive prisoners, whether would-be or actual, at an erratic pace. "There's so many of them," says Valeri, after having been given another prisoner, this time only one, and dutifully handed him over to the possession of runners sent to gather prisoners and take them to the football stadium. "More are coming," says Lynn. "Maybe not right away," says Valeri. "But they're coming," says Lynn. "And we'll do what we have to with them," says Valeri. To this Lynn doesn't reply, not right away, choosing instead to allow her newly-developed talents to impress the full weight of the moment on Valeri. He can only feel discomfort at having become the momentary focus of her talents, although he doesn't let it show. He muscles that same stoic look on his face, looking on the prisoner who's led off by some of the men.

Elsewhere, Marilyn Carter continues to work in the streets of Norwich, she and the other workers still under the enslavement of the local militia. She's working in the streets with the others, including the middle-aged man Arshdeep Singh, with whom she's struck up a friendship. The current wave of uprisings takes place throughout the country, including the area around Norwich. It's this fact that leads to the militiamen guarding them choosing to take out their frustrations on them, even though they're not participating in the uprising. One militiamen shoots randomly into the crowded workers. Marilyn isn't struck, but her friend Arshdeep is, taking a rifle round into his gut. Marilyn rushes to his side, thinking not of herself. "Please stop," she says, when the militiaman approaches her. She cowers over Arshdeep, even as he internally bleeds to death still trying to protect him from further harm. "Why should I?" asks the militiaman, "you'll just kill me if you're given the chance." As Arshdeep takes his last breath, Marilyn only says, "please." The militiaman, his bloodthirsty daze momentarily broken, seems to realise himself and moves on. But Marilyn's not alone. A few miles away, her once-friend Dan Murphy's part of slave labourers joining in the uprising, his current fate charting a different path from hers, yet destined to wind up in much the same place.

As the current wave of uprisings is met with death on a staggering scale, a new stage in the course of the revolution is reached, one which'll produce a chain of events with consequences farther reaching than anyone could've ever foreseen. As the decisive battles in this revolution are yet to be fought, all that remains for the rebels of the Popular Front is to prepare themselves for what must come. "Do you think they'll come after us?" asks Valeri, speaking with his lead hand. "I don't know," says Lynn, "but if they do then all we can do is make them bleed for every step they take." Valeri nods. It's late in the day, with the sunset casting a silky, golden glow on the countryside, on the road that seems to reach into the oncoming darkness. This city is to be the place where a decisive battle in the revolution will be fought, but it won't be a battle fought with bullets and bombs. Instead, this battle's armaments will be the set of ideas which govern the revolution's changing course. Although Valeri is only a man, and history isn't led by men, he's in the midst of becoming the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's always been meant to be. "How many of them do you think will make it out alive?" asks Valeri, speaking again with his lead hand, Lynn. "Most of them, I'd say," says Lynn, "they'll better put to use alive than dead." Valeri says, "but some will be killed." Lynn nods. Valeri says, "I hope enough of them." Lynn shakes her head. "No matter what happens," says Valeri, "I hope the real criminals don't go unpunished." A momentary pause sets in. "Do you think you'll ever see anyone you know led off like that?" asks Lynn. "Impossible," says Valeri, "my family is dead. Any friends I had were all like me, and not like them." To accentuate the moment, he turns and points at the man being led off. He believes this to be true, although he doesn't think to consider everyone he's ever known, everyone he's ever loved. He recalls the last woman he'd loved, the young, half-Asian Sydney Harrington, and his recollections of her inspire a kind of fondness that he believes he should be past.

Finally, for Roy Cook this current wave of uprisings only so recently unleashed has meant little time to think on his dead wife, the current wave of uprisings having thrust him back into the thick of the action once more. At the apartment block where he'd lived, now condemned by fire, there's little left to sustain him, with his home destroyed and his life upended by the death of his young wife. "I've got to get out of here," he says, "but there's nowhere to go." After having mourned his now-dead wife for months, he's finally ready to move on, if only he should have somewhere to move on to. "We're all caught up in this," says his companion, a fellow worker who's been forced to take cover in the same shelter as Roy, "the time to get out is long past." Both men are taking shelter from the ongoing uprising in an alley, with a few others all around. Roy thinks of his dead wife, Sabrina Hale, and he recalls the very last thing she'd said to him before she'd been killed. She'd said, "so long as we have each other then we'll have something to live for." She'd said that on the line with him, moments before the networks went down again, only to be killed later on in the evening. "What do we do now?" asks Roy's fellow worker. "Pray," Roy says, without hesitation. They can't stay hidden in their shelter for very long. As workers' councils are removed by their own members and merged to form larger, super-councils, men like Roy won't have much longer to sit on the sidelines, rapidly mounting events soon to force them to take action and to join one side or another, whether they want to or not, whether they're willing to or not.

After Valeri's seen to the brothers and sisters taking up new positions along the motorway that cuts along the eastern part of the city, there's little left for any of them to do but wait. Although the news from the Popular Front's headquarters in London isn't good, the dark essence that guides the revolution makes Valeri consider that this is the moment they've all been waiting for. "What do we do now?" asks Lynn. Without looking away from the spectacle before them, Valeri says, "pray." A few more months will pass before any of them can come to terms with all the things they've seen in their time together. These months will see a dramatic intensification of the revolutionary war here in Britain, along with the many other revolutionary wars underway in countries throughout Western Europe. But there's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that. The uprisings which've been unleashed over the past few weeks, in conjunction with the Popular Front's bold offensive action, here in Milton Keynes and in urban centres across Britain, have set into motion a new sequence of events that'll have lasting consequences for everyone.

II

17. Arriving Light

After seizing Milton Keynes, the men of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury, set themselves about the task of securing the town and establishing a defensive perimeter to the north and east. They're not the only unit of the Popular Front involved in the assault on the city, nor are they the only charged with instituting the rule of the new People's Republic and the Popular Front which controls it. After the uprising which permitted their assault, Valeri and the others in 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury make their way through the streets and into the city's furthest quarters, Sister Simpson having ordered them to new positions after anticipating the enemy's impending assault. "There's no rest for the weary," says Valeri, speaking with the others as they reach their new position facing the countryside. "Any word from the Sister Simpson?" he asks. "No," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, she having become his de facto communications operator, on her screen a series of text messages reading out. Aretha says, "our instructions are to hold our position." It would seem as though the enemy has anticipated Sister Simpson's moving her field headquarters into the city as the perfect moment to launch their counter-offensive in the area, seeing as the enemy must a brief window where each of the Popular Front's bands must be unable to receive adequate instruction from their command structure. It's at this moment that Valeri realises they won't be able to hold their current position, and he orders the men and women to advance down the road, into the suburban area north of the city.

Moving quickly they secure a new position, leaving the city to be worked through by the Popular Front's apparatchiks who follow their relentless advance. In Milton Keynes, as in so many other cities, one of the first orders of business is the detention of anyone who might pose a threat to the new regime. This is done with ruthless efficiency, the fewest among the local population caught off guard. "I can't remember the last time there wasn't any fighting," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "it seems like it's been this way forever." There's the sound of gunfire rattling, but it seems more distant than ever, almost blending into the background noise. "What about them?" asks Valeri's lead hand, Lynn. "What about them?" asks Valeri. The civilians have gathered in a small encampment, some of them seeking the protection of a close proximity to the forces of the Popular Front. Valeri recognises them as mostly women and children, and when he approaches them to speak with them a young woman identifies most of them as refugees of one kind or another. She doesn't identify them as Jews, though it's clear many of them are Jewish. Valeri tells her they're under the Popular Front's protection, and will be so long as they remain. Now, as Valeri and the others prepare for their next moves, suddenly from the sky there's the unmistakable sight of blood pouring as rain from clouds.

In the distance, Valeri can see something, but he's not quite sure what. Through a pair of binoculars, he spots a flag flying from a flagpole behind the barricade set up by enemy troops. He doesn't recognise this flag. It's red and white, the colours of the old English flag, but with a streak of black across the middle. He hands the binoculars to Lynn Jackson, who examines the scene before them for a moment or two. She then says, "it's the National Forces." But then she stops herself, saying, "it's the blackshirts. They're gathering their strength for another attack." The line facing them is a new position, but has been reinforced over the night with new troops and vehicles. "Why don't they just attack and get it over with?" asks Stephen Potter, speaking rhetorically as he asks himself as much as anyone else. "They are hardening the front lines," says Valeri, "they may very well have let us have this city." None are correct in their suppositions, but then the point of such idle chatter isn't to help the men, men like Valeri come to an understanding of what's happening but to give them some small ability to exert control over their own paths forward. While the Popular Front's forces secure this city and prepare the next round of trials for whomever can be found to arrest, larger forces continue to align, a vast conspiracy of elements soon to be brought to bear on the new People's Republic.

At the vanguard of a new stage in the revolution, the fighters of the Popular Front are part of something so much greater than they are. "They're coming," says Valeri, "and they'll be here soon." An eerie quiet has emerged, with the sounds of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting almost immediately slurring into an unsettling silence. "After all that's happened," says Lynn, "I hope they come better prepared." She's referring to a new order that's come through from the highest ranks of the Popular Front, the order to confiscate whatever arms and ammunition they can from the enemy's fallen troops. After having been on the offensive for so long, though, they're now to remain, more or less, in one place. And as Valeri's come to understand, armies on the defensive rarely take any prize for their victories. In Milton Keynes, as in so many other cities, the Popular Front's rounding up of wealthy men and of former government officials, both the hated Provisional Government and the United Kingdom that preceded it, is soon complicated by the arrival of more refugees, these not Jewish but Romani refugees. The falling of blood from the sky as rain, here in Milton Keynes and in cities and towns all across Europe, soon becomes a torrential downpour, the streets soon slick with the deep crimson and copper flow.

Soon, there's action again. At the front lines, Valeri and the others come under fire from across the field, they having moved further from the city centre. But deep inside the city of Milton Keynes, already the Popular Front's apparatchiks have begun hearing testimony from victims of the old regime, in so hearing laying the groundwork for the next stage in asserting the mastery of the working class over their own destiny. It falls to Sister Baldwin again, in cooperation with local functionaries self-selected from among the various worker's councils, to begin the gathering of testimony from so many witnesses. As before, this is a task which Sister Baldwin takes to with much vigour and enthusiasm. But this time, this time she presides over a much larger city, and she must consider the implications of this fact. Most of the local businessmen had already fled the city over the past few months as the revolution drew nearer and nearer, repeated uprisings since the fall of the old United Kingdom having failed to establish control. For all its weaknesses, for all its ineptitude, the hated Provisional Government and its Home Guard had held onto cities like Milton Keynes far longer than even the Provisional Government could hold onto power for itself. In the city centre, Valeri is among a group of rebel fighters mustered to survey forward positions. A handful of men are caught in Milton Keynes, but these are only the few who'd happened to be left behind when the Popular Front's forces seized the city. The battle lines are soon to harden, with the catastrophic supply situation to starve so many into death. "I don't think I've ever been so hungry in my whole life," says Valeri, allowing himself a moment of weakness when he and his lead hand, Lynn, are alone. "Well, I've never been this hungry," says Lynn, "but I've been worse places." She speaks of the streets she'd lived on as a young woman, of the men who'd come to her, had their way with her, then refused to pay and beat her. But a seminal moment in her life had come when she'd found Elijah, in the place she'd have least expected her salvation. "It's been a very long time since any of us could remember peace," says Valeri. "Well," says Lynn, "it's not that long in the grand scheme of things."

"That means nothing to me," says Valeri. "It should mean something," says Lynn, "because there are going to be a lot of people out there who want peace more than anything." Valeri asks, "so you agree with me?" And Lynn says, "in a way." Throughout the city, the fires of liberation burn, with the columns of smoke still rising to mark the funeral pyres of the old regime. In Milton Keynes as in every other city seized by the forces of the new People's Republic there's a general collapse of the old order, with managers and the wealthy men on whose behalf they'd managed fleeing or going into hiding. After the early phase of executions in areas held by the troops of the Popular Front, few have remained behind who could've expected to be so targeted by the Popular Front following its future victories. The blood that falls from the sky as rain seems not to drain but rise like the tides, threatening to drown them all. But Valeri, Lynn, and all the other soldiers following the banner of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front are immune from the rising tide of blood coursing through the street, permitting them to achieve life through victory where they ought to achieve only death through defeat.

Beyond the front lines, whether those front lines are on the battlefield between armies or in the mind of a single person between competing kinds of thoughts, there's a larger point to be made. After the last of the bodies have been removed from the public square and the first of the fresh bodies laid to rest, there's little else to be done. They hear testimony, gathered not at some central office but from throughout the community, the Popular Front's apparatchiks going door to door, seeking out the gathering of refugees in churches and the like, matching testimony against the crimes of those who're gathered, still being gathered in the football stadium just off the old A5. The data networks have gone down long ago, and chronic power outages have left most traditional devices without a charge. This has forced the Popular Front to resort to posting flyers on lampposts, and handing some out to churches to distribute to their congregants. It's exactly this sort of disseminating of its edicts, along with instructing workers in newly-liberated cities like this one to form committees. The real criminals, those who've been hoarding wealth and manipulating the lives of so many working people for their own benefit, they continue to elude justice. Although the passions of working men and women have been enflamed for many years, it's only now that the full swing of retribution against them can begin. "Don't you ever wish you could have revenge on all those men who'd beaten you?" asks Valeri. "No," says Lynn, "because I learned they were not the true villains." She came into the arms of Elijah, after the failed uprising that preceded this revolution by more than fifteen years. Then, Elijah was a fugitive, not yet caught, not yet in prison, not yet tempted three times to denounce his own cause. Of course, Lynn never met Elijah, not during that early time, instead finding her way into his influence by stumbling into an old church, disused and given up on by the Anglican church's local diocese but occupied instead by the rogue ministry of a new church. After all those who would've counted among the elite of the old regime have been through, the worst is yet to come. In the football stadium just off the A5 road, the gathered prisoners are left on the uncovered pitch when the falling of blood as rain from the sky. Soon they are drenched in blood, in the blood of so many innocent people who would've died before them. This is a seminal event in the course of the revolution, even if no one can see the streams of blood coursing through the streets.

But in this, the coldest winter Britain's seen in centuries, even the bravest of faces can't hold long. It's in the new year, in only a few months' memories of the bold declaration of the new People's Republic seeming to have faded into the wintry sky. Although Valeri stands at his position outside Milton Keynes with the same straight-jawed look, inwardly he continues to seethe at the life that's been denied him, denied not by his own rising but by the continued application of the oppressive force. Although nothing has ever been the way it seems, behind every one of the burgeoning revolution's ebbs and flows is a confluence of forces well outside the foundations of the new People's Republic. But this last summer's heat proves particularly harsh, seeming to linger through the passing days and nights, unleashing wave after wave of record highs, along with the thick, swampy humidity turning Britain into hell on earth. In Milton Keynes, as in other cities and towns throughout the new People's Republic, as soon as the Popular Front's forces secure the city a surge in church attendance takes place. The Popular Front has taken to confiscating and destroying stores of drugs, once distributed so widely by the wealthy into the hands of so many working class men and women, distributed by way of the many shops and their affiliated companies.

The revolution seeks not to empower the exceptional but the unexceptional, in people like Valeri's lead hand, Lynn, finding exactly the right kind of person to lead them all through to the future. But Lynn is too old to be of much use to the future the Popular Front seeks to build. "It was a different time," says Lynn, as she recalls not her early service among the ranks of those early fighters but her life on the streets in Liverpool. "That revolt changed everything," she says, referring to the failed uprising that preceded this one by more than fifteen years. "We didn't have to be afraid anymore," says Valeri, "for the first time, we had the possibility of defeating what'd seemed so invincible." Lynn nods. It doesn't matter to either of them that Valeri was only thirteen when the last revolution broke out, nor that she was old enough to have participated but chose not to do so. Now, with the blood falling from the sky as rain seeming to intensify into a torrential downpour, streams coursing through the streets flowing deeper and faster, mixing freely with the decaying flesh of so many recently killed. But Valeri and Lynn, as soldiers of the revolution, can't see the rising tide of blood, can't see the blood falling as rain from the sky.

Scheming in the shadows are men at the heart of the loose coalition known to the public as the National Forces. Already in Cardiff and Edinburgh the nationalists have agreed to follow the National Forces' banner, although that's all they've agreed to do. The unionists in Northern Ireland are more sceptical, although they see in the National Forces an alliance preferable to the ways of the new People's Republic, threatening as the People's Republic is to every last vestige of tradition left in Britain for some men to cling to. In this, there's an impossible future, a creative way that the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front can seek to reconfigure the past to conform to its own future. After the latest battle, after the current lull in the action has set in, men like Valeri Kovalenko can hardly see the larger picture, Valeri himself spending this time alternating between manning that very defensive position on the outskirts of Milton Keynes and patrolling the city. Although the Popular Front's control in the area remains unchallenged, still there are stores of food and medical supplies throughout the city, their owners hoping to remain undiscovered by the forces of the Popular Front. After having completed one patrol, Valeri and the others in his squad return to the open square in the middle of the city to receive their next orders. Sister Simpson is there to personally give them new instructions. She tells them to head to a cluster of small warehouses in an industrial quarter of the city, giving them the precise locations of six such warehouses that are suspected or known to be the sites of hoarded food, clothing, even medical supplies desperately needed.

On the way there, Valeri considers the absurdity of it, that there should be men still harbouring delusional beliefs in the power of their own profits. "Who's in charge here?" asks Valeri, on arrival finding a small group of men manning the first warehouse's front gates. There's a chattering from among the group of men, none of them seeming to be willing to step forward. "If I don't get an answer out of you then I'll have you all taken in," says Valeri, this time forcing an extra scowl as he addresses the small crowd. Still the manager persists, asking to be allowed to speak with the head of the local authority, seeming not to take so young a man as Valeri seriously. Neither Valeri nor Lynn know it, but the Popular Front is already fashioning a secret protocol which'll be released only when the moment is right, this protocol a narrative which should consider the failed revolution more than fifteen years before this one to be whole with this. It'll be one long history, with the Popular Front, as well as the People's Republic and all its future successors.

"This is not a negotiation," says Valeri, relying on sheer force of his own emotions to push through the moment, "we are here to take what's needed for the people who need it. And you're coming with us, whether you want to or not." The manager doesn't seem to understand the gravity of the situation, as he continues to try and barter for his life. It seems absurd how some warehouses, some factories, even some apartment blocks be seized and under the control of the workers who've occupied them, while in the very same cities there're places like this warehouse, still pledging allegiance to an order which can no longer exist. The manager continues his protests, insisting this food belongs to the paying customers, even as he can't name any of these phantom customers who've paid huge sums to keep so much food hoarded. It matters little to Valeri, who puts up with the manager's insistence inasmuch as he must, drawing out the manager's insistence only so as to crush it hard beneath his boot. "I had no choice," says the manager, pleading for his life. "You always have a choice," says Valeri, "and you've made the wrong one." In the city of Milton Keynes, the Popular Front is quick to establish its authority in this fashion, imposing a strict regime of rationing. But Valeri spares a thought, every now and then, for the many millions of Britons living and working in areas outside the Popular Front's control. He wonders what's to become of them, after the uprisings in much of Britain had failed to dislodge the Popular Front's enemies. There are so many, so many like him, young men who aren't so young. After they'd secured the city and made sure that the last of the enemy troops had either surrendered or retreated, Valeri and the others kept up with appearances, continuing to put on a stoic face for the locals. Although the war on the continent between the former warring powers has ceased, still the British army must be brought home soon. It's this fact that weighs heavily not only on Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front but also on its enemies, here in Britain and all around the world. It's only been a week since their successful seizure of the city of Milton Keynes, and now the men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury must fight to secure their prize.

They've received word from Sister Simpson, who's relocated her headquarters into the northern reaches of the city of Milton Keynes, that they should prepare to move forward to new positions on the northern and eastern sides of the city. These orders apply to all the other bands of fighters in 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury, down to around four hundred men and women altogether following recent losses in the taking of the city of Milton Keynes. But before these new orders can be carried out, Valeri must pursue the justice at hand. His is not the only band of fighters intervening to institute the hand of justice at area factories, warehouses, and other places of work; nearly every band of fighters has sent some of its men and women to one place or another, arresting criminals, appointing committees, and opening stores for public consumption at the determination and discretion of the Popular Front and its apparatchiks. It's only by these measures in the extreme conditions facing Britain that the new People's Republic is going to survive. In the end, Valeri and the others take the manager and a few others from the warehouse, intending to do what must be done. After all that's happened, it seems to Valeri Kovalenko that this is only the latest in a long turn of events that should bring him face-to-face with his own destiny. In this, the bitterest and coldest of winter's Britain's faced in his lifetime, Valeri is as an avatar for the larger working class struggle, exceptional in his character unexceptional, meant for things greater than this precisely because he After placing this warehouse under the control of a committee of workers, selected from among their own on a voluntary basis, Valeri and the others from the Popular Front give the committee instructions on dispensing the food contained in this warehouse, then turn their attention to the managers. This time, there's little ceremony to it, the order coming down from Sister Simpson simply to do what must be done.

This time, Valeri takes no pleasure in it, even as he leads the managers to a small wooded area behind the warehouse's property. Soon they're walking back, leaving the bodies in the wooded area to rot. There's news in the works, filtering quickly across the few data networks still operational. The Popular Front has attempted to keep the data networks up and running, for two main reasons. First, for their obvious value in disseminating their own commandments and propaganda directly to the people, to the working class and to their sympathisers and fellow travelers both at home and abroad. Second, to ensure the ability of the victims of the old regime to keep on spreading their stories. "It's rather obscene," says Valeri, "the way they can take so much and offer so little." The younger Aretha Cordoba doesn't come out with them, instead remaining at her post manning the communications link. "I'm seeing a lot of unknowns here," she says, "they might be in for a fight." But Valeri doesn't heed this call, instead choosing to take himself where he can't take any other. Despite having relocated their base into a series of positions in and around the city of Milton Keynes, 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury keep the namesake of the smaller city in which they were initially formed. Valeri's small, platoon-sized band of fighters is only one of many who are a part of their battalion, spread out over a large area. In the rural areas and in urban tracts across the country, similarly named bands of fighters occupy positions along roads and at the end of empty fields, with names like 3rd People's Shock Brigade and the 77th Reserve Light Infantry Battalion, the former an example of forces assigned to occupy a central location where it can gather strength in preparation for the next attack, the latter a mishmash of men and women, some recently recruited and others wounded and in need of rest. These are the very same units that've been staging attacks since even before the advent of the Popular Front, sometimes appearing to the outside world to appear from nowhere and then disappear into thin air after making their attacks, sometimes seizing and occupying tracts of land for months at a time.

It seems ridiculous to Valeri that these men should cling to their old way of life, that they should try to keep on running their profit-making business as if this day were like any other day. After the executions have been performed and Valeri returns to the warehouse floor, he finds the small crowd of workers largely dispersed, with only a few left in the general vicinity. In the following weeks, Sister Baldwin takes control of the various worker's councils that've already formed, and designates on each a representative to and from the Popular Front. Some area factories, mills, warehouses, and other industrial estates have yet to form their own self-governing councils; Sister Baldwin appoints a council from among the workers to these, then treats these the same as the councils that'd already been formed. All are made to pledge loyalty to the Popular Front and to the People's Republic it controls, forming the basis for a new regime to emerge in the meanwhile. It doesn't seem to Valeri that any of this makes sense, with the uprisings so recently having cast off the shackles of oppression and given the Popular Front a renewed mandate to govern.

The last few councils have come under the firm control of the Popular Front, with apparatchiks installed and disloyal chiefs removed, the uprising having produced a fresh round of hangings. "I take no joy in this," says Valeri, as he leads the manager and a few others to their impromptu gallows behind these industrial estates. "Your time has come," says his lead hand, Lynn Jackson. After the executions have been completed, Valeri, Lynn, and the others return to their positions, saying very little to each other along the way. The many men who are gathered in the city's biggest football stadium, just off the A5, they're mostly not to share the same eventual fate as the men who've just now been shot dead by Valeri and the others, destined instead to be released back into the community to serve the revolution in one capacity or another. If anyone should think that this future might in any way resemble the recent or not so recent past, they're right; but as Valeri is coming to realise, there's one key difference, at least one that makes all the difference in the world. They're advancing the cause of the working class, where their enemies, where those who would've controlled the past both recent and not would've advanced only their own cause, their own interests, satisfying only their own greed and lust for power. As the streets run slick with blood that falls from the sky as rain, Valeri and the others who serve in the armed wing of the Popular Front exact the beginnings of a new wave of retribution against the real criminals, against those who'd robbed so many men and women for so long of the one thing which all working men and women ought to be entitled to: their dignity.

And the men, the managers and the others who are to be hanged, they say very little, a few of them seeming to mumble or moan as they're shuffled lifelessly to their deaths. It recalls, in the back of Valeri's mind, a small conversation he'd had with an anonymous young man in the time immediately preceding their first assault on Milton Keynes. "Are you ready to face the future?" asked the young man of Valeri. "As ready as I'm going to be," Valeri had replied. "That's all anyone can do," the young man had said, "do what you can and let whatever happens happen." It seemed so out of place then, only some weeks ago, but now, as Valeri leads a small group of men out to the wooded area to be executed, it seems somehow right. Although Sister Baldwin in Aylesbury has recovered testimony from the local population and pronounced her findings, sometimes the administration of justice must be conducted in the quick and dirty manner that Valeri's come to be so familiar with over the past few years.

Elsewhere, in the not altogether distant city of Cambridge the current wave of revolutionary fervour reaches a new peak, with so many men and women joining in only to face brutal retribution at the hands of the revolution's enemies. A young man named Glenn Singleton joins with many of the others in seizing parts of their home city, only to face immediate attack by the local militia. "They're coming again," says Glenn, speaking with a group of others who occupy a disused hotel overlooking a key east-west road leading into an industrial part of the city, the industrial part itself seized by so many striking workers in league with the armed forces of the Popular Front. "Fuck 'em, there's—" a young man is cut off as he's shot dead. Glenn can see the local militiamen advancing towards them. "Set the building on fire," says another, a young woman, "burn it all, they can't advance if there's a wall of fire stopping them." Glenn and the other survivors agree. The militiamen are close, too close to their barricades in the street, made out of old, disused lorries and buses, along with sections of wooded furniture and concrete hastily gathered on the first day of the current uprising. They don't know it, can't know it, but their rising along with the rising of so many like them across Britain has diverted men that would be brought to bear on Milton Keynes and other cities recently seized by the forces of the Popular Front.

But this, this execution, it'll remain with Valeri for some time, his first real taste of blood. Although he'd served as the executioner before, and killed men in battle, this execution will come to assume a special place in his memories of his own experiences in the revolution. He's not yet become the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's to be, but he's no longer the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been only some years ago. Overhead, military aircraft fly with greater frequency than they once had, all of them British. In the city's industrial quarters, work must continue, on the orders of Sister Baldwin acting in her capacity as the Popular Front's head apparatchik in the area. It's been this way for some time; no more can anyone so easily stake out any claim to the future, no more than anyone else. "What do we do now?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba. "Whatever we can," says Valeri, "it's not the right time to be asking too many questions. We've all got to put in our fair share." Their recent conflict amongst themselves and their mutually shared suspicion of recent defectors, but as Elijah has commanded them to welcome defectors into their ranks Valeri must accept them. It's a confusing time, when the lines of battle seem to shift constantly even as they remain fixed in place for weeks, even months at a time, sometimes seeming to disappear altogether. The Popular Front has not yet imposed the kind of wartime rigour on the country's industrial infrastructure that should be needed, and it's this lack of clarity that should come to characterise the haphazard approach they take to imposing their rule. "I don't think it's going to end this way," says Valeri, "my instincts tell me the revolution has only just begun." And to this his lead hand, Lynn, says, "I think you're right about that."

Still elsewhere, in the city of Oxford the current wave of uprisings takes the form of an open revolt at the old auto assembly plant. There've been strikes and uprisings here before, and every one of them has ended with either the workers returning to work voluntarily or in bloody and violent suppression. A young Irishwoman named Leah Ryan mans the barricades at one of the plant's entrances; a few dozen men and women are with her. "They're coming again," says one young man, "so many of them." Leah looks over the barricade and down the road, spotting the nationalist militia advancing towards them, their lorries seeming to be fitting with extra armour in the form of scrap metal hastily welded on. "We've got to make a decision soon," says Leah, "fight or run?" In the weeks following their seizing of the plant, they'd formed an ad hoc governing committee, but one which is far more dysfunctional and far less able to govern as many others. "We don't fight," says another worker, an older man, "they're not going to order us to stand up to this." This huge plant is valuable, needed by either the People's Republic or its opposition, which means the striking workers can't burn the place to the ground. But Leah and her friends think different. Without authorisation, they set fire to their barricade, then make off deeper into the factory's grounds. By the time they successfully escape, they'll have set more fires, fires no one's capable of fighting, they and many other workers from the uprising fleeing along a rail line which they've heard will take them into territory held by the rebels.

As for the recent wave of uprisings both within and without the territory directly controlled by the new People's Republic, these continue on into the days and nights. From their positions on the edge of the city, Valeri and the others under his charge can see the fires of liberation burning behind them, the night's sky a burnt orange and brown, the day's sky sprouting smoke here and there. If two of them should ever meet, if the day and the night should ever come to coexist peacefully at the same time as one another, then perhaps there could be an end to the endless war sometime in the near future. "Are you all done there?" asks the lead worker. "For now," says Valeri, "but you all must return to work immediately. The war must end, and you all must work as hard as you can to make it end as soon as possible." The lead worker seems unconvinced, but doesn't press Valeri. With so many among the ranks of the workers having deserted, there's hardly a skeleton crew to keep the plant running. "We'll work twelve-hour shifts," says another worker, a younger man who seems much more enthusiastic about himself than the others, "we'll work six days a week." At the head of the plant is a cadre of workers very much like this young man, the cadre having seized control during the recent wave of uprisings. They'd immediately pledged loyalty to the Popular Front and imprisoned their managers, but until Valeri and the others had arrived these men had little idea what else they were supposed to do.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Blackburn, the front lines of this new and particularly violent phase in the revolution have spared no one. A middle aged man named Hugo Bell has already counted himself in with the rebels, years ago coming to grips with the hardships and the indignities faced by the working class in Britain. But not all men and women in Blackburn see things as he does. The recent rebel offensive, launched from Bolton to the south, has failed to break through nationalist defences around Blackburn, leaving men like Hugo Bell without prospect for relief. In an industrial park on the southern edge of the city, Hugo and a few of the others now wait their fate. "But I'm not going to just sit here and wait for it," says Hugo, "I'm going to head south." Another worker, a young woman, says, "you'll be killed before you make it across the motorway." These two, along with a few dozen others are all that's left from the initial uprising a few weeks ago, the others all killed, driven off, or taken prisoner. "I'm going to try it," says Hugo, "it's either die here or die out there. I'm not going to let this warehouse be my epitaph." He makes it into the fields somewhere to the south before being caught and shot dead by militiamen, although this is longer than any of the others had made it; moments after he'd fled, the militia had captured their position and summarily shot them all.

But a decisive edge in the revolutionary struggle must be had, with even the recent developments a new phase in the war having begun. After the wave of uprisings both inside the territory controlled by the Popular Front and outside it, everything's changed even as everything's remained the same. It's as if the country had, in the middle of the night, been absconded into the sky and replaced with an ersatz version of itself, exactly alike, but entirely different. When next Valeri takes stock of all they'd expended, all the men they'd visited justice upon, he feels neither the deep-seated satisfaction nor the intensified bloodlust from their deaths. "Do you think they're really going to do it?" asks Valeri, speaking with Lynn a little while later. They're talking about the workers who'd promised to work twelve hour shifts, six days a week for the war effort. "It doesn't matter," says Lynn, "they're going to be brought under control soon, either way." But not all the striking workers have chosen to cast their lot in with the rebels of the Popular Front.

In the city of Sheffield, a war zone almost perfectly bisected by forces of the Popular Front and the nationalist militia known as the National Forces, a young man named Cornelius Wilkerson lives with his family in a small block of flats, hiding as they do from the fighting going on in the streets outside. They can't know where in the city the gunmen of either side are fighting, but they think it could be anywhere. "Can we escape into the country?" asks Cornelius' young wife. "I don't know," says Cornelius, "if we wait until the fighting stops in this city then we might be able to make it." They're both thinking the same thing; her mother has a house in the Derbyshire to the west and they'd be relatively safe there. "If we wait any longer then we might not be around to escape," says his wife, before going to tend to their two children who've woken in the middle of the night. This is the same argument they've had many times over since the fighting erupted in Sheffield following the most recent wave of uprisings. In the end, they agree to stay put. Both Cornelius and his young wife will be killed in a few weeks, caught in the crossfire between opposing bands of fighters, their children spared only by virtue of their short height. Some time later, her mother's house in Derbyshire will have been ransacked by locals in search of food or shelter, and a little while later occupied by homeless refugees.

Elsewhere, the war on the continent continues to pose challenges. Although the uneasy truce between Russia and its allies on one side and the loose coalition of Western countries on the other holds, the unrelenting violence throughout and within much of Europe ensures an unstable situation. The Russian government itself is on the verge of collapse, facing as it does a catastrophic insurrection within its own borders. The vast and impoverished Russian working class is in the midst of its own revolution, led by parties seeking to inherit the legacy of October Revolution of 1917. As in Britain, in Russia this new revolution is opposed by an alliance of nationalist parties. Unlike in Britain, the central government has been able to persist, even after the use of nuclear weapons so close to home, although its authority is challenged by constant workers' strikes and the disloyal elements in the military which've pledged allegiance to one faction or another. All the while, the Americans continue to watch, anxious that the nuclear firestorm on the continent shouldn't be repeated, shouldn't escalate into unlimited war. Their war with the Chinese in the Pacific continues, with the Americans and their allies winning the aero-naval war but at enormous cost. Even as the American intervention in Europe has already begun, their leaders have declared their determination not to fight a two-front war, all the while mindful of unrest within their own borders. Still, as the former world passes away, even the American leaders find themselves at the mercy of forces far greater than any man. As Elijah has been saying, history is not led by men, and this future history is no exception.

For now, though, the demands of a wartime economy will continue to compel the Popular Front to adopt harsher measures, at the highest levels the rebel Elijah consulting not with the dark essence but with his disciples in coming up with a plan. In the meanwhile, in the meanwhile men like Valeri Kovalenko must continue to struggle through the days, rhythmically, methodically, disregarding the strain on his body due to his mounting but minor injuries. A few days after Valeri and Lynn had received those workers, some things remain unclear. "I've got no way of knowing," says Valeri, "but I hope they all do what's best for them." Lynn says, "what's best for all of us." But Valeri says, "if people did what's best for all of us then there'd be no need for this war at all." Lynn nods. The two are back at their posting, an office building which's been repurposed to serve as a barracks for the forces of the Popular Front.

Still further afield, in the small city of Corby a large series of industrial estates continue to function in the grips of the nationalist governments. A young woman named Nora Briggs has lived in Corby and worked for several months at the largest industrial estate in the city, the steel works. Once owned by Englishmen, long ago the works had been sold to an Indian concern, in a perverse historical irony not lost on anyone in the area. But after the failed revolution that preceded this one by more than fifteen years, the Indian owners had sought to exit the business, selling the concern back to British owners at a small fraction of what they'd paid. Now, Nora works with a few thousand others, defying the attempts by the local Popular Front apparatchik to go on strike. They fear for their jobs, but also for their lives. The workers here have gone on strike before. Those workers had paid for their lives. Nora works at a station not far from a spot where those workers had made their stand; she still finds spent shell casings here and there, from time to time. "I don't know what to expect," she says, when speaking with a fellow worker about the violence sweeping the country, "I have a family to feed." She'd been hired on directly to replace dead or arrested workers from the most recent strike, as had many of her co-workers. "I came here to work," says another worker, a young man whose name Nora doesn't know, who's been working here even less time than Nora. "I'm afraid that the rebels will kill us all if they take over," says a second young man, a young man who's responding to postings put up by the very same trade unions who'd once purported to lead the working class movement but who've now become little more than an adjunct to the mass murderers who oppose the Popular Front. "There won't be any strikes here anymore," says another worker, an older man who's been around here much longer than any of them but still under a year.

It's around this time that the first American naval group arrives in European waters, assuming an operational station in the Bay of Biscay. Their intervention had been set into motion following the nuclear exchange on the continent, their government's actions following a lengthy delay. After having conducted reconnaissance for the past several weeks, these Americans are under orders to intervene in whatever way they can. The first American attacks come on French and British military bases, in both cases striking targets both military and civilian. The rebel Elijah immediately denounces these attacks, declaring them to be craven acts of cold-blooded murder, a prime example of militarist aggression against the new beginning represented by the People's Republic. Although the American government has been watching events in Europe for some time, it's only recently that they've decided to intervene. They have no objective, no plan, only the vague intention to act, a vague intention which leads them to call off their aerial attacks after this first wave results in civilian deaths in British and French cities. Most of the remaining British nuclear arsenal, in the form of its submarine-launched ballistic missiles, remains interned in American ports, but a small portion remain unaccounted for. When these are discovered, not by the Americans but by forces loyal to the Popular Front here in Britain, everything will change, even as nothing will change at all.

But these larger forces continue to gather. Valeri and Lynn are only foot soldiers, charged with fighting a war much larger and more primal than either could ever understand. For now, the Popular Front must not only concern itself with outward affairs but with affairs much closer to home. At a special session of the joint committees of both the Worker's Party and the People's Party, the two co-equal leaders of the Popular Front, delegates vote to issue a decree bringing newly formed worker's committees in subordination to the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest level of the Popular Front. This is declared to be a temporary measure, needed so long as practical concerns of the revolutionary struggle override any particular commitment to the nascent worker's democracy. This is a compromise, although no one who follows the banner of the rebel Elijah and the Popular Front see it as such. As soon as this compromise is announced, by way of the data networks that so frequently go down, the first wave of appraisals and approvals come in from councils across Britain, councils very much like the super-councils already formed in much of the country. This is an essential step, one which should permit the new People's Republic to conduct the war effort until such time as it's no longer needed, whereupon working class rule can be more fully instituted. Even as these emergency measures must provide for the short-term survival of the new regime, the rising of evil around the world should threaten the new People's Republic, a threat which Elijah can perceive still only as the vaguest of notions in the distance, like the coming of an unusually dark and stormy night.

18. Illusions

For the first time in the short history of the young People's Republic, a great re-awakening is underway, one which should supersede every previous awakening with an entirely new consciousness. Under the banner of the Popular Front all mass organisations, churches, trade unions, student associations, and others have been united and subordinated to the co-equal leadership of the Worker's Party and the People's Party. All mass organisations are given a voice and a means of expressing that voice, but the control exercised by the co-equal leadership of the Worker's Party and the People's Party ensures that their voices are moderated with the proper discipline and perspective. All this Valeri has begun to understand, in his readings of the foundational text of the new People's Republic, although the spare moments in which he could give himself to study have become vanishingly few. The conduct of the revolution has consumed him fully, leaving him unable to appreciate or foresee anything beyond. "You're asking for something they can't give," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, looking on the civilians in the streets. "They'll give what they have to give," says Valeri's lead hand, Lynn Jackson.

As they each speak, Valeri carefully contemplates their next move, considering each position before deciding on one that navigates a path between them. "We'll take what we need," says Valeri, "and leave them whatever's left. Whatever anyone can do to hasten the victory of the Popular Front, they must do, as victory will bring us peace." The men under Valeri's personal charge soon encounter a new challenge, unlike the war they've been fighting. It's the last in a long line of crises, each more severe than the last. "I can't see anything," says one young man, "visibility is zero." The smoke which'd come from so many fires burning around the urban area has become so thick that most of the cityscape is obscured behind a seemingly permanent haze. But Valeri can see through it as though the sky were clear. No one else in his small, platoon-sized band of fighters can see so clearly through the smoky haze as him, only because the dark essence which guides the revolution has chosen him for achievements greater than those of any of the others. His path, the path of a lesser prophet as compared to the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front. By the time Valeri's work is through, he'll have an entirely new story to tell, and an entirely new way to tell it, if only he should be given the means to do so.

There's been no particular moment in which it's become evident to Valeri Kovalenko that he's a soldier serving in an army, no conscription having been necessary to coerce him into service. In fact, he recalls it was only a year ago that he was only an untrained and barely-skilled miscreant, a gunman only by virtue of his having come to possess a gun which he'd used on whoever had stood in their way. Now, he wears a uniform of sorts, a black jacket covering his torso, his fists gloved, and a red armband on his left bicep, with pants and a pair of sturdy boots to complete the ensemble. He knows not where these items have come from; the locals periodically donate clothing to the rebels in the Popular Front. But when sufficient donations can't be found, the men of the Popular Front, men like Valeri, must take by force what they need, sometimes leaving women and children to face the sweltering heat and humidity without adequate protection from the elements. Sometimes he sheds his jacket altogether, allowing himself the small relief of a bare top. His body has grown hardened by more than two years of fighting; he hasn't got one ounce of fat anywhere, his muscular form having become chiseled by continuous work. Although Valeri Kovalenko is only one man, he is becoming as an avatar for the working class struggle, having grown into the role of the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never truly be. "I won't fail again," says Valeri, thinking as he is of his mother and father, suddenly finding himself wishing he could visit their graves again. "I promised them I'd do them right," says Valeri, "and it's something I still intend to do." His lead hand, Lynn, says nothing in response. Instead, she makes use of her still-emergent abilities to remind him, filling him with the vague but powerful sensibility that he ought to be beyond such self-introspection, that he is beyond such self-introspection.

But it's a passing thought, one which gives way almost as soon as it'd appeared to the pressing concerns of the battle yet to be won seizing his attention. They're to leave the city of Milton Keynes soon enough, leaving behind their hard-won prize for the countryside to the north. Although this summer has all but ended, still the heat and humidity persists in the countryside and throughout British cities and towns, a thick, swampy heat which may prove to be as lethal as the mass killings now underway. "I wish the orders to move out would come already," says Valeri, "I can't stand this blasted waiting. Let's take to the attack right away. There are so many innocent people dying out there we could be helping free right now." Still his lead hand says nothing, preferring instead to attempt to speak through her developing talents, finding herself frustrated by their inconsistency. But the killings, the lynchings and the reprisals which began in the last days of the now-defunct Provisional Government, they continue unabated in the parts of the country outside the control of the Popular Front. In the time it takes the forces of the Popular Front to seize a city, a town, even a patch of land with a few farmhouses scattered across, the larger forces that continue to align against this new beginning lay their own plans. But the course of the revolution seems to take a new turn. Summer's end is well underway. The intense heat which would've once been considered unseasonable but which is now simply a fact of life has come. As Valeri and the others work through the heat, they all seem to find relief in the work they must perform. This summer is proving to be particularly long and hot, with frequent power failures leaving entire patches of the country in the dark for weeks at a time. At a crossroads, Valeri feels the pain from his minor injuries returning, as if this period of inaction should wound him even further. "I'm beginning to wonder," says Valeri, "if my mother and father had to die for me to live." His lead hand, Lynn, listens. "If they hadn't been killed in the last revolution," says Valeri, "then I might not've turned to radicalism when I did. And I might not be here, now." But Lynn says, "or you might've turned to radicalism even sooner than you did. You might be even further along by now." Valeri looks at her and says, "weren't you supposed to be telling me I'm beyond thinking about such things?" And Lynn says, "I never meant to suggest you shouldn't think about where you've come from."

But Valeri realizes it's all a sham, an elaborate fraud, Valeri and Lynn agreeing it a topic for further discussion at a later time. In the early evening's twilight, the sky has coloured a deep shade of lavender, arching overhead like a sheet floating gently in a midsummer's breeze. The sound of distant gunfire has seemed to fade into the countryside, leaving Valeri and the others alone with their thoughts. "Does it matter?" asks Valeri. "Probably not," says Lynn. "Still," says Valeri, "I think it's something I'll learn, one way or another." Lynn can see that Valeri is not entirely convinced, but uses her talents to press the matter without having to speak. It doesn't become immediately clear when her talents have returned to her, but that she seems able to make use of them again. If Valeri is to be a lesser prophet of the revolution, then Lynn is to be a special talent, each to follow their own path which has temporarily brought them together.

Now, Valeri and the others in 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury find themselves under attack again, this time the troops of the National Forces launching an attack from nearby Bedford. In the intervening weeks, the Popular Front's troops have been expelled from Bedford, Valeri and the others in 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury now fighting alongside a hodgepodge of soldiers, fighting to stop the enemy from advancing any further. The line sits almost equidistant between Milton Keynes and Bedford, bisecting a patchwork of farmland and old estates, with a motorway connecting the two cities the focus of much of the heaviest fighting. Only so recently and Valeri had seen this revolution fought not by armies over territory but by forces unseen by ordinary men and women. Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it, but these series of actions mark a dramatic change in the character of the revolution, the bold and assertive having given way to the tough and resilient. In acceding to a war for territory, the new People's Republic and the expanded Popular Front which controls it must learn to adapt, to adopt a new way of thinking, the uprisings of old having petered out. There're to be no more uprisings in this war. In time, this'll come to be obvious to Valeri. Soon, Valeri and the others under his charge are faced with the pitched battle they'd not anticipated. Valeri's right on the line with all the others, shooting at the enemy. "Stand your ground," says Valeri, leaning down to shout orders. "Hang on," says Lynn, as she turns to face the younger Aretha Cordoba, the latter receiving a new message on her screen. While Valeri and the others wait on the message, the last enemy troops fall back. Soon, it's quiet again, but for the sickly moaning of the badly hurt. "We have no new weapons," says Valeri.

"We don't need any new weapons," says Lynn. "Except to equip any new men we get," says Valeri. "I'd rather we got some vehicles," says Lynn, "if I could pick anything, that is." Valeri thinks about it, then says, "it would be nice, if there were any in good working order." All the vehicles they'd made use of in recent months—the lorries, whether civilian or military—have been knocked out by enemy fire or rendered useless by mechanical failure. None of them have much experience in fighting a conventional war, but both have grown tired of having to march everywhere or nearly everywhere they go. The army on the continent, or so they believe, offers them the prospect of relief from this life of endless toil. As much as Valeri would like to convince himself and those around him that the noble life of struggle and hardship is one he would willingly walk for the rest of his life, in truth he'd like an end to the war and the fighting as much as any man. And illusions, illusions which tempt even the strongest of men persist through this tentative, in-between time, when the new People's Republic must fight to earn its claim. In Milton Keynes, Sister Baldwin continues her work, hearing testimony from more of the local population, even after the hangings more names dredged up from testimonies, weeks after the Popular Front has seized the city. As Sister Baldwin is a former prostitute, a street-walker who'd endured many rapes and beatings at the hands of many men, she takes a particular and deeply personal interest in some of the testimonies, asking for prostitutes to come forward with any accounts, any accusations. It's a grim undertaking, but there proves to be no shortage of witnesses attesting to the cruelty of the old regime, the hall where Sister Baldwin hears testimony soon filling with the voices and tears of so many hopeless men and women. In truth, those women who were reduced to prostituting themselves are but a specific expression of the general prostitution of the working class, as every man and woman was made to sell their bodies for a pittance. As these women were among the most pathetic and wretched under the old way of life, they should be elevated to the highest ranks under the new way of life, under the way of life which has yet to be.

Outside the city, this latest attack on their positions ended unceremoniously, only to be repeated some days later. "Where do they all keep coming from?" asks Valeri, ducking below cover to ask his lead hand. "Just keep shooting," says Lynn, replying not to Valeri but speaking to the others. "This attack's thinner than the others," says another brother, a young man who's name Valeri doesn't know. But when Valeri looks back down range, he notices the enemy positions seemingly left vacant by the enemy's retreat from their latest attack. "Why can't we pursue them?" asks Valeri. "With what?" asks Lynn. "With our bare hands if we have to," says Valeri. But even as he speaks, Valeri realizes his place, here with the men on the line. "There's work for us to do here in this city," says Lynn, referring to their latest orders from Sister Simpson. Although they've all come to serve as soldiers in the army of the new People's Republic, they've been fortunate so far as to have avoided the pratfalls of their own inexperience. But the criminals Sister Baldwin's to put to justice, they are only the beginning of a much larger campaign. There's more to it than that, there's always more to it than that, but for now all any of them can do is prosecute their duties to the fullest extent of their abilities, even as the harshness of the war weighs on each of them.

Although these men are comparably minor criminals in the grand scheme of things, with far greater criminals taking refuge far away, as in Aylesbury it's important here for the Popular Front to give the community a rallying point of sorts. Although these men are comparably minor criminals in the grand scheme of things, in Milton Keynes an important milestone is reached for the new People's Republic, with the first in the next wave of executions carried out. An order has been issued by the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, an order to begin hanging anyone convicted of crimes against the people who does not recant their crimes when so offered the chance. After beating off that last attack, Valeri and the others under his charge fully expect another attack to come at any time. But it doesn't come. "I'd have thought they'd want to press their advantage," says Valeri, still on the line some days after the most recent attack. "We know who they are," says Lynn, "and they know who we are. They've accomplished everything they need to, I think." It's then that Valeri learns of the casualties they'd sustained in the most recent enemy attack; Stephen Potter was the only killed. Although Valeri knew the man for only a short time, he still allows himself some small grief for the Potter's death. He hadn't availed himself of any opportunity to get to know Potter any better, and so he won't express his grief in a way any of the others can see. He gives some pause for thought, before taking Potter's weapon, ammunition, and clothing, for distribution among the rest of the men and women, before burying the body nearby.

But neither Valeri nor his lead hand ought to concern themselves with the details of the Popular Front's strategies, such things being entirely beyond their comprehension. As the days and nights in Milton Keynes seem to blend together, Valeri takes to their garrison as more of a leader. He recalls the way Sister Simpson had led their band of fighters in study during the months before the declaration of the new People's Republic, and he seeks to utilize any available time to emulate her. There's no single moment when Valeri decides to lead the brothers and sisters in his small band in study. Near their positions he commandeers a small shop for this purpose, and has a few books gathered to be delivered there. Although these men and women all serve under the banner of the Popular Front, few have managed to familiarise themselves with the finer points of the struggle to which they've dedicated their lives. At this old, disused shop Valeri takes to leading a few interested brothers and sisters in study, their first reading from Elijah himself. It's so strange to Valeri, that they should have to raise troops by compulsion of arms, effectively enslaving men and women under the banner of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. But there's at least one key difference, one which Valeri must come to appreciate in the days ahead if he's to fulfil his role in becoming a lesser prophet of the revolutionary movement led by Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front.

As this new order is delivered in a secret protocol to the functionaries and apparatchiks of the Popular Front, it can't be known to the wider population. Although Elijah has previously declared that anyone who agrees to serve the Popular Front should be redeemed of their crimes, he sets forth the contention in this new and secret protocol that the choice to serve the Popular Front must be made genuinely and enthusiastically, so as to prevent the Popular Front's infiltration by fair-weather friends. As in the other cities across Britain, the success of the Popular Front in establishing itself is marred by the continued violence and degradation of the current wave of uprisings, in cities and towns where the Popular Front is unsuccessful in meeting the striking workers a series of massacres playing out. The pogrom against Jews which began in the last months of the old Provisional Government continues at an ebb and flow, but only in the areas outside the control of the new People's Republic. The flow of refugees inside Britain has come to take on an increasingly frantic turn, even as the pace of the war's battles and shifting of lines seems to leave everyone confused and disoriented. But in the night, it always happens in the night, the first battle to be fought and won in this new stage in the revolution is to be fought and won in the minds of the men and women. They're all wholeheartedly committed to the struggle laid out before them, a commitment made altogether clear in the blood they've shed together. But when Valeri stumbles and stutters through a first lesson, he doesn't know who should be there to help him. It recalls a brief exchange he'd had with his lead hand, Lynn Jackson, only a few days ago. They'd been looking over the local synagogue here in Milton Keynes, its population swelled by the ongoing attacks on Jews by the enemies of the new People's Republic. "They may survive the war after all," Valeri had, "if we can keep the enemy from seizing this city."

But Lynn had only shaken her head, and then said, "if they survive the war only to be put on trial for crimes they didn't commit, then we'll have failed." A moment of strength is all it should take for Valeri to persist through the fog of war, but such a moment remains elusive to him. In truth, Valeri's been cultivating a relationship with a young woman among the brothers and sisters under his provisional charge. Although Valeri would prefer to devote himself wholly to the struggle, he's only a man. There's little time for men and women like them to spare, and in that little time Valeri and this young woman make what they can find. Her name's Tabitha. He knows nothing about her when they first have each other's bodies, and she knows nothing about him. The rebel Elijah has said that everyone must have the opportunity to denounce their past service to the forces in opposition to the Popular Front, but that they must avail themselves of this opportunity genuinely and with consideration for their own opportunism. In truth, this is a seminal moment, one among many in the long and winding path the revolution must take to victory. "People are dying," says the young man, who's improbably survived through this time, "and we're not doing anything about it." But Valeri cautions him, saying, "sometimes the things we're asked to do don't make a lot of sense to us. But there's a larger purpose to it all." Valeri feels hollow even as he says these things, even as he forces the words across his lips. He'd ordered not long ago the attack in direct violation of their instructions from Sister Simpson, knowingly and deliberately. Although he has yet to face the consequences of his choices, he believes this time must come soon, if not this year then perhaps sometime in the next. They must continue to march almost everywhere they go, with chronic fuel shortages and a lack of spare parts for the few machines they have keeping them on foot. For the most recent in the rebel's offensives have left many casualties. The last young man to have come forward looks to join their outfit. "Don't you have anyone?" asks Valeri. "My sister and I are all that's left," says the young man, "but we'll give it all we've got." Valeri nods, and says, "we're going to need everyone if we're going to survive."

At night, when the others are either on watch or asleep, Valeri and the young woman with whom he's been cultivating a relationship spare a moment for one another. For his part, Valeri can't shake the notion that theirs is an affair forbidden not by fiat but by things far more fundamental and far more sinister. They'd become drawn to each other exactly as quickly as any other couple in wartime Britain, the exigencies of war having compelled lovers to escalate their affairs at the earliest opportunity, knowing as they do that their each time together might be their last. In the night, it always happens in the night, Valeri and this young woman Tabitha share a brief time together, afterwards Valeri returning to duty as if nothing had happened. "I don't know what's going to happen," says Valeri. "None of us do," says Lynn. Although Valeri had intended to speak with that one young man, he doesn't make any attempt to keep this conversation private. "So what do we do?" asks the young man. Valeri takes a moment to think about it before he says, Many women around the country continue to suffer the worst horrors of sexual violence, the nationalist militias that control much of the country running roughshod over the population. For now, as Valeri and the others must prepare for their next advance into the countryside all they can do is indulge. But Valeri and the others under his charge don't have any time to rest, consumed as they are in occupying the city. The lives each of them have left behind in becoming soldiers of the revolution continue to lurk in the background, tempting, taunting each of them with the possibility of something more. When next the working people of this small city come to grips with the chronic shortages that've been plaguing their lives, it'll serve as the harbinger of an entirely new stage in the course of the revolution. "Is there anything left to discuss?" asks Valeri. "There's always something left to discuss," says Lynn, "but there may not be any point in discussing it." Valeri says, "we should be enthusiastic on the future." Lynn says, "I'm always enthusiastic on the future." Valeri asks, "But?" To this Lynn doesn't reply.

For Christopher Jenkins, life on the barricades has proven no easier to navigate than life before. Although he lives and works in an area under the control of the People's Republic, he must face the prospect of their ongoing uprising with dignity and aplomb. The working men and women who live and work around him have voted to send a delegation to the provisional committee that's being formed to govern the whole area. Although Chris isn't one of the delegates, he has high hopes they'll accomplish what they must. He hasn't seen his friend, Helen Reed, much in the past few weeks. "I'm glad to see you're on the side of reason," she'd said to him, the last time they'd seen each other. "I'm just an ordinary man," he'd said, "I want to work." Although Chris has been struggling to survive along with all the others who reside in his neighbourhood, their participation in the recent wave of uprisings has meant their own survival. "Why risk getting caught here?" asks one of Chris' fellow workers, manning the barricades against an attack that might never come. "They could come at any time," says Chris, "and I want to be here when it happens." Both men refer to the surely impending attack by counterrevolutionary elements, by forces loyal to those members on councils who'd recently been purged. The fighting men and women of the Popular Front aren't their enemies, and will never be so. "We've sealed off our neighbourhood," says another man, "our next battle will come from within." They wait the formation of a larger, super-council to govern all their working class entities, their apartment blocks, their factories, their mills. Until that happens, they must continue to wait for what may never come.

In the morning, the next morning, Valeri and the younger sister carry on as they've been carrying on for months. The penny doesn't drop that they're something more. Even Valeri feels a strange and perverted sort of shame at having indulged in pleasures of the flesh. As they are at war, he not only thinks but believes, fully believes in self-denial as an essential element of the sacrifice demanded of them all. Their liaisons are not outright forbidden, however, and it's this grey area their affair takes place in. But when they return to their position just outside the city of Milton Keynes, they must come to grips with a dramatic and new turn of events. "It's getting pretty grim," says his lead hand, Lynn. "Our orders are to hold this position," says Valeri, "and that's what we're going to do." He pauses for a moment, and looks down range. Where there'd been enemy positions only some weeks earlier now there're the still-smouldering remains of a row of houses. These houses have yet to be reoccupied by the locals, with the ebb and flow of battle having prevented this stretch of urban area from being reclaimed by the dispossessed. "We'll move forward," says Valeri, arriving at the decision on the spur of the moment. He points down the road, and after looking at the map on their screen he says, "there's a church half a kilometre down the way. We can establish a new position there." Although Lynn has some misgivings about this new approach, she doesn't object vocally when Valeri turns to the younger Aretha Cordoba and instructs her to relay their new position to Sister Simpson. But as they move out, something unexpected happens.

In the city of Nottingham, Julia Roberts has continued her work on the new super-council, governing the city's various industrial concerns as well as all residential buildings on the emergency authority of the Popular Front. After the other members of the older, smaller-scale councils have been removed from their posts and sent into detention at the old Meadow Lane, a football stadium in the middle of an industrial district south of the city centre. Attending votes at their headquarters, the main building of the old Nottingham Trent University, Julia dutifully casts her vote in favour of each motion that's brought forward, some motions brought forward by her but most by others. After a particularly lengthy session, she returns to her home and sees her family for the first time in many, many months. It's an anticlimactic moment; they have little to say to each other. "Nothing," says her husband, "not a damn thing." Julia asks, "what are you talking about?" Her husband asks, "you have loyalties other than to your family, don't you?" He goes on to say that he's seen her picture and known her identity as a member of the area's governing council. "I've been very busy," says Julia, "I never ordered you to be sent off." But then the argument ceases, and they become like a family again, for at least a few hours until Julia must leave once more. By the time they see each other again, much will have changed, radically altering their respective paths in ways none of them could've ever anticipated.

"Brother Kovalenko!" comes the call. It's one of the younger brothers they'd picked up when they'd first swept into the city. "Tell me what you see," says Valeri, speaking into the speaker with a calm, measured tone. Despite it all, work must go on. The task facing Valeri and the others under his charge must never detract from the greater struggle. This Tabitha, she's typical of the younger generation of rebel fighters, younger even than Valeri's. Like Valeri, she's known nothing but hardship throughout her life. Unlike Valeri, she's only a recent convert to the cause of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. It's only been a few months since she'd presented outside an old church with several others, heeding the Popular Front's calls for new volunteers to take up arms. Given that the rebel Elijah has decreed that anyone who agrees to follow the banner of the Popular Front should be forgiven his sins without question, no one had ever asked on her motivations for joining, no one until the first time she and Valeri had been alone together. It wasn't anything particular in how Valeri had been drawn to her, nor her to him. With her stout, stocky figure and ordinary brown hair cut hastily short, she's unexceptional in appearance. With her calm and quiet demeanour, she doesn't draw attention, which instinctively draws Valeri's attention all the same. Although Valeri is as an avatar for the larger working class struggle, he can't find it in himself to deny for himself the simple pleasures of the flesh, no matter how he may want to do so. But when this Tabitha first shows at one of Valeri's group study sessions and asks to be educated all the same, Valeri is caught off-guard.

Still elsewhere, Joe Hill doesn't have the same chance as many others to form any council, living and working as he does under the repression of the National Forces, whose loose coalition is becoming more coherent with each passing week. After having waited out the last battle between striking workers and the nationalist militia who put down their revolt, Joe and a few of the others are back at work. A year ago, when he'd joined in the revolt in Sunderland, Joe would've never expected himself to be back at work while others die. "You listen to me," says Joe's supervisor, "I know you've got a past, but I need workers. You work hard and don't try to raise any trouble, then I won't give you any trouble. But the first sign you're pulling anything, I'll throw you out right away, in the middle of your shift if I have to." Joe nods, but says nothing. He's halfway through a shift, a few days later, when he's introduced to some more new workers, among them a young woman named Nina Schultz. "How have you been?" he asks, a little while later when they're left alone at their stations. "It's been difficult," says Nina, "one too many nights on an empty stomach made me come back here." Joe says, "it's one of the only ways to keep the militia from killing you, make yourself useful to someone they like." It's no secret that the factory where they both now work is owned by someone who holds some sway with the commander of the nationalist militia. After the failure of the rebel uprisings in the area over the past several months, many of the area's industrial concerns have been swamped with working men and women seeking safety from the vicious reprisals, just outside these walls the bodies piling up, the nationalist militia not particularly discriminatory in choosing their targets aside from sparing those whom they've been made to spare, now Joe and Nina among them.

In that little, disused shophouse where Valeri and the others have come to lead their own study, a small renaissance is had. After the first few sessions, it becomes abundantly clear both to Valeri and to the others that he's no teacher. This isn't the decisive battle they'd foreseen when they'd joined in the revolution, each of them having arrived at this juncture by their own path. This Tabitha, she has her own personal history, having come from a long line of men and women each made to live on the brink of starvation for their whole lives. Although Valeri has met young women like her before, he can't recall having ever seen anyone with the same light behind her eyes. It's nothing immediately obvious. Even Valeri can't figure out exactly what it is in her that draws his attention. But they won't have too long, in the grand scheme of things, to act on their inexplicably mutual attraction, in the few spare moments they can find a much greater satisfaction. Valeri doesn't know if Lynn or any of the others know about his affair with this young woman, but he doesn't particularly care even if they do. "We've all got needs to look after," says Valeri, speaking with Lynn about something entirely different, "what use are we to anyone if we don't look after ourselves?" Lynn says, "I think that's why Elijah has told us to take what we need from the local population." But it's implicitly understood by both that they're talking about something else altogether.

But for the young woman Marilyn Carter, this period of deadly violence and brutality doesn't end with the death of her friend, the man she knows only as Arshdeep. Rather, she finds herself thrust in the middle of it, enslaved as she is in the service of the local militia. After much talk of rebellion over the past several weeks, none of them have been able to act on their talk. Marilyn has come to feel utterly despondent at her inability to bring herself to the cusp of rebellion. She and the others are watched night and day. She hasn't seen her friend Dan Murphy in many, many weeks. She doesn't often think about him, given that they knew each other for only a short period. "I'm going to die here," she says, "like so many others." She speaks with a pastor at the local church; she and the other slaves are allowed out to attend church. "You don't have to die," says the pastor, "you can live." This she knows. When she sees the soldier who'd spared her enter the church, she fears the worst. She fears a massacre here. But it's not to be, not this time. "You all have to leave," he says. He's flanked by several other troopers. "Are you going to make us?" asks the pastor. "If we must," says the trooper. This is a strange, even surreal moment for all involved, a moment which can end only one way.

Still the extreme rationing which has begun only relatively recently must continue, without regard for the hunger that persists throughout the country. It takes discipline on the part of the Popular Front's fighters and all affiliated councils not to simply throw open the seized storehouses and warehouses to the hungry masses, a discipline which not all men and women in the Popular Front possess. It's not only food and fuel that the wartime rationing must include, but the use and distribution of clothing as well, along with electricity, water, and everything else essential to modern life. The task will inevitably prove beyond the abilities of the Popular Front, in some areas, with more death and desolation in store for the tens of millions of Britons who live under the Popular Front's flag. It's around this time that the Popular Front issues edicts forbidding the transfer of food, fuel, and other essentials out of the country, while removing the few legal impediments to their import. There are few foreign entities willing to do business with the Popular Front's revolution, and with the prohibition on the flow of capital out of the country there's little incentive for any foreign companies to try. But therein lies the genius of the strategy of Elijah and his disciples; they will entice foreign companies to surrender their goods with only the promise of future payment, payment which will never come. Although Valeri's liberated stores of hoarded food and other supplies, he's only seen a small preview of what must come.

But the revolution must intrude. After a particularly harsh night of bonfires and battlements, the men and women under Valeri's charge emerge into a morning made of an unusual lightness. They fear nuclear annihilation, as they've been threatened with nuclear annihilation every day since the war on the continent began more than two years ago. A new apparatchik has been appointed in Milton Keynes to oversee the prosecutions, a woman known to the wider public as Sister Thompson. The men assembled in Milton Keynes' stadium, just off the A5, are in the process of being adjudicated guilty by Sister Thompson of their various crimes, with as many as a hundred pronounced guilty and executed at the same time. Their names had been first published when they'd been arrested, and are published again on a new list when they're hanged. These lists are promulgated on the data networks, as well as printed and posted in public spots around Milton Keynes. Similar lists are printed and posted in cities around Britain, the new wave of uprisings even in territory held by the Popular Front producing new bodies to be incarcerated, convicted, and destroyed. A new series of uprisings have begun, concealed within those that've already begun over the past several months. Although it may seem grim for the revolution to have produced so many bodies in so many uprisings, it remains inevitable that the worst is yet to come.

Finally, in London Roy Cook and several others who've taken shelter against the current wave of uprisings in one of London's working class districts have few options. Until and unless they accept the reality of the new super-councils, they won't be able to return to work; the only factories, mills, warehouses, and docks operational are manned by those workers who've agreed to work under the authority of the new super-councils. In fact, there's only one council governing all industrial apparatuses and workplaces in this part of London, and it reports directly to the apparatchiks of the Popular Front assigned to govern this area. The workers who man these councils are all enthusiastic and genuine in their determination to follow the leadership of the Popular Front, right to the top. "I've lost so much," says Roy, as he speaks among a group of other miscellaneous men and women of varying ages. "We all have," says another man. "I lost my wife," says Roy, "and everyone else." This is a wound he carries deep, that he's going to carry for a long time. "They're still rounding people up," says a woman whose name Roy doesn't know, referring to the armed men who've gone around arresting anyone suspected of crimes against the revolution, crimes varying from illegally withholding valuable food or fuel to outright industrial espionage or sabotage against the new regime. Some of these accusations are false, but most are true. But most seriously targeted are those who'd benefited from the old way of life, men who'd run businesses that'd impoverished many, men who'd shuttered factories and cut benefits to workers. "We have nothing to fear," says Roy, "as long as we agree to do what they say." But it's not true, not for all of them. At least one among them carries a dark secret, one he won't take to the grave.

In Liverpool, the spiritual awakening that'd begun during the last days of the hated Provisional Government continues unabated, with a particular assembly taking place at a particular church long ago vacated by the now virtually defunct Anglican church. Although the parishioners come here to worship, they also come to hear the firebrand preacher sermonise on the course of the war. With unrelenting passion and fervour, the preacher denounces the war, calling for an immediate end to all violence, and the return of all armies to their home countries. Some of the parishioners in this very church have sons and daughters serving in the army, still, on the continent, with no promise of when they'll come home. Each day that passes is a day that every one of them is at risk of death, with death on the continent sure to deprive them of seeing any of their loved ones in the army again. But even this is something the firebrand preacher declares against, suggesting to the parishioners that they should use whatever means they have, whatever means they can find to communicate with their sons and daughters in the army on the continent, to convince them to achieve their own spiritual awakening before it's too late. In death, the firebrand preacher says, we should be with them again, a fate which is only assured if they are all converted. But the firebrand preacher has an ulterior motive; if the men of the continent are all converted, then surely they'll return and fight for the cause of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. As the moment when the army on the continent will return home is drawing nearer, the loyalties of the men and women must be assured. Even as Elijah continues to negotiate the safe repatriation of the army from the continent, he battles the mysterious illness that affects his body's systems. He consults a doctor; after ordering a battery of tests, the doctor still can't determine the nature of his illness. In truth, Elijah knows that his death is certain, if far off. He doesn't explain this to any of his disciples, knowing they wouldn't understand, that they'd plead for him to pursue medical care ultimately futile. Now, as he pursues the task of leading the revolution, he can only continue to conceal his illness until the time is right.

Throughout the revolution, against all enemies the forces of the Popular Front have held the initiative, and in so holding the initiative they've been able to dictate the time and place of each successive battle. In the night's sky, a thousand and one stars seem to come out, even with the fires of liberation burning, slurring haze into the darkness above. Men like Valeri, they're in no position to refuse any help that's offered to them, even as Valeri personally has come to believe that he's the one who should offer help to others. As death and destruction spread around the country, the world looks to more sinister players for leadership, leaving men like Valeri Kovalenko under the guidance of Elijah. The rebel Elijah, he has never sought out war, but rather responds to it, applying to the enemies of the revolution a characteristic violence and brutality which they have brought upon themselves. The uprisings which continue throughout the country, even in areas controlled by the forces of the Popular Front, they're not to relent but to intensify as the brutal and violent character of the revolution culminates in a bloodbath the likes of which the country has never seen. The National Forces continue their mass killings and lynchings of Jews and others, while the Popular Front fights to end the war and establish worker's rule over all Britain. But larger forces continue to align against this new beginning, with the treaty between the army and the new government in London only a small step in bringing peace to Britain, no matter the cost.

19. Traditions

As the leaders of the various factions in the National Forces jockey for influence and power, they sow the seeds of their own eventual downfall. A pause occurs. It seems as though the revolution has subsided, battle lines having hardened but the warring factions having been depleted of most of their strength by the chronic shortages plaguing all Britain. The Popular Front's careful rationing surely can't last much longer, no matter how strict and diligent the self-appointed worker's committees are in applying their rations, soon as they are to find out when forced to dispense spoiled food. The humanitarian crisis is one which even the most hardened of rebel fighters must give some consideration to. In the city of Milton Keynes, the summer's heat seems only to have intensified, with an oppressive humidity turning the air thick and swampy. There's little fighting, all sides having paused their attacks. The entirely informal alliances which've come to characterize all major combatants now hardened into real coalitions, with even the Popular Front's ability to win over new member organisations compromised by the unceasing brutality and violence of the war. Hanging over all is the unending threat of nuclear annihilation, the war on the continent continuing in one form or another, in one place or another at all times.

All this is distant to men like Valeri Kovalenko, in the city their struggle to overcome the limitations of their own experiences soon encountering a formidable obstacle. In that little shophouse wherever Valeri has taken to leading men and women in contemplative prayer and study, there's the essence of their salvation. "In these writings we'll find the answers," says Valeri, "we've got to learn everything we can, while we still can. Soon, we'll be called to act, and when that happens there'll be no more time left for any of us to learn." In truth, even Valeri's leading only by the vague compulsion he feels at the base of his stomach. He must learn, as he's always been learning, from the day his mother and father were killed so many years ago. "We'll move forward in the night," he says, speaking with his lead hand, Lynn. "And we'll catch them at dawn," says Lynn, seeming to allow a momentary grin.

After having caught them three times in the open countryside, now on the edge of the city of Milton Keynes Valeri hopes this fourth ambush will be the one that should finally dislodge the enemy. And once they have the opportunity to spring their trap, they'll find the enemy not entirely unaware of what they've led them into. "If it doesn't matter," says Valeri, "then we'll go as soon as we're given the order." This is acknowledged by Lynn, who proceeds to give the men and women the appropriate instructions, the relationship among them having become more clearly defined over the past several months of almost continuous action. Still, something more is in store. But for men like Valeri Kovalenko, this pause in the fighting predicts a return to the kind of fighting they'd practiced in the months leading up to the founding of the People's Republic. After the last snow of the season has fallen, Valeri and the others along the line take stock of their situation. Valeri notices the odd silence, the eerie way the rattling of distant gunfire seems to have ceased, the only sound in the distance a disturbing but very faint howl of the late-winter's wind coursing through the countryside. Here, outside Milton Keynes, Valeri's nowhere near the last in a series of decisive battles which should change the course not only of this revolution but of all history, forever. After having requested study materials from Sister Baldwin, Valeri has taken to leading a small group of fighters in study. In fact, the fighters in the Popular Front have been in continuous study for many, many years, only now their study yielding a new harvest. "I'm glad you've decided to join us," says Valeri, speaking at the sight of the younger Aretha Cordoba appearing at one of their many study sessions.

Conspicuously absent is his lead hand, the older Lynn Jackson, who remains at their positions nearby. "This is going to be something new for all of us," says Valeri, "and if we can manage, we might be able to seize the rest of the country." But this summer's heat only intensifies as Valeri and the others plan their next moves. They gather up the best weapons they can find among themselves, and split them up among their best men. "Thankfully," says Valeri, "we recovered enough ammunition and guns from our capture of Milton Keynes to keep us going for a while." Lynn nods, and says, "it's not weapons or ammunition we need now." A group of concerned locals are beginning to assemble in the public area not far from Valeri's positions. After having concluded their longest study session yet, Valeri and the others emerge into the street and are confronted with the sight of this small crowd, and without any clear instructions on how to disperse them. It falls to Valeri to make a decision. They don't know who the enemy is, not exactly, a confusing array of authorities competing for a limited supply of political capital throughout the country. By the time the enemy makes itself known to them, the very course of the war they fight will have changed, forever.

Even Valeri doesn't know where he finds the strength to soldier on. He only knows that with every surge of pain there's a corresponding surge of adrenaline, his body giving him only what he needs to physically carry forward. He's so far removed from the ill-tempered youth he'd been, even as there are still many men older and more disciplined than he. "Don't worry about it," he'd said, to the younger Aretha Cordoba, "give the medicine to some of the civilians you can find." They'd found a store of simple medicines, paracetamol, some insulin, and antibiotics which were not yet spoiled. Although the Popular Front's edicts declare that the revolution should be sustained by and from the very people it seeks to liberate, Valeri won't have any of the medicine, declaring it surplus to their needs. "You shouldn't push yourself so hard," says Lynn, a little while later when they've put back to their positions. "I don't know where I've picked it up," he says, "I only know that I've got to keep going, we've all got to keep going." But Lynn's not convinced. "I think you do know," she says, sitting opposite him. They're positioned along a low wall, made out of concrete, once meant to separate one industrial estate from another but now only separating otherwise empty plots of land. "My mother and father," says Valeri, admitting it to himself as much as to his lead hand. "They died in the revolution," says Lynn, "you've told me." But Valeri shakes his head. He says, "it's not only that. They worked every day to make money but it was never enough. I remember the way they'd be home at different times. And they always worked for the minimum wage. It wasn't enough. They'd always be struggling. There was never any food left in the cupboards." Valeri's memories of this early period, before even that failed uprising, are fragmentary, clouded as they are by a mix of anger and sadness at all that'd been taken from him. He momentarily forgets who he's talking to, his lead hand, Lynn, having been through vastly worse in her lifetime.

"It doesn't matter much anymore," says Valeri, "they can't see me where they are now." Although Valeri's not been much of a spiritual man through most of his life he knows for a fact that his mother and father were firm non-believers. It was only after their deaths that he began to consider there might be something more. He's come to accept his own salvation by faith, even if he rarely speaks of it with anyone. But his mother and father, they never accepted their own salvation by pledging their faith, and it's this fact that resulted in their own annihilation in a fiery abyss. "It's the most wonderful thing I could think of," says Valeri, "to know that no matter what happens, no matter what you do, that we're all at the mercy of forces we can't control." He feels at ease, as he speaks a tension working itself from his muscles, his nagging wounds healing only slightly. "Well, you're right about that," says Lynn. There's more, there's always more, the two having precious little time to consult one another before being thrust into action again. But life in the city of Milton Keynes can never resume its old character, the revolution having irrevocably changed everything.

When Valeri confronts this small crowd of concerned locals, he does so without any advance knowledge on what to say or how to say it, relying as he does strictly on his instincts to guide him. He approaches the edge of the crowd and says, "you must all disperse at once," then pauses to gather himself before saying, "it's not safe to assemble like this." But he's met with a wave of murmurs sweeping across the small crowd. What Valeri does next even he couldn't have expected. Drawing on some unknown reserve of courage, he steps to the others and speaks. No matter how long and hard the revolutionary struggle proved to be, the longest and hardest struggle of all will face them in their immediate future. "If you can keep your wits about you," says Valeri, speaking with one of the young men, "then you'll make it through this time." But the young man, he looks on Valeri with a confused sort of look on his face, one which suggests he doesn't think it's possible. "I don't know if that's the best way to go about things," says Lynn, a little while later when she and Valeri are speaking privately "Neither do I," says Valeri, "but no matter what happens at least we'll have a fast way to die." Neither of them are convinced, though, and it's only by way of their inspections of the positions over the coming weeks that they'll assure themselves of the wisdom of their own path. "There's going to be much worse coming, I think," says Valeri, "not only here, but out there, too." But when the next challenge presents itself to Valeri and the men and women under his charge, they may not be able to overcome it, not if they come to be divided in the way they will.

Although Valeri is used to the hollow feeling in his stomach from so many meals uneaten, he can always find it in him to steel himself against that feeling if it means giving food to old men and women or to young children. It wasn't all that long ago, in the grand scheme of things, that Valeri was among a group of urban fighters who'd seized their own homes in an impassionate uprising. A heady time only a year and a half ago, it'd been. The rest of these fighting men and women under his charge are a fighting unit, but with the current pause in the fighting they've had little chance to demonstrate their abilities. Although the revolution seems to have stalled, in fact it's never been more chaotic, with the recent wave of uprisings having begun a new phase in the war. These small crowds of ordinary men and women, they're only the current expression of the wave of revolutionary unrest that's taken hold both in those parts of the country under the control of the new People's Republic and in all other parts. When Valeri next sees a young woman crying for the loss of her child, he takes to consoling her, as much as a young man like him can. They see the enemy troops establishing positions in the distance, although they can't be certain exactly who these enemy troops owe their loyalty to. "Come on," says Valeri, speaking with Lynn and a section of the men, "we've got no time to waste." But later, a little while later, Lynn takes Valeri aside and says, "I think that's the one thing we've got plenty of." This is a revolution which has cut across all lines, dividing men against one another in ways only the last revolution could.

As Valeri and Lynn wonder on the threat facing them, they know the short-term problems they've been facing in their own ranks will begin to take centre stage. The fighting men and women of the Popular Front are united under a single banner, but still they possess their own personal characteristics. "Tell me the truth," says Valeri, before asking, "do you think things can get much worse than this?" But Lynn doesn't reply, not right away, in the early-evening quiet only the sound of nothing at all seeming to emanate from the city. In mid-twenty-first century Britain, life has come to a virtual standstill, this summer having seen deaths from heat and exhaustion across the country. Even so early in the season the heat and exhaustion threatens to take even more lives. Behind Valeri and the others under his charge, London sits, far enough away that no one can know exactly what's transpiring. Under the new People's Republic, London has turned into a veritable fortress, with the ongoing wave of uprisings having only inspired the working class throughout the city to fill the streets still. It's quite the sight; where once armed policemen would've patrolled with impunity now groups of young men whose arms bear the red band of the Popular Front rule. But when next Valeri and the others under his charge are made to face inward and confront the true horror of the war they're fighting, something entirely unexpected but not altogether unforeseen will happen. The war they've been fighting can no longer be won. In fact, as the rebel Elijah has taken to declaring in his regular public addresses, their future does not hold the promise of peace but war.

On a particular address late this summer, the rebel Elijah pauses and closes his eyes, permitting him to lose himself in the sounds of the crowd. It's not for the faint of heart, he's come to realise, at some personal expense. None can see it, but Elijah is still in pursuit of atonement for his own momentary lack of faith all those months ago. But when Elijah turns to quiet, contemplative consultation with the dark essence that guides the revolution, he finds a new way of thinking, a new way of prosecuting the revolution, even as he's been fully aware of this new way all along still the strange and advanced characteristic of this new way striking him immediately. "There's no time for study," says Valeri, "which is something I wish wasn't true." He's speaking not with his lead hand, Lynn Jackson, but with the younger Aretha Cordoba. "Every moment we live is spent in study," says Aretha, quoting directly from a particular passage of the foundational document of the young People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components,' which Valeri immediately recognises.

He recognises this even as, beyond his position, there's a campaign of relentless death and destruction underway, the enemies of the Popular Front conducting a new and terrifying terror against anyone who they see fit to target for murder. But no matter what happens, they can't see the true consequences of their actions, not yet. Although Valeri and the others have found themselves in a war for control of the British countryside, it becomes plainly obvious to them that the next stage in the war's development should see an abandonment of the formal front lines which've come to be drawn on the map. The still-underway uprisings, both inside the territory controlled by the new People's Republic and out, mark the onset of this next stage in the war's development, not only by their having embraced the futility of their own struggle. When the flags of the Popular Front and the People's Republic are hoisted by striking workers throughout the country, it seems to the world as though an entirely new phase in the course of the revolution has dawned, for all the blood that's been spilled still more blood to be spilled over the months and years to come. "It could be a last chance," says Valeri, "for all of them to redeem themselves." The younger Aretha Cordoba says, "they've all got something to redeem themselves for."

It's a few days after they'd last spoken, the intervening period having passed without any fighting. The pacification of the city of Milton Keynes has proceeded, with a few spots of trouble presenting. After having expelled the last enemy forces from the city, the men of the Popular Front now stand ready to pursue their enemies into the countryside beyond. But it won't be that simple, it can never be that simple, not so long as the enemies of the revolution continue to perpetrate horrific atrocities and mass killings around the country, striking terror randomly in order to perpetrate a reign of fear. It matters little to men like Valeri and women like Lynn, men and women who must prosecute the war effort as soldiers on the battlefield. "We have to rescue as many Jews as possible," says Valeri, as he and the others read news about the mass killings that are underway throughout the parts of Britain under the control of the National Forces. "We can't do anything," says Lynn, "not right now. If there's to be any rescue, it's got to be other units that do it." Valeri accepts this, but doesn't like it. He can't bring himself to like it. But throughout the city of Milton Keynes and in cities and towns throughout the country this current wave of uprisings is soon to reach its crescendo. The revolution is not yet won. The declaration of the People's Republic, seemingly so long ago, was not a decisive victory in the revolution but an escalation. In the meanwhile, something must inevitably happen to draw the fighting forces of the Popular Front into a much wider war, events in the world at large conspiring to force the revolution to take the next step even before the men and women who make up its ranks are ready. "Stop what you're doing," says Valeri, "and surrender yourselves." Although Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it, this confrontation marks the beginning of a new step forward in their own personal revolutionary struggles. "I'm going to ask for your cooperation," he says, "but I'll proceed without it if I must." It continues to strike Valeri as absurd that there should be hoarding of food and other valuable stores even as people continue to starve in the streets of Britain's cities. As the season turns slowly from the hottest and most humid summer on record to the beginning of an equally hot and humid fall, deaths by starvation and the diseases which go along with it begin to accumulate.

The steadfast rationing which has kept the Popular Front alive and fighting will continue to be critical in sustaining the war effort, even as a new wave of violence and brutality is unleashed. Across the country, in areas outside the Popular Front's control, the nationalist militia and gangs of sectarian youths who form the bulk of the National Forces engage in a massive campaign of rape and plunder, shooting dead anyone they find who looks like a rebel or a rebel sympathiser. But the worst of it's reserved for the country's Jews. "People are dying out there," says Valeri, "and we can't do anything about it." Lynn says, "we've just captured a major city, and many of our forces have had similar success. I'd like the war to be over and the enemy to be beat as quickly as possible, but this is something that's going to take some time." Valeri nods his understanding, but not his agreement. "I think you're right," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, a few hours later when she finds herself alone with Valeri and a couple of others who share his viewpoint. She says, "it's a major problem for us if we let the enemy murder so many innocent people." Valeri says, "thank you, but your agreement isn't needed. We have lots of criminals to bring to justice, and a few more waiting outside this area."

It's implicitly understood that the men under guard in stadiums, assembly halls, and other sites used as jails by the Popular Front are to be adjudicated guilty and sentenced to death for their various crimes; but these are men guilty of crimes against the working class dating back before the overthrow of the old United Kingdom, some even before the failed revolution that preceded this one by more than fifteen years. Although Valeri doesn't let on around the men and women under his charge, he hopes the men responsible for the cold-blooded murder of his mother and father will be brought to justice during this time. He can't even be sure the man or men who'd pulled the trigger on the guns that'd fired the rounds that killed his mother and father are still alive, and if they are whether they're still in the country. Still, he prefers to imagine that they are. But on this day there's to be a new development. The men who control this particular warehouse don't pledge their loyalty to the Popular Front, but nor do they disclaim its authority to govern over them. It's confusing and disorienting, but Valeri falls back on his learned behaviours, shocking the conscience. "There's no future for you here," says Valeri, "unless it's under the way of the Popular Front." But even he doesn't know what he's saying, even if he's fully convinced that he does. "Brother Kovalenko," comes the call over Valeri's screen, "we've got trouble outside." And Valeri acknowledges the call, but pauses to give the man who controls this warehouse an evil glare before turning away. He wonders what the trouble could be, and during the short walk he contemplates how much ammunition they've got, whether it'll last one more firefight. But when he makes through the warehouse's front doors, in the lot outside he comes face to face with a rival faction. They come under attack by the nearby enemy forces, militiamen loyal to the flag of a faction that's part of the National Forces coalition.

"Where are they coming from?" asks Valeri, looking to his lead hand, Lynn, for answers. "They're coming from the north," says Lynn, charting the enemy attack on a map. They've taken shelter under an overpass, along the northern edge of the city. The enemy seems to be advancing along the motorway, although Valeri can only guess at this given that he lacks any information. "It's strange that they should be attacking so soon after we'd taken the city from them," says Lynn. "They're getting better," says Valeri, "all the time." They both quietly acknowledge the implications of this; every battle they fight from here on out will be more difficult, not less, than the battle that'd preceded it. Any notions Valeri might've had of pursuing justice and freedom for ordinary working men and women like him have been dashed by the need to subordinate his own personal sentiments to those of the Popular Front. This he does willingly, even as he and the others fight off this latest attack, the late-summer's heat and humidity conspiring to send him into a kind of trance-like state, his whole body seeming to respond to the extreme conditions entirely of its own accord.

Among the first to be adjudicated guilty and sentenced to hang by Sister Thompson in the recently-liberated city of Milton Keynes is a prominent member of the now-defunct Labour Party, one of the major parties under the old governments of the United Kingdom. He'd been known, when serving in government, as a Secretary of State for Business, among other titles; when serving in His Majesty's Official Opposition, he'd served as the very same role as 'shadow' secretary charged with the same purview. It's only by happenstance that a man once so important should be apprehended by the forces of the Popular Front in a city like this. Although Sister Thompson is said to take no pleasure in discharging her duties as adjudicator of this man's guilt, she nevertheless considers herself extremely fortunate to be the one to pronounce this man guilty of his crimes. After having announced her verdict, she offers the man a chance to recant and to give himself over fully to the cause of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. It's a quiet moment in the building, one of several old, disused shopping centres directly across the street from the old football stadium where prisoners are being held en masse. The man mumbles something barely audible to those standing around him, much less Sister Thompson and the other apparatchiks of the Popular Front conducting this tribunal. "It is my judgement," says Sister Thompson, on determining a proper course of action, "that your plea is fraudulent, that you express no sincere regret for your many misdeeds. Since you have chosen not to avail yourself of the opportunity to recant, your execution will be carried out immediately." Across the city, after having survived this latest encounter with the enemy, Valeri and those under his charge aren't immediately aware of the verdict, cut off as they are from most sources of information. But when they learn a few hours later, Valeri says, "I only wish I could be the one to tie the noose around his neck." He's with his lead hand, Lynn, and his operator, the younger Aretha Cordoba, and they both express similar sentiments, though quieter and seemingly with much less enthusiasm. Valeri doesn't make anything of it, not yet, even has he takes note of it. The executions are carried out in the parking lot immediately outside the old shopping centre where guilty verdicts have been had, with makeshift gallows fashioned out of lampposts arranged close together in a row right down the parking lot's middle. Some locals come to watch the executions, arriving in the morning at the same time every day in anticipation of what's to come. They're allowed, encouraged even, to come as close as a few metres from the gallows, to impress upon them the full weight of what's happening here. These, these are no mere retributions, though they're that as well. For Valeri and the men and women under his charge, these executions are a welcome development, if beyond their immediate control. It'd been a strange and surreal process, Valeri's gradual transformation from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never truly be, but it's nearly complete.

In the city of Peterborough, the nationalist militia react to news of these executions with a new wave of violence of their own, indiscriminately killing women and children. A young woman named Rachel Shelton has been lucky to evade the attention of the militia, along with her family in the little flat they share. But when the militia come around and barge in, there's nothing that can save them. "You're all scum," says the gunman, "you're all in league with the rebels. You all deserve what you've got coming to you." He shoots her dead, then her family, not even sparing the children. The gunmen go door to door, murdering innocent women and children until their bloodlust is satiated. They return to their barracks, made out of a disused local college, where they congratulate themselves on having made a good killing. These militiamen, they have no strategy, nor any goal, but they follow the orders given to them by their commander, in turn loyal to a force of evil who stands diametrically opposed to the dark essence which guides the revolution and the rebel Elijah which seeks the dark essence's consultation. "More meat for the slaughter," says one militiaman. "More rubbish for the incinerator," says another. This young woman, Rachel Shelton, she and her family had been targeted because the militiamen had been ordered to arrest a suspected Popular Front supporter purported to be located in a nearby flat. On failing to find him, they'd killed the innocent civilians they'd found in the flat, then moved onto the next, then the next, then the next, eventually finding Rachel and her family.

It's not the last time the new beginning represented by the People's Republic is to be faced with an existential crisis. Elements within the core of the old regime continue to assess the new regime for any possible weaknesses, finding many, seeking to exploit every such weakness to the greatest possible extent. At first, Valeri doesn't understand who this rival faction could represent, and he steels himself against the coming confrontation. "You're all ordered to disperse," he says, shouting at the top of his lungs, "this site is under the control of the local arm of the Popular Front. You are not authorized to be here." A wave of angry shouts erupts. The uprising which'd preceded their arrival into the city of Milton Keynes has yet to fully subside. In the foundational text of the new People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components,' there's no more edification to be offered, not yet, leaving Valeri and the others under his charge to manage these situations entirely on their own. But the brutality of the response to the revolutionary struggle has meant difficult decisions for those who would prosecute the war.

Meanwhile, in the city of Worcester, still held by the National Forces despite repeated rebel attacks, tensions are in the midst of the very same escalation. A young man named Virgil Romero has stayed out of trouble by working hard, only to find himself cast in with the same group of haggard unemployed men. "They're going to come for us," says his young wife, "they're coming." But Virgil says, "they've got no reason to come for us." They're living in an occupied house in a suburban district. "They're coming after everyone," says his wife, "they're going to kill us all." But Virgil says, "you're scaring the children," before looking into the other room, checking on them almost out of habit. The militiamen come around, and Virgil and his family hide in their cellar. The militiamen barge into houses at random, choosing their neighbours but leaving them spared. Virgil and his family hear the sounds of gunfire, of women and children screaming and crying. Virgil and his family will escape the clutches of the militiamen, only to face a dire new threat in the form of starvation and homelessness. A few days later, their home is consumed in a fire that erupts a few houses down, rapidly expanding to consume the entire neighbourhood in a great conflagration. Dozens of people are killed, the local fire department having long ago shuttered, while the fire fills the sky with a thick, black smoke. By the time Virgil and his family escape into the country, they'll have seen more death and destruction than they could've ever imagined. These militiamen, they're not looking for Jewish refugees but for anyone suspected of harbouring Popular Front sympathies, as the National Forces coalition becomes more coherent and better organised its will becoming plain. But it takes its orders, as do others.

"Don't wait for any of this to pan out," says Valeri, "keep your eyes on the way forward." But when next Valeri and those under his provisional charge find themselves facing the prospect of having to deploy their arms against a crowd of their own people, it comes in the form of a relentless attack on their own positions. Valeri speaks with his lead hand, Lynn, and seeks her guidance on this troubling issue. "It's too late for anyone to do anything that could prevent the onset of this difficulty," says Lynn, "we have to keep on fighting until there's no more fight left." Here in the city of Milton Keynes, though, the growing unrest can only pose problems for them all. The uprising which'd only recently reached its apex throughout the country continues, and seeks to remove from revolutionary Britain the last vestiges of the old regime by any means necessary. When next Valeri addresses the crowds of angry working men and women, he speaks with a kind of courage he hadn't ever been able to manage before. Most of the Jews in Britain have either sought refuge in the parts of the country under of the Popular Front or fled the country altogether, the latter largely heading to Canada and the United States on the few passenger vessels still making crossings of the Atlantic.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Scunthorpe, the mass killings and lynchings which've escalated only recently have begun to reach new victims. A middle aged woman named Marcella Lane has lived in the Scunthorpe only recently, having come here to live with some of her family who've worked in the various industrial concerns here. But now she hides in her house, with her family hoping to evade this latest wave of killings. It's widely known that these men are looking for Jews to kill, even though there aren't any Jews left in Scunthorpe. Tonight, a militiaman breaks in through their front door, followed by several more, hurling anti-Semitic slurs at Marcella's family. "We're not Jewish!" says Marcella, pleading for her life. "You look like Jews to me," says the militiaman, before tossing a knowing glance over at his subordinates. He strikes her with a fist, then another, then another, the other militiamen dragging her family out into the front yard where each of them is shot dead, at least spared the brutal beating she's now subject to. These men, these cold-blooded murderers are become less than men by virtue of their having committed such acts of savage murder. The steel mill soon shuts down for good, with it the area's industry grinding to a halt. This, in turn, only prompts a new wave of killings, the militiamen who murdered Marcella taking their ire out on yet more innocent men, women, and children. These militiamen, they're vicious animals, and they only cease their killings whenever they run out of bullets or bodies.

Sometimes, in the spare moments between action Valeri reflects on the way life has changed in Britain since the revolution began in earnest. But these spare moments are becoming vanishingly rare, even as the enemy attacks have tapered off an entirely new stage in the course of the revolution filling their hearts and minds with new ideas or old ideas given new life. After having confronted the crowd and ordered their dispersal, Valeri and the rest of his fighters had come under attack. The chattering of gunfire comes from unknown spots in the distance, seeming at once to come from everywhere. "The factory remains unoccupied," says Valeri, giving a report on the situation to Sister Simpson. Every band of fighters has been ordered to report on their findings to her command. Valeri instructs the younger Aretha Cordoba on what to say. This moment isn't a critical moment in their collective journey, rather the logical culmination of a years-long experience. Although the measures undertaken by the Popular Front to punish the leaders of men under the old regime may seem harsh, they're necessary in order to counteract the most heinous and brutal of impulses. The mass killings of Jews, Romani, and various others continue, many racist and nationalist forces using the occasion to enact a brutal reign of violence against anyone they dislike. But they won't last forever.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Lincoln on the River Witham a middle aged woman named Lorena Hunt falls under suspicion, having been known to express vague sympathy for the rebels in private conversations. She's taken refuge with dozens of others in a church, having fled the militiamen who go door-to-door, killing anyone they find who looks at them the wrong way. Although they've heard of the militiamen attacking churches all the same, they've also heard rumours of churches falling under the protection of the Popular Front, and they figure that if there're any Popular Front gunmen in the area this'll be the place to reach their protection. But none are here to be found. "Were we lied to?" asks one young man. "I don't think so," says Lorena, "I'm going to stay here, you can do what you like." Many of the men and women who've taken refuge here have been debating among themselves one course of action or another. But their debates become superseded by the arrival of militiamen, directed to this church by information fed to their commanders from businessmen. These militiamen are commanded by the local authority, who've pledged to follow the Republic of England, a rival faction to the similarly-named English Republic. The men who lead the Republic of England have made some inroads in building alliances in this region, although their real authority remains limited as the area persists in open rebellion in places. There are hundreds more authorities like these across Britain. The militiamen enter, and kill several people, even including two children, then leave with most of the refugees alive. "I won't leave this church," says Lorena, speaking with the pastor who tends to the wounded, "because I've got nowhere else to go."

At the factory in Milton Keynes, Valeri continues his work. "There aren't enough workers here to resume operations at this time," says Valeri, "advise and request instructions." This particular factory is the site of manufacture of critical war supplies, and Valeri, among others, has to force it open, no matter what. But in the time it takes Sister Simpson to muster adequate workers to the site much will have changed, with Valeri and the others given a new mandate from their superiors in the Popular Front. Although Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front don't bother themselves with the details of every battle, they've ordered this wave of uprisings with a specific set of goals in mind. But the mass killings now in full swing throughout the areas under the National Forces' control have no end, no goal, no place in the administration of justice whether collective or individual. But these killings will continue, ordered by local commanders who report to the authorities who collude with the enemies of the revolution. It's around this time that a bombing takes place in London, hardly two kilometres from the ruins of Westminster where the Popular Front makes its capital of the new country. Members of a dissident faction have quietly and without warning broken ranks with the rest of the Popular Front, and have carried out this attack, intending it to signify their plans. After this bombing, additional machine gun emplacements are erected in the streets, some at street level, others perched on rooftops of three or four story buildings. In case of another bombing, they can provide little real security, and their chief function is to assuage the public. Behind the scenes, though, these measures are subordinate to the comprehensive campaign aimed at fighting these terrorists, they who would purport to strike fear into the heart of the new People's Republic. The dissidents who've carried out this bombing have done themselves a great disservice, rather driving would-be dissidents into silence than emboldening them. To Valeri and others like him, members of an entire generation who came of age during times of unrest and violence, the threat of bomb attacks has always been a fact of life. Now, as Valeri considers what to do with this particular factory, he can still hear the faint rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs, in memory if not in present fact.

Far away from here, a series of meetings take place, involving such figures as the anti-rebel Damian who takes his marching orders from a variety of forces, from the angel of light who opposes the revolution and who links the leader of men Lucius with Damian and the other commanders of the National Forces. These businessmen who were ultimately responsible for the excess that'd characterised the old way of life now throw their lot behind the anti-rebel Damian and the loosely-aligned coalition he commands in the National Forces. In the city of Plymouth, far away from the nearest Popular Front-held major city, this alignment of forces takes the shape of the relentless terror and violence meted out on enemies of the old way of life, whether suspected or real. A young, unmarried couple, a woman named Violet Long and a young man named Jacob Schwartz are among those targeted, murdered because have drawn the ire of one trooper. The local businessmen whose ownership of industrial and commercial concerns is threatened by the prospect of rebel victory in the war quietly acquiesce to their murder, and to many other murders carried out by nationalist militia.

These crimes, these murders, they're only a small sample of the brutality that seems to escalate with every passing day. Although Jews living in areas controlled by the Popular Front are safe, and these constitute a majority of Britain's Jewish population, After a particularly long night when the city's food and fuel supplies have run dangerously low, Valeri comes to fear the breaking dawn. When the city's people head to work in the morning, the still-underway uprising will call on each of them to reach for greater heights than any had thought possible. In the night, the distant horizon remains lit by the warm, orange haze of the fires of liberation burning throughout the country. It seems to Valeri as though this will be the city where their struggle might come to an end. But he's wrong. When next the striking workers mass outside this factory and the other factories throughout the small city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the men and women under his charge will have a surprise waiting for them. Their new orders come in the night, from Sister Simpson, not to oppose the striking workers but to join in taking the factories, warehouses, and yards by force of arms. After a particularly brutal wave of violence has been unleashed on the country, it seems hard for many to imagine anything worse. But the worst is yet to come.

20. Phantasms

And as the city of Milton Keynes is brought under control by the brothers and sisters of the Popular Front, there forms another committee. Consisting of a mix of workers, students, and parishioners self-selected from among the local population, this committee sets itself apart from the other committees in recently-liberated cities by requiring no oversight by the military administration of the Popular Front. When the fighting pauses for the moment, all the residents of the city seem to emerge from their hiding places, as if expecting the fighting's end to be permanent. After nearly a year since they'd fought their way out of the little city of Aylesbury, now Valeri and the others have only made it this far, never advancing very far before having to halt their advance. "I'm not certain of that," says one young man, speaking as he looks through the window and out onto the street. "Be certain," says Valeri, "we've got new orders to occupy this area and establish a defensive strongpoint against future attacks." Although fighting in the area continues, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge must now regard themselves more as policemen than soldiers. "If the war ever ends," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "this is not going to be the last way." Lingering in their collective memories is the events which'd taken place following their successful defence of the smaller city of Aylesbury. "Don't say things like that," says Valeri, "this city now belongs to the working class." But Lynn Jackson intercedes, saying, "not yet it doesn't. That's going to take a lot more dirty work." She refers to the persistent shortages of nearly every essential, with repeated searches of various properties turning up only a few tins of food. With the stores they've been carefully rationing since their arrival in this city, it's not enough to last very long. Already on the knife's edge, it won't take much for any of them to lose control of themselves and indulge in their most basic of instincts, their bloodlust which must be subordinated to the instruments offered to them by the apparatchiks of the Popular Front. When next Valeri and the young woman Tabitha can spare a moment for each other, it seems to him as though it's been months. There's little time for the banalities of love. It makes Valeri acutely aware of himself. This time, they hardly make it through the night without interruption, every moment they spend together potentially the last. He conceals his wounds from her as best he can. Still he knows, in the way that he can, that she intuitively sense his minor injuries. But she doesn't say anything, and he doesn't ask her to. As they carry out their affair under the strain of war and violence, all they can do is keep up the shallowest and flimsiest of pretences. For Valeri, this small affair offers a relief from the relentless violence and degradation he witnesses, that he's a party to, a relief he'll indulge in so long as he's able to do so. He can only guess at her motives in beginning this affair; as they leave his makeshift bunk made out of the back of an old lorry, they share a quick, knowing glance.

Soon Valeri's charge over these brothers and sisters is reaffirmed by order of the Popular Front, permitting him to no longer consider himself the provisional leader of this platoon-sized group. Although Valeri's been leading them for quite some time, for several months now, it strikes him as something altogether new and unusual to see the order giving him a new rank in writing, bearing the signature of Sister Simpson. The Popular Front has begun to coalesce around a single structure, although Valeri isn't formally a member of any party or affiliated organisation still his authority as a fighter in the Popular Front's armed wing granting him some measure of respect and standing among the others. In the darkness of the night, Valeri can hardly sleep for the vague but powerful intuition that's taken hold of him. "Sometimes I wonder if they hadn't been killed that I might not be where I am today," says Valeri, speaking with Lynn a little while later. "You have a sense of justice that doesn't depend on things like that," says Lynn, "I'm sure you'd still have joined in the revolution when you had, maybe even earlier, with their encouragement."

But Valeri corrects her, saying, "that's not what I mean." He pauses, as if to consider his thoughts, allowing the latent sounds of the night to fade in. The task of leading a group of brothers and sisters in study weighs heavily on Valeri, even as he skilfully recites the instructions he's learned to give. Still, it gives Valeri pause for thought that he must stand by and do nothing while so many innocent men and women are killed. "Do you know what's going on out there?" asks Valeri, speaking no longer with his lead hand but with his lover, Tabitha. "Everyone knows," she says. Valeri nods and says, "everyone knows, but that doesn't make it any more difficult to accept." Still the ill-mannered malcontent Valeri had been all his life moves him to anger, as more evidence of atrocities continues to come to light in the form of testimony taken by Sister Thompson in her administration of justice in the city. They've all seen the hangings, if not in person then by way of the images flashed across their screens. (There's only one functioning screen between them, held by the younger Aretha Cordoba, but they've all had the chance to use it to observe the aftermath of Sister Thompson's work). Although Valeri's personally dispensed a kind of justice before, he realises this, this is different.

But the city of Milton Keynes is a different place from the cities he'd grown up in, from the places he'd fought in the revolution until now. Not everywhere has the uprisings proven successful, and in many places the Popular Front's forces meant to link up to these uprisings have failed to reach them, or reached them only to find evidence of a massacre at the hands of the local authority. Always a loose and disorganised coalition, the National Forces have begun to give themselves over to hatred and recrimination, infighting having begun throughout the territory of the old United Kingdom. And Valeri's lover, the young woman Tabitha, doesn't press her luck, given this could be their last time together, if a single, well-placed bullet would find either of their bodies. "This isn't right," he says, "this isn't..." But he doesn't know what to say, even if he believes steadfastly that he does. "What happens next?" asks Tabitha. She has a slim yet stout figure, with short, brown hair. To Valeri, she looks much like a young woman, with black hair flowing down, seeming to follow the curve of her back. But with the city of Milton Keynes in a state of war following the recent uprisings, there can be little time for the indulgences of the flesh. Whenever Valeri and this young woman Tabitha spend any time together at all, most of the time it's in the course of their duties. He could use his limited authority to have her positioned nearest to him, but this is favour neither she asks for nor he offers. After the execution of a former minister of government here in Milton Keynes, Sister Thompson has not relented but adopted a harsher attitude towards her duties, seeing fit to adjudicate nearly every man under her purview guilty of various crimes and sentenced to death by hanging. A few men escape the gallows, and are sent instead to a makeshift jail made out of a nearby supermarket. It remains to be seen what will be done with them, as no formal process exists by which these men can rehabilitate themselves. The rebel Elijah has previously offered rehabilitation to all those who would agree to fight for the Popular Front, but this has proven more exhaustive an undertaking than his disciples would've predicted. Many Britons outside the working class have outright spurned his offer, while most of those few that have purported to accept it engender only their own demise in failing to genuinely and enthusiastically taking to support of the Popular Front. As the rebel Elijah has said, the offer of clemency is available to anyone who agrees to serve under the banner of the Popular Front, but this offer is contingent upon service in the Popular Front being genuine and enthusiastic, and not borne out of simple self-preservation. As Elijah has said, "whoever pledges to serve the cause of the Popular Front is forgiven of their crimes against the working class. As the cause of the Popular Front is the cause of the working class, whoever serves the Popular Front serves the liberation of the oppressed, the impoverished, the most pathetic and wretched among us. But whoever is confronted with the choice to so pledge and chooses not to, all his crimes shall be held against him." What remains to be seen is the full effect of this pronouncement, given that many of those who purport to pledge only do so out of concern for their own lives and who lack in genuine commitment.

The Popular Front and its People's Republic is in no condition to take advantage of this turn of events, consigned as it is to preparing for another harsh winter. Although the summer has permitted the harvesting of food in parts of Britain, there's not enough to last the population through the coming winter. Even the careful rationing which helped the Popular Front and its People's Republic through the last winter won't be enough. Deaths by starvation in the streets of British cities are nothing new, having begun in that chaotic and grim period following the failed uprising that preceded this revolution by more than fifteen years. Still, as Valeri and the others garrisoning the city of Milton Keynes persist through this difficult summer, it seems to each and every one of them that this city won't be pacified so easily as the others. But when Valeri and Tabitha have next a private moment together, he begins to feel almost ashamed of himself for having become given to pleasures of the flesh. She can sense his reluctance, in the way that lovers can detect in each other the slightest changes in their personalities. She says nothing, not wanting to wound his pride. Instead, she leaves it to Valeri to speak. After they'd been together, when Valeri first starts to put his shirt back on he says to her, "I don't know where any of us will end up, and I can't guarantee your safety." He hadn't thought in advance about what to say. He simply speaks his mind.

"I don't ask you to guarantee my safety," says Tabitha, "I don't want any special treatment. I've got my own sins to atone for." Although Valeri doesn't know much of anything about her, he comes to an understanding with her, that she's got her own personal journey through to realizing her purpose in serving the cause of the Popular Front. After they'd received their new instructions from Sister Simpson, it'd seemed an impossible coincidence that Valeri and the others would be on the cusp of something more. "I'm not sure what the future holds," says Valeri, "but I know we've all got to make use of what time we have." And these testimonies, they're only the beginning of something so much greater than any of them. In the end, the stadium in Milton Keynes just off the A5 is slowly emptying of prisoners, the guilty who are executed to be buried in the countryside beyond city limits.

But Valeri is beginning to establish something resembling a real, archetypal awareness. This beginning is made abundantly clear even to himself when he takes to their collectively-led lessons. There isn't any one moment when these lessons become collectively-led. At the end of a particularly taxing study session which'd wound up seeing Tabitha achieve a breakthrough in her studies. In fact, it falls to a late arrival to achieve this breakthrough on all their behalf. After arriving late to this particular study session, Valeri's lover, Tabitha Suzuma, interrupts their heated debate with a single observation: she says, "perhaps the best teachers are the students themselves." It's a stunning revelation, one which is had even as the whole lot of them are in the midst of a fight for their own futures. Across the country, in old, disused shops and in the basements of churches bands of rebel fighters are arriving at exactly the same epiphany by way of the very same observation. In this, their revolution is reaching its new apex, only to face new challenges. "It wasn't all that long ago that I was right in there with these people," says Valeri, "or would've been, I think." Tabitha agrees. Although Valeri hasn't been 'in love' since leaving behind his former lover, the young Sydney Harrington, he still has come to think of the young woman Tabitha as near to love as he'll get. It makes him feel guilty to have given in to such temptations, even as there's war on all around them, all at once. She says, "I think we've all become something different from what we thought we'd be," while nodding. Although they're together, they're not alone, manning their positions near the edge of the city with all the other men and women under Valeri's charge nearby. "I've had enough of this blasted waiting," says Valeri. "What are you going to do?" asks Tabitha. "What I should've done a long time ago," says Valeri, "what I should've done the moment we'd first set foot in this city." Without stopping to ask permission from Sister Simpson, he musters the men and women to action, seeking to prepare them for imminent offensive action. Although Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it, the short and stocky young woman Tabitha isn't to be alive much longer, the dark essence which guides the revolution seeking to take her from him just as everyone else he's ever cared about has been taken. When next Valeri and Tabitha don't come together for a few days, they instead see each other on the road as they advance towards some indeterminate and unknown point beyond the horizon, their objectives unknown except to men far higher than they in the ranks of the Popular Front.

For the first time in several months, Valeri begins to consider the larger picture. Although they haven't left the city of Milton Keynes, it motivates a thorough discussion on the course of the revolution. After the last in a long line of strained debates and heated arguments, a new consensus is reached, one which they can't fully appreciate, not yet. But while Valeri and the others under his charge fight a day-to-day war, a much larger struggle continues to align in the world. It may seem difficult to imagine a time when there was no war, and this is because there was no such time. All human history has been a history of war, of men fighting among themselves for control of society's lifeblood, the production of wealth. But there's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that. All across Europe a wave of revolution has begun to sweep, the logical culmination of so many decades of degradation and debasement. But whenever the next stage in the revolution's long and winding course should present itself, men like Valeri Kovalenko will necessarily rise to the occasion. The next time his small band of fighters makes at the enemy, it won't be the enemy who suffers the most. A moment of peace intervenes. An extended period of disturbance emerges. As Valeri leads an assault on the enemy positions outside the city, he becomes emboldened by every step forward, as if seized by the power of the dark essence which guides the revolution. It's only been so many days, perhaps a week since they'd entered the city of Milton Keynes, and Valeri thinks it's been far too long. "Have you got a copy of our latest orders from Sister Simpson?" asks Valeri, speaking with the younger Aretha Cordoba. "Nothing doing," says Aretha, "just more of the same." Valeri turns for the exit, but Lynn appears in the doorway. "There's action," says Lynn, "they're all outside the perimeter." Valeri nods and says, "we're through running from these bastards." If ever any of them could've thought themselves masters of their own destinies, then the coming engagement will see their hopes dashed. "What can you do?" asks Aretha. "Stand and fight," says Valeri, before snapping out orders to the forward fire teams to shoot. As always, he gives the orders to Lynn, who relays them to the men and women. Valeri says the men and women are to keep a high volume of fire towards the enemy, as high as possible, without consideration for the conservation of ammunition. Although Lynn is inwardly reluctant on this, she issues the orders dutifully.

"There's fire along the perimeter," says one young fighter, "they seem to be coming from everywhere at once." Valeri nods. "There are other Popular Front fighters in the countryside beyond these positions," says Lynn, gesturing at an area on the map, "but by the time we could link up with any of them, they'll have moved on." Valeri says, "and by the time any of them get to moving towards us, we'll have moved on as well." Theirs is a war without solid front lines, marked by lines on a map more imaginary than real. In the time it takes Valeri and the others to muster in the open space outside, he'll come up with a plan, a plan which'll see them assault the open estate outside. This assault marks the beginning of a new way forward for the revolution. It comes at a time when the rebel Elijah has found himself at a desperate place, his own lack of faith in the path laid out for him having proven to be nearly insurmountable, even for him. Suddenly gunfire bursts out, not the distant rattling but the thunderous crack, crack, crack of a nearby gun. "Keep on firing as much as possible," says Valeri, "but wait for my signal to move forward." Lynn obediently relays the instructions to the men. "There's fighting all up and down the line," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, studying her screen intently, "but no one seems to know where it's coming from." Lynn turns to her and says, "nobody moves right now. But keep those reports coming." As they confer over a map of the area, already Valeri's decided on a course of action. The only thing left for him to do is summon the courage to take action. As he takes part in the current assault on an enemy position, he steels himself against the pain coursing through his body, as if to push himself through the current struggle and on into the coming day. The dark essence which guides the revolution has designs on Valeri and his future, designs it withholds from him for now. It's no small miracle that Valeri has been able to survive for as long as he has, the dark essence which guides the revolution seeking to keep him alive in order to use him for its own purposes. But there's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that. For the first time in several months, Valeri begins to feel a genuine concern for his own life, as if there's something unseen but entirely felt that's looking out for him, the very same thing that he's felt on occasions past.

It may not have been Valeri's intention to become the harbinger of a radical new way of life, although he's earned himself some small part in their new way of life's creation. "Do you think this is a good idea?" asks his lead hand, Lynn Jackson. "Of course not," says Valeri, "but if we only waited to do things that we thought were good ideas then we'd all be stuck. There'd be no revolution at all." And to this Lynn only nods. "Now," says Valeri, turning to the action, "it's time." They storm the ramparts and seize this sprawling estate, an assault ferocious and lightning-fast. There's the familiar crack of gunfire, all around the estate, all at once. It's a frantic assault, with Valeri pausing only to catch his breath, and pausing only once as they reach a retaining wall deeper inside the estate's property. Bodies are felled across the sprawling estate, with the agonized screams of the dying filling the background, studded with fits and bursts of silence. By the time it's over, Valeri and Lynn stand at the crest of the property's hill, looking over the countryside. There's still the sounds of gunfire rattling off into the distance, but the sounds are muffled, seeming to bleed into the darkness of the oncoming twilight. But Valeri isn't satisfied with this victory. "We'll keep up with the attack," says Valeri, then turns to Lynn and says, "order the next move. We'll rally on this position and then we'll—" But his lead hand interrupts him, even when he's pointing at some indeterminate spot in the countryside ahead. She says, "Brother Kovalenko, it's too much." And Valeri, Valeri nods, then turns back to the men. It's at this moment that Valeri feels the pain in his insides surging, seeming to pulse with every thump of his heart. He pauses, only for a moment, at exactly the right moment to be seen by his lead hand. Although Valeri is in the midst of becoming the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be, he can't help but allow himself these moments of weakness, here and there. He doesn't know it, can't know it, but it's these moments, too, that the dark essence which guides the revolution chooses to use to impress itself upon him, to infuse itself into his breath, into his blood. He feels the familiar pain set into his nerves, as though his body an instrument with some malicious force strumming gently, very gently, on the instrument's strings. It's at this very moment that the quiet seems to expand like a gas, filling every available space.

But some time must pass before Valeri can become what he thinks he ought to be. "There's no time to waste," says Lynn, turning away, "keep the line going, along this ridge." And Valeri leaves her to it, preferring instead to help out in preparing the new positions. The next time they're faced with an enemy attack, Valeri won't wait to see what happens. He's already coming up with the next plan of attack, even as his small, platoon-sized band of fighters is badly depleted of men and ammunition. Valeri's beginning to see the larger picture. His problem will become that he's given to these larger thoughts despite remaining firmly stuck in the foot soldier's war. A young woman approaches Valeri's position, seemingly unaware or unconcerned of their position's bristling with guns. So many people are dying, are in the midst of dying.

For Christopher Jenkins, these weeks of having been on the barricades in the rebel-held city of Birmingham have proven no easier than before. He'd been dealing directly with Popular Front forces, but he's not among those who hand over members of former councils in the area. He wonders whether his old friend, Helen Reed, is among those chosen to perform the task of keeping these councilmen under armed guard. Despite this wave of uprisings taking place even in areas under the Popular Front's control, life must continue, with children and women crossing lines all the time. "If you want to last more than a month out here," says one of Chris' friends, a young man named Charles, "then you'll obey the new authority." Charles isn't speaking to Chris but to a new family in the area. Charles overlooks the exchange, positioned at the front of a new barricade established only a few nights ago. With the second wave of uprisings still underway, the men and women loyal to the new super-councils themselves still in the process of forming establish new barricades on a regular basis. "Are you sure that's absolutely necessary?" asks Chris, after the family have moved on. "I don't know," says Charles, "all I know is that this is what we're told to do." The larger point escapes both Chris and Charles; these new barricades permit them to control the flow not only of people but also essential goods, most importantly food and fuel. When next Charles encounters a group of refugees seeking to cross this particular barricade, he and the others are in the midst of dismantling it under the supervision of Popular Front fighters. Helen Reed's there; her small detachment of fighters sees the refugees searched and then directed through the barricades. "You seem different," says Chris, when later they have a moment to talk. She's more authoritative, firmer in her tone. When next she has refugees searched, her searches turn up weapons, which leads to their detention. Charles and the other workers manning the barricades look on as the full depth of his old friend Helen's change is put on display. But the full implications of their having happened across weapons possessed by civilian refugees won't be known to either of them for some time, in the meanwhile events at large taking a dramatic and unexpected new turn.

Still elsewhere, the young woman Julia Roberts continues her work on the new super-council that governs parts of the city of Nottingham firmly under rebel control. She hasn't seen her former lead hand, Fred White, in several weeks. Any guilt she might've once felt over having taken his position on the old council that'd governed the rail yard where they both worked has disappeared, replaced by a growing confidence in her own abilities, a confidence fed by the steady, instructive hand of the Popular Front's apparatchik. The new super-council rarely meets, and when they do it's only to dutifully propose and approve measures sent to them by the Popular Front's apparatchik. Although this arrangement isn't one any of them would consider ideal, it's accepted as a necessary function of the needs placed on all of them by the exigencies of war. After a lengthy period without any such meeting, Julia finds herself caught in the middle of a still-escalating war. They see bombers flying overhead, but these bombers don't seem to drop any bombs, flying at high altitude in a show of force. "I think this is how the war's going to be won," says Julia, speaking in private with another council member. "You should be prepared," says the other council member. He refers to the likely order that they're going to receive from the Popular Front's apparatchik, to establish a new set of barricades around their various factories, warehouses, and transportation hubs to replace the old. "I miss my family," says Julia, allowing herself a moment of reflection, the kind of moment she's not had many of lately. "Do you know where they are?" asks the other council member. "No," says Julia, "and I'm not going to wait to find out." By the time she's through, her standing on the new council will be in jeopardy, and with her standing, her life.

With the recent uprisings throughout Britain having only partly succeeded in establishing the new super-councils as governing larger parts of the country. It occurs to Valeri that it's been a long time since he'd spent more than a few hours at a time indoors, the sweltering heat and the thick, swampy humidity of the summertime having become almost like a constant immersion in warm water. After this frantic burst of action, Valeri can only feel like a tired dog, wounded and cornered. "It's going to rain soon," says one of the men, while Valeri's passing by on his way between positions. "It's been a few months since the last heavy rain," says another. "That means one thing," says Valeri, "when it comes, it'll be Biblical." But the action has never stopped, the chattering of gunfire seeming to Valeri to be all around them, all at once. The rain, when it comes, is to be like nothing any of them have ever seen. To Valeri, it seems almost like an amazing and impossible coincidence, that they should be in the thick of battle even as their attack has ended and the battle itself seems to have paused. "I can see what you're going through," comes a voice, one which Valeri doesn't recognise at first. But when he turns he comes face to face with an illusory likeness he's given some pause for thought. This, this illusory likeness is unfamiliar to Valeri, even as it seems to him as though he's been seeing this illusory likeness all his life. A sudden explosion bursts across the way, drawing his attention, seeming to slide the passage of time to a crawl as he rushes to be with the others facing off this current attack.

After Joe Hill had returned to work under the new authority, little seemed to have changed in his life, in the lives of him and the other workers right away. With Nina Schultz on the same production line as him, there's ample opportunity for them both to exchange pleasantries, even to take a passing interest in one another, even under the watchful eye of the guards. They seem to be everywhere, these guards, and they're all armed. It's not the threat of being shot that rankles Joe the most, but the possibility of another beating, as if the pain could be a fate worse than death. "Imagine yourself somewhere else," says Joe, "just imagine." But Nina doesn't buy it, not right away. She says, "I'm always imagining myself somewhere else, but I've got friends and family here to look out for." A guard approaches, compelling them both to quiet. Later, when another moment presents itself between guards, he tries again. "We should be thankful the worst of it hasn't come here yet," says Joe, "and if we don't try something then it'll come here, sooner or later." He refers to the mass killings, news of which has been filtering along the data networks to them. "You're wrong," says Nina, "you're always wrong." They argue, only to have their argument interrupted by the approach of another guard. These guards, they're part of a larger scheme, a confluence of forces which men like Joe and women like Nina can only begin to comprehend, these men, like all men, at the behest of forces far more primitive and far more primal than anything any one man is capable of understanding.

Even to Valeri, time seems to be passing more quickly than before. Almost thirty, he begins to consider that this may be simple a fact of life when aging, with his youth behind him and In his long ascent from the ill-mannered malcontent he's always been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be, Valeri is beginning to realize his ultimate purpose. The truly exceptional among the working class are the unexceptional, with all others to be relegated to service for the unexceptional. It's only been some small measure of comfort that he's been able to make himself into something useful for the burgeoning revolution, and it should count as some small measure of pride that he'll find a way to keep making himself useful even after he's outlived his usefulness as a soldier at arms. In the aftermath of their successful assault on this small estate outside the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and his lead hand spot an enemy formation approaching in the distance. There's still firing up and down the line, with Valeri's men and women having staked out positions in a loose ring around the estate. "We can't move forward anymore," says Lynn, "but we might be able to chew up their flank if we can maintain the line." Valeri nods. "We've got machine guns on bipods coming forward," says Valeri, "we just got word from Sister Simpson. They've found a store of weapons and we've got first dibs on them." The scattered rifle fire seems to taper off slightly. "I'll see to it the forward positions get them," says Lynn, before turning to carry out her duties. Immediately she's off, bounding up the hill, to meet the hands carrying their new weapons forward. Valeri turns the other way, looking down the hill towards the enemy positions, feeling helpless even as he's stuck his men and women out on the attack. In truth, Valeri has readily adapted to the life he's been thrust into by the dark essence which guides the revolution, which has sought to make use of him in whatever way it can.

But even on the darkest of nights, women like Marilyn Carter and men like Dan Murphy know only the indignity of slavery. Marilyn doesn't stop taking refuge, what refuge there is to be taken at that little church, defiant in continuing to come here to pray despite the threat of attack by the local militia. She wonders where her friend Dan has been taken, whether he's been killed. It occurs to her, as she's working in construction on a road detail, that her old friend Dan may very well have met with a fate worse than death or slavery, that he might've been compelled to take up arms against the revolution. "Keep moving," says the nearest guard, who barks out orders at the men and women on detail. "I don't want to be here any more," says Marilyn, speaking quietly with another worker, "but it's a hell of a lot better than being killed." The implication of recent events is not lost on Marilyn and the others; those chosen for slavery in the militia's work details is spared the most gruesome fate. "Your friend doesn't see things that way," says another worker, when they're allowed a short break on the side of the road. "You know any of my friends?" asks Marilyn. "I know one of them," says the worker. After they've put down for the night, news reaches their work detail of many of the massacres that're spiralling out of control. Marilyn knows that they could be the next to find themselves targeted by roving bands of militiamen hell-bent on killing anyone they can find. It's a small thing, to have the choice of slavery or death. But after having confronted with the militia's assault on that little church where Marilyn had taken shelter with a few dozen others, she's beginning to come to grips with the full horror of what must be done.

After having defended Britain's cities from these recent wave of American aerial attacks, the men and women of Mobius squadron have had no time to rest. Although the Americans had called off their attacks after a single wave of raids, the threat remains of further attacks. But soon the men and women of Mobius squadron, along with several other aerial units stationed in the area, find themselves given a new mission: help cover the withdrawal of the army on the continent home. "At least we're moving again," says one pilot, as they fly east over the North Sea. Their new mission is to establish air superiority so that requisitioned merchant vessels can head for ports in Germany to load the army's men and equipment for return to Britain. "I've been here before," says Hatfield, thinking of the engagements he'd fought against Russian fighters while still following the old banner. Suddenly, there's action. "Enemy fighters," says Patricia Stephens, "portside high." These aren't Russians, but more Americans, speeding in on Mobius squadron, seeking to surprise them. "I've got the lead fighter," says Hatfield, drawing a bead on the American plane, opening the throttle all the way, coming close enough to see his enemy's mask clearly. "I'm firing," says Hatfield, loosing a missile, scoring a direct hit, downing the American in a ball of fire and smoke. But two more soon rise on Hatfield's tail, leading to an all-out dogfight between the squadrons. By the time it's over, they'll have downed a few Americans, but lost more of their own.

Finally, Roy Cook has come to a personal epiphany of sorts. Realising his place in the streets, he takes to helping in building barricades. He doesn't want to hide any longer; after having lost his wife so many months ago he doesn't believe there's anything that can truly hurt him. As he works, he finds in working no great relief from the void inside him, from the vast emptiness which he feels where once his heart had been. It's as though he's become an empty vessel, outwardly human, but lacking in the essential characteristics which make up a human being. He works on the barricades, seeming one day to dismantle a barricade and the next to put another up using the same materials in both. The other workers who've volunteered to serve in building these barricades seem to have nothing in common with him, as though a vast chasm has separated him from those he's no more than a few metres away. "You don't know where you'll end up," says another worker, speaking with Roy when there's a spare moment for a break. "Doesn't matter," says Roy. He thinks of his dead wife, Samantha. "Do you think you'll ever see her again?" asks the other worker. "How did you know I was thinking of her?" asks Roy. "I don't know," says the other worker, "I just knew." Roy doesn't know it, can't know it as such, but this other worker who's made a momentary connection with him is one of the many psionic talents developing around this time. By the time this other man's talents have achieved realisation, an act which'll require Roy's assistance in the weeks and months to come, much will have changed, and they'll both be forced into a situation neither can understand.

Still memories linger of the old way of life, despite the nearly two decades that've passed since the first failed revolution, but also of times since then. The massacres of so many innocent people at the hands of the home guard continue to fuel anger, even as the perpetrators of those very massacres can still be found at arms in the streets, now wearing the insignia of some militia rather than a central authority. After Elijah's offer of clemency to anyone who would agree to unquestioningly follow the banner of the Popular Front, one might've expected a rush of men, former criminals looking to escape judgment for their crimes. But, as Elijah has privately predicted, there are those who will necessarily and instinctively turn away from the cause of righteousness, those who would crave to give themselves over to evil. Although Valeri has been through much, has seen much violence since the fall of the old liberated zones, he'll never forget the sight of so many pathetic and wretched people, men, women, and children brutally slaughtered by their enemy. As he sees to the hardening of their position here in the countryside just beyond the city of Milton Keynes, still Valeri carries with him these memories, memories he'll rely on to fuel his sense of justice even as the revolutionary war continues to enter into a new and deadlier phase.

It's now been several months since the rebel Elijah had declared the new People's Republic from the old city of Westminster, and its future seems far from secure. Valeri is among the vast ranks of the new Popular Front, formed as it is from among the ordinary men and women of Britain. A new winter threatens to be even colder and more violent than the last. Every day, the hottest and most humid summer in memory turns slowly towards winter which threatens to be colder and more bitter than any before it. As the old British government is no more, there's no central authority to coordinate any civil defence strategy. The Popular Front can muster its apparatchiks into service leading the construction of new bunkers and basements, but even these could offer little real protection against a volley of nuclear warheads. All Britain, all Europe could be turned into a lake of fire at any moment. It's this grisly truth that guides the rebel Elijah's strategies in this confusing, in-between time, whether any of his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front should know it. When next he receives word of a cable arriving from the American ambassador, he pauses to consider its implications. "The longer we wait to deal with them," says Elijah, "the better our eventual play will be." But not all his disciples agree. "Their reconnaissance flights over our territory have become more frequent," says one disciple. "And who knows what their satellites can see?" asks another, the question rhetorical.

"You fear they'll discover the true extent of our retribution," says Elijah. "If they haven't already," says another disciple. "If they have discovered the truth already and have yet to act, then what do we have to fear?" asks Elijah. He goes on to ask, "and if they haven't discovered the truth already, then how blind and deaf must they be? Do you fear men blind and deaf?" In Elijah's headquarters, built out of the old five-storey building once built atop Westminster Station, he leads the others in planning the Popular Front's next moves. He plans not only against the National Forces, that loose and disparate coalition of nationalist militia and sectarian gangs but also against the powers beginning to align against his new beginning. Their old headquarters, made out of repurposed shipping containers and portable buildings remains in use, but for other arms of the Popular Front's increasingly more capable and sophisticated apparatus. The rebel Elijah is fond of making public addresses, and their new headquarters permits this. In his public addresses he often invokes the spectre of nuclear firestorm, after having seen the devastation of the nuclear exchange on the continent.

Despite this knowledge, the work of the Popular Front in establishing the administration of justice must continue. Across the country, ad hoc tribunals chaired by Popular Front apparatchiks continue to dispense judgment against enemies of the working class, against anyone who would count themselves enemies of the working class. All those adjudicated guilty are offered the chance to atone for their sins by pledging to follow the banner of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front, but few agree to this simple offering. One man is brought before the Popular Front's tribunal in Warrington, between Liverpool and Manchester. He'd been a member of a commission in pre-revolutionary Britain which'd been charged by the government with accelerating de-industrialisation of the area. This led to him, along with the others on the commission, to call for the wholesale shutting down of factories, mills, and dockyards in the area, after so many decades this act removing most of the little remaining industrial production and casting many thousands out of work. As punishment for his role in impoverishing many working class Britons, this man is sentenced to death by hanging. Before the tribunal, he's offered the same chance to atone for his sins as everyone else, only to look the Popular Front apparatchik in the eye and stoutly refuse. Soon, his hanging is accomplished, with the apparatchik, a Sister Hoffman, presiding over the ceremony. Even as the revolutionary war spirals out of control, these events must continue to take precedence, the Popular Front's narrow, personal struggle taking place on a massive scale.

But no one could've predicted what might come next. After the nuclear firestorm on the continent had shocked European powers into a false peace, a new evil should seek to rise. This new evil has been lurking in the shadows, just out of sight, even as it's been there all along. In the time it takes this new evil to rise all will have changed anew, in turn leading to a great resurrection in the spiritual character of the revolution. The slogan 'NO SURRENDER' had once adorned placards and banners held by protestors now adorns signs put up outside every Popular Front installation across the country. This slogan, it captures the essence of the Popular Front's campaign, but as well the struggle of all political factions aligned with the interests of the working class. Their determination will soon be tested, however, by a sequence of events even Elijah couldn't ever have seen coming.

21. Resurrection

In the city of Sheffield an old shoe factory has been repurposed as a recycling centre of sorts, using material gathered from among the local population to manufacture new boots for the fighting men and women of the Popular Front. Even in the absence of any new import of raw materials, the work continues, with the workers putting in twelve hour days, six or seven days a week, with shifts layered as to ensure there's always work being done. At this particular factory, the workers are allowed an allotment of boots for themselves, but otherwise must exercise extreme discipline in shipping off everything they've produced. This factory uses primarily recycled materials, gathered by various councils from among their population. At this factory, the workers have formed a council and elected its members to govern according to the principles set forth by the Popular Front, and from among those on the council they've self-selected a representative to liaise with the Popular Front's local apparatchiks. But when work stops for the day, it's only briefly, a few minutes allowing for shift change. After so many years of struggle and torment, now these working men and women are seeking only to advance their own cause, and in so seeking they find a new purpose to compel themselves forward. These men and women, they don't know it, can't know it as such, but they feel the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution. After having seized a sprawling estate in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri's platoon-sized unit has established a new post. "This isn't too bad a position," says his lead hand, Lynn, "we've got a good view of the roads below." But it remains to be seen if they'll be permitted to retain their occupation of this position. "Send to Sister Simpson," says Valeri, speaking to the younger Aretha Cordoba, "we've secured the estate located seven kilometres northwest of the city limits. Enemy seen in all directions except back towards town. We'll hold this position until the enemy counterattacks." Aretha nods, relaying the message on her screen.

"They're coming," says one young man, a trooper they'd picked up shortly after their arrival in the city of Milton Keynes. "Let them come," says Valeri, "we'll kill them all." The young man looks unconvinced, but shoulders his rifle and turns to the coming battle. But when it doesn't come, Valeri begins to feel like a hero in search of the next fight. "There's little time," says his lead hand, Lynn, "for these sort of things." Even as they fortify their positions and prepare as best they can for the next wave of enemy attacks, they remain acutely aware of the uprising behind them, in front of them, all around them, all at once. "I disagree," says Valeri, "I think we've got nothing but time." He thinks to ask why Lynn doesn't make use of her new talents, why she hasn't seemed to have made use of them since they'd entered the city of Milton Keynes a second time. "We've got new orders," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, "they're here." Valeri nods, and turns to the matter.

It's a small miracle, but here in Sheffield, and elsewhere throughout Britain, a renaissance of sorts is taking place, the exigencies of war making the cause of the Popular Front take on an entirely new character. Many of the workers manning the assembly lines want an end to the war more than anything else, and it falls to the Popular Front's apparatchiks to muster support for the ongoing revolutionary struggle. The fatal flaw in the way of the old regime was to presume their way as permanent, as natural, as anything other than the way that it was, that is, merely the product of a small number of people working towards their own interests. At this plant a young woman named Andrea Ross works on this day for twelve hours, her body tired and sore all over. It's only been some months since she and the other workers here had seized their plant and expelled the managers. But at that little estate in the country outside Milton Keynes Valeri and the others soon come under direct assault, even sooner than they'd have expected. They've discovered a store of ammunition in the estate's cellar, and it was shortly after this discovery that the true nature of this estate's secret.

"We can use this," says Valeri, "to replenish our own supplies." But nearby they find more locals, including women and children searching for food. By now enough time has passed that winter threatens, with a year having gone by since the founding of the new People's Republic. After Valeri's come so far from the ill-mannered malcontent working at miscellaneous shops, shelters, and construction sites, he still has far to go before he can become the disciplined soldier of the revolution he'll never truly be. "What are our new orders?" asks Valeri, speaking with the younger Aretha Cordoba, as well as his lead hand, Lynn, and a few others at their positions in the northern reaches of Milton Keynes. "To assist the revolutionary fighters and worker's councils in Milton Keynes," says Aretha, reading from the orders verbatim, "in purging the area of all enemy fighters and elements." Although some of Valeri's brothers and sisters might've looked forward to a period of rest in the weeks after they'd seized the city, Valeri relishes the opportunity to get right back to work. Despite his nagging injuries, he takes to their new task with dignity and aplomb, keeping his injuries hidden to the greatest extent possible.

Factories, mills, and warehouses fly the banner of the Popular Front wherever they can. Some, lacking in any specific banner, have taken to painting any sheet or towel they can find in red and then flying these from repurposed streetlights or draping them from the sides of buildings. Others fly miscellaneous flags associated with labour or historic left-wing movements, such as various trade unions, or countries like the Soviet Union. At this shoe factory in Sheffield the council has ordered banners flown inside and out, so the workers will be confronted with their council's support for the Popular Front. On the floor, the workers each put in ten hour days, with the days divided into two shifts, leaving four hours per day when there's no work along the production line. It's at the end of the day, on day, on a Friday that the workers on the second shift leave their stations and begin to file off the factory floor when there's the sudden bursting of a tremendous noise from the skies, drawing the attention of every worker but also the attention of everyone in the city. The men and women who work at this particular factory don't know it, can't know it, but this is a tremendous noise heard across the country, centred not on the city of Sheffield but on a nearby patch of countryside where there's no fighting, where a miscellaneous estate is the scene of a great crime.

In Milton Keynes itself, Sister Thompson has concluded her trials of men, and now sets herself about the task of confiscating and destroying all alcohol and mind-altering drugs which'd killed so many of the poorest under the old regime. After she's begun executing men by hanging, it became readily apparent to her that this task will take longer than she'd anticipated when she'd been named head of political affairs in the Popular Front's administration of the city. Although Valeri isn't sure exactly where to begin, he believes they'll be led by the same fighting spirit he's silently called on to see him through the most difficult and painful moments in the war. There's been almost continuous fighting in the city since the onset of the current wave of uprisings, and Valeri hears the sounds of anguished screams whenever he turns to listen to the wind. "I've got reports of an enemy position here," says Lynn. She's looking over a screen with a map of the city displayed, and she points at a nearby residential district. "We were supposed to have secured this city weeks ago," says Valeri. "It's not an enemy force of troops we're going after," says Lynn, switching the screen to display recent reports as a storm of text. After they'd been ordered into action, Valeri would've preferred to be storming a line of enemy positions somewhere in the countryside. Instead, while the whole country seems to be in the grips of a new wave of revolutionary unrest, they stage an assault on an estate outside the city, well to the north of the city limits. "We can take them," Valeri says, after establishing a position well ahead of the main line. "I don't think it's taking the position that's going to be the main problem," says Lynn. "I'm glad we agree," says Valeri, "so let's get to it."

The purpose of establishing tribunals and carrying out executions is not to govern the cities and towns controlled by the forces of the Popular Front but as a part of preparing the country for transition to what must come next. Every element of the Popular Front's governance is geared towards serving this end. The countryside between urban areas is a vast and unknown region, to Valeri at least. For every patch of land the war has transformed, there are many more which have yet to see the worst of the fighting. A few estates have become fortifications like this one, but most remain occupied by their original inhabitants. This particular estate will come to serve a special purpose over the coming months, one which'll go unknown to the larger working class struggle and which'll achieve a lasting place only because of Valeri's personal commitment to holding it against all enemy attack. As the end of summer threatens, the last outposts will fall, here in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes and outside every other major city in the country. "It's getting dark out," says Valeri, "we should put down for the night." Lynn nods, and says, "we're going to be fighting in the night soon, maybe not tonight but sometime soon."

Valeri only says, "I welcome it." There are so many new faces filling their band of fighters, so many Valeri can't immediately recognise, which gives him an unsettled feeling. "It doesn't have to be this way," says Lynn, seemingly reaching into Valeri's thoughts in the way that only she can. "We'll see about that," says Valeri, before turning in. They've carved out positions from the hills, using miscellaneous debris they've found to fashion foxholes. If this position is to be held against a serious enemy attack, Valeri knows they're going to need greater firepower than what they've got. "Send a message to Sister Simpson," says Valeri, "we need field guns at this position." It doesn't matter from where they're supposed to get these field guns; recent successes in uprisings across the country have succeeded in liberating stores of weapons and ammunition. The problem they have is that none of them know what to do with their new position, nor with the field guns that're soon to be on the way. From their vantage point atop this unusually tall and steep hill, Valeri can see deeper into the countryside, with a view over surrounding fields.

Everywhere throughout the country this scene repeats itself, rebel fighters receiving a set of orders long planned. Although these orders were originally planned by the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front to be carried out after the total victory of their forces over the enemies of the revolution, Elijah has decided in consultation with the dark essence that guides the revolution to pre-empt that condition. In the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri's fighters secure these premises, and face a new crisis. A few more positions down the road remain in enemy hands, close enough that Valeri can make out the beginnings of roadblocks even as a slow but steady stream of refugees continues to flow in both directions. Although a lull in the fighting has set in, Valeri knows there's to be an intense reckoning, with more of the death and destruction lying in wait for them all. "This is a good place to begin," says Lynn, as she reports back to Valeri. It's been a few days since they'd occupied this estate, and in that time they've uncovered more evidence of nationalist atrocities. No matter how many bodies he's seen, no matter how many mass graves he's come across, Valeri can never become accustomed to the stench of rotting flesh. "Someone's got to pay for everything that's been done," says Valeri.

"Someone will," says Lynn, "but that's not up to us, we've got to win the battle on the battlefield." She's been trying to keep his focus on affairs closer at hand, something which she's been doing for so long as Valeri's been given charge over this small, platoon-sized band of fighters. "You don't know what you're doing," says Lynn, speaking with Valeri privately a few days after they'd occupied the estate house. "That's right I don't," says Valeri, "and neither do you." A light wind carries, seeming to imbue the air with a delicate sensibility. Valeri can feel the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution, encouraging him to treat himself as a machine. But then, he suddenly feels a chill run the length of his spine, causing goosebumps to rise on his every patch of exposed skin, causing the hair on his arms to stand on end. It's true that Valeri continues to make it up as he goes along, rather than applying learned knowledge instead submitting his better judgment to his gut. In this he's still the same man, the same ill-mannered malcontent he's always been, even as he's grown all the while.

They've moved over the past few days, not very far, only far enough to be outside the urban area. It's not yet winter, not even close, with the late-summer's swampy heat persisting even into the onset of fall. Throughout the country, the nation's farms have had a particularly poor harvest, with the disruption to agriculture from the revolution and the problems with looting and hoarding across all Britain. "I'd kill every last one of them if I thought it'd end the war now," says Valeri, "I suppose it says something about me that I'm thinking such things." Lynn nods and says, "nobody wants war." Valeri says, "except the men who give us war." Both Lynn and Valeri recall it was the war on the continent that ultimately brought down the old United Kingdom, after so many decades of rotting away from within only the gentlest of nudges necessary to set off a sequence of events which led to its own overthrow. "It's hard to imagine a time without war," says Valeri, "but when all this is over, I hope you'll keep on fighting for something." The ground seems to sway slightly, only just, as Valeri steadies himself against these motions even he can't quite perceive. He pauses for a moment, as if to allow himself a new and not altogether dissimilar as the sights and sounds of the countryside are.

In the meanwhile, though, the revolution which must be won will soon take a turn no one could've ever expected. The pogrom against Jews which began in the last days of the defunct Provisional Government never truly stopped, with miscellaneous acts of violence continuing throughout the country, even where there might otherwise be spots of peace. A few kilometres away, a man is detained by the forces of the Popular Front whose identity is at first unknown. But then the Popular Front men realize they've apprehended a major figure from the old way of life, a former corporate officer in a medical company which sold deadly, addictive drugs through physicians to millions of working class Britons over many, many years. His name is among those contained in a sealed document that's been around since even before the formation of the Popular Front years ago. Initially only containing a few names, this sealed document has been added to over time, and now numbers into the tens of thousands. With the onset of these people's trials, convened by the Popular Front's apparatchiks throughout the country, the list hasn't shrunk. In fact, those like Sister Thompson haven't even consulted the list in dispensing punishments to those they've prosecuted in their people's tribunals. But this document won't be unsealed until the time is right, until the precise moment when the betrayal of Elijah has reached its nadir. That time is almost at hand, even as the continuous betrayal of Elijah by some of his wayward disciples has yet to truly begin. But the violence which characterised life under the old Provisional Government continues, albeit in fits and spurts. The death of too many people by a slow starvation remains a grisly fact of life. The National Forces and the sectarian gangs who've proliferated across the country in the aftermath of the Provisional Government's overthrow continue to advance their own cause in areas outside the control of the Popular Front, huge swathes of Britain home to tens of millions of people. Even after all he's been through in his journey from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be, still the reports of atrocities from across Britain and all over Europe rankle him. The many instances he and the other disciples of Elijah have rescued Jews and many others from murder mean nothing to him when compared to the many more dying or yet to die. "We've got to keep up the pressure," says Valeri, "no matter what." He says this even as the uprising throughout the city continues, with the fires of liberation burning everywhere. "The enemy won't stop either," says his lead hand, Lynn, "and they seem intent on committing unspeakable crimes." She refers to the pogrom against Jews, the first of which began during the last days of the old, hated Provisional Government.

"We now fight not only to free the working class of this country from exploitation," says Valeri, "but also to protect many from genocide." But the threats to their immediate safety demand their full attention. "Hang on," says Aretha, checking her screen over again, "we've got an address coming on from the local authority." It's been a long time since they'd last received an address from the Popular Front's nearest authority; in fact, this'll be the first they've received from Sister Thompson since her installation in the recently-seized city of Milton Keynes. The timing of this message seems to Valeri to be particularly prescient, as the Popular Front forces which had been involved in seizing the city are beginning to follow Valeri's band into the countryside, establishing a defensive perimeter to the north and east. As they begin to take stock of their position here, Valeri and the others under his charge prepare for the next enemy attack on their position, larger forces continue to align, here in Britain and around the world. Only a few hundred kilometres away, the world continues to change.

Although Valeri is only a man, he is as an avatar for the struggle of so many, destined as he is for something far greater and more noble than men like him can understand. In this confusing, in-between time, when the nascent People's Republic has not yet secured its own existence, men like Valeri must continue to fight for their own ideals, even as they're not entirely sure what those ideals must be. As Valeri becomes worn down by the cumulative effects of so many minor injuries, the time draws nearer when he'll be called to serve in a different capacity. After he's given all that his body will permit him to give, his body permits him to give more. "We oppose war in all things," says Sister Thompson, "but if there must be war, then the blame for it falls on they who would seek to perpetuate the oppression that causes all wars." The Popular Front and its apparatchiks haven't forgotten the catalyst for their revolution lay in the old government's taking the country to war when there was no appetite among the vast majority of Britons for such senseless slaughter. "As soon as the war at home ends," says Sister Thompson, "then the war on the continent can be resolved. But the only way for us to end the war is to win it." It's inherent in the character of the working class here in Britain and around the world to seek peace, and the Popular Front, as an adjunct of the British working class, seeks peace for all. "The blame for war lies in the aggressor," says Sister Thompson, "as the working class must always assert their own right to self-determination, so must they also assert through their right towards self-preservation and self-perpetuation. We've been told that the rising apocalypse all around us poses a mortal threat to our lives, and this remains true. But the only possible solution to this apocalypse rising is victory."

Elsewhere, in the city of Coventry, devastated by some of the heaviest fighting yet seen in the revolutionary war, a young woman named Samantha Sullivan has already lost nearly everyone she's loved to the violence of the war. Even in the areas controlled by the Popular Front, like the city of Coventry, the extreme hardships imposed on so many by the rationing have meant hunger. after having gone to sleep hungry so many nights, Samantha puts to the street in search of food. Although she has no more family to care for, she seeks only the minimum sustenance needed to provide for herself. "I won't keep working forever," says Samantha, speaking with a guard manning one of the barricades put up in the wake of the recent uprisings. "This is the last time I'll be asking," says Samantha, "please let me through." But what Samantha doesn't know is the embargo imposed on Britain and Western Europe by the Americans only recently has begun to have its effect, with the stores commanded by the Popular Front about to run out. Although international trade had already become slowed, now the stockpile of goods at ports around the world has exacerbated extreme shortages here in Britain and across Europe. But it won't always be so.

"We are determined to bring the troops home from the war on the continent," says Sister Thompson, "but we're not able to do that right now." In truth, the character of the revolution has yet to make itself acutely felt by the men and women of the Popular Front. "The men and women who serve in the British Army are overwhelmingly comprised of working class brothers and sisters," says Sister Thompson, "and therefore they are inclined, as a whole, to follow the banner of the Popular Front, once they are suitably prepared. We know from communications many of the men and women in the army send home that they sympathise with us, but we don't know if they're ready to commit themselves to serve as the army of the new People's Republic. Bringing them home now would be an uncertainty." Although Sister Thompson doesn't know it, can't know it, in fact the rebel Elijah has designs on bringing the British Army home from the war on the continent, just as soon as a few key provisions are met. An obstacle remains in the form of the Polish government, now commandeered by right-wing nationalists intent on genocide, with the British Army among those forces watching it all unfold. "The Army could be a decisive element in our revolutionary struggle," says Sister Thompson, still speaking to the assembled men and women in that rain-slick square, "but our objective isn't to end the war. That's impossible. Rather, our objective is to continue the struggle until our aims are met. We should brook no compromise with evil, and seek no accord with oppression of the working class." There's more, there's always more, but the important parts are conveyed. By the time Sister Thompson's address is finished, most of the men and women under Valeri's charge have returned to their positions.

Still elsewhere, the mass killings under the last days of the old regime which've continued unabated throughout the country find new victims. A middle aged man named Malcolm Owen has seen his family subjected to some of the worst indignities of life under the boot of the nationalist militia. He lives in the city of Darlington, just west of Middlesbrough. Although the city has a small Jewish population, and has for many years, still the local militia have only recently come under the sway of the racist and extremist beliefs that blame Jews for many problems. "Please don't harm me," says the young woman, "please let me live." But the militiaman cracks the butt of his rifle against her jaw, sending her to the ground. "If you're going to pick on someone," says Malcolm, "make it someone your own size." He doesn't know where this sudden courage comes from, but he makes use of it all the same. "You learn your place," says the militiaman, before raising his rifle to shoot Malcolm. But with adrenaline coursing through his veins, Malcolm grips the militiaman's rifle and strikes him down with a fist to the face. Both Malcolm and the young Jewish woman will be killed before the night is through, their deaths only a small sample of the death meted out to men and women across Britain.

Although Valeri and others like him are already won over to the cause of the revolution, many remain uncommitted, unswayed by the success of the revolution or by the speeches of the Popular Front's apparatchiks. But this is something the rebel Elijah had long ago foretold. He has always maintained that there would be those who would give themselves to the cause of the Popular Front, but also those who would give themselves to the cause of the Popular Front's enemies. "I don't know about any of these factions," says one man, an older man who's too physically enfeebled to be of much use to anyone. This particular address has been given by Sister Baldwin, who was tasked by her superiors in the Popular Front on this. Many others at Sister Baldwin's level of authority throughout the Popular Front were similarly tasked with addressing those under them, all at once a thousand addresses given, all more or less identical. All this had been preceded by a meeting of those at the highest levels of the Popular Front's leadership, all of the rebel Elijah's closest disciples along with many more, but with Elijah himself notably absent. At this meeting a change in strategy had been discussed but rejected out of hand. Instead, Elijah's disciples instruct the representatives of the various factions who make up the Popular Front on the importance of discipline in maintaining the war effort. These others come from among the churches, trade unions, universities and colleges, even from among the old homeless camps dotted around Britain's major cities and small towns. They make up the rogue ministries, the alternate assemblies, the student councils who govern their own universities, even the homeless men, women, and families who'd expelled their former overseers from their camps. But not every man and woman caught in the rapidly escalating violence and mass killings is consigned to the same fate.

In the small city of Chester, still in nationalist hands despite close proximity to the rebel stronghold of Liverpool, the violence has reached a fever pitch. The nationalist forces seek to conceal the evidence of their crimes, and to this end they set fire to entire blocks as if obliterate the city from the collective memory. A young woman named Sadie Higgins happens to live in one such block, having sheltered here for over a year. The militiamen move, block by block, advancing in Sadie's direction, while she and several other residents shelter in their block's basement floors. "They're getting closer," says one young man, "they're coming for us." Another resident, a young woman asks, "where are the rebels?" They've all been expecting the Popular Front to seize the city, and their expectations have been dashed by the recent offensive which'd failed to dislodge the nationalists from their stronghold here in Coventry. "They're coming," says an older man, "there's nothing that's going to stop them." Another resident, an older woman says, "I never though they'd come to kill us." Finally, Sadie says, "let's run from them." They try for an escape, and make it into the street before being happened across by nationalist militia. The militia shoot most of them dead. Sadie's only wounded. She manages to evade them by playing dead, then limps away after the militiamen have cleared. This scenario is not atypical of the killings undertaken by the nationalists, who seem to be no longer reserving their most violent tendencies for Jewish populations.

"We've got to get the guns into position," says Lynn, "once we've done that, we can direct fire onto the entire countryside below. We can deny the enemy passage along the highways and railways." As word spreads of their assault, many others are inspired to take up a new assault of their own accord. Across all Britain, bands of rebel fighters follow the still-ongoing uprising in attacking the last vestiges of the old regime, in venturing into the very heart of evil. "Our position here is secure," says Valeri, "for now." He looks over at Lynn, who seems only to nod glumly, as if overtaken by a sudden melancholy. He doesn't know it, can't know it, but this moment has been chosen by the dark essence which guides the revolution to compel his lead hand to become a focal point for the distention of the people all around them. He doesn't know it, can't know it, but Lynn has become something of a lightning rod for the collective psionic energies of the area's talents. Even Lynn doesn't know it, at least not as such. But the way she's come to be a particular talent enables her to serve in this capacity. Elsewhere, at this meeting where Elijah's disciples reach a new covenant with the various factions that make up the Popular Front, much is said but little is accomplished, the new covenant superseding the old. This new covenant is to supersede all preceding covenants. At this meeting, dubbed a congress of people's deputies, the new covenant is given old form. But not every part of Britain is subject to the same violence; in some parts, life carries on almost as before.

In the city of Preston, only a few kilometres north of the nearest Popular Front positions, a young man named Clyde Turner survives despite the chronic shortages that've made daily living nearly impossible. At night, when power outages have plunged the whole city into unending blackness, the only light is provided by the fires burning throughout the city. Still at work, a paint manufacturing plant, when the power fails, Clyde shelters in place with the other workers, hoping to avoid the worst of the mass violence being meted out on the enemies of the nationalist militia. "They've been getting closer," says one worker. "I don't know who these men are," says another, "but I can't help it." They'll wait out this night in their small factory, many of the workers having to fear for their families who could be caught up in the violence. The networks have gone down, precluding any ability for the workers here to contact their loved ones. "I'm going to get out of here," says Clyde, "as soon as I can." He'll join the mass of refugees flowing towards rebel lines, passing the mass of refugees flowing towards nationalist lines.

When next Valeri and those under his charge are faced with an enemy attack, they'll make good use of their new positions and their new weapons. They'll have their new machine guns set up to fire right down the main axis of attack. They've got that old lorry near the centre of their encampment, with their new field guns resting in improvised emplacements behind piles of hastily dug-up earth. Their ranks have swelled with the arrival of some newly-despatched brothers and sisters from the city, and Valeri puts them to immediate use on the line. He's made his provisional command post in the old estate house, and he's appointed runners out to their various positions on the three sides of the hill. In the absence of any reliable electricity and lacking in enough screens for every position, they've had to fall back on the use of runners to manage their increasingly large band of fighters. But there's only a few positions staked out around the estate house, these to serve as defensive bulwarks over the months to come. "There's talk," says Lynn, "among the brothers and sisters." It's a few hours after Sister Baldwin's address to all Popular Front troops under her purview, and much has been said. Valeri thinks to ask her why she doesn't simply use her new abilities to divine his intentions, but he realizes halfway through his thoughts that she is doing exactly that. "There's always talk," says Valeri, "I remember what it was like when we were still talking like the others."

Finally, in the city of Margate, east of the encroaching rebel front line, a new wave of cruelty and brutality is witnessed. A man named Clayton Saunders is witness to the worst of this cruelty and brutality, having watched as men and women had been dragged out of their homes and beaten or shot in the streets. Clayton had been in his second-floor flat, a perfect vantage point from which to observe the killings. The militiamen had selected doors at random, then burst inside and dragged out anyone inside. This Clayton recounts at work over the next several days, sharing stories with his fellow workers at a local warehouse. Each has their own stories to share, but the most prescient stories are told by the workers no longer there. "How much longer can all this go on?" asks one young man. "Any one of us could be next," says another. But Clayton says, "they can't kill everyone." Although none of them can know it, the atrocities committed by the nationalist militia and by gangs of sectarian youths are reaching a fevered pitch, to follow so many years of tensions simmering just below the surface. At Margate, there won't be many more nights like that last night, the local commander ordering a temporary halt to the waves of arrests of political opponents; it's these orders for arrests which've immediately escalated into killings of anyone suspected of harbouring rebel sympathies, and in turn into killings of anyone whose death could satisfy the wanton bloodlust of murderers run amok. The worst is yet to come.

Although the sounds of battle beckon, in the distance the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs seeming to emanate from the distant horizon. In the Midlands, a man named Christopher Clark presides over a meeting of the last remnants of the old order. This Clark is an adjunct of the rebel Elijah, or was before the recent wave of uprisings provoked him to leave. Men like Valeri don't know it, can't know it, but it's not only them that these addresses are meant for. The powers of the world have turned their attention onto events in Western Europe, to the revolution in Britain and elsewhere, and they watch intently. Over the next several days, these powers continue to debate among themselves endlessly, in offices and in boardrooms, examining in minute detail at least some of the various speeches delivered by the Popular Front's apparatchiks. Much is to happen, but little is to be done. The first step has been taken, uneasy and difficult though it may have been. The Popular Front's campaign has been so long in the making, so many years having passed since the formation of the Popular Front. Under the old regime, the Worker's Party and the People's Party, the two co-equal leaders of the Popular Front, had been illegal, proscribed by act of parliament. As the rebel Elijah continues meeting with various elements of the Popular Front's constituent parties, he must simultaneously contend with the prosecution of the war.

On this day, one day, after a particularly contentions meeting with a particular faction in the Popular Front, Elijah is confronted with the prospect of this new betrayal from his former disciple, Clark. As Elijah meets with members of this faction, he realises this is the moment he has been seeking. After leaving this particular meeting, Elijah orders his disciples to arrest the leaders of that particular faction, and subsequently to have them brought up on various charges. "As you have seen," says Elijah, "anyone who agrees to serve the cause of the Popular Front and the revolution it guides is forgiven from their crimes. But anyone who willingly turns against the revolution is condemned by his own hand." Left unsaid but implicitly understood by all is the necessity of eliminating these persons by way of physical destruction. First the leaders of this wayward faction are arrested before they can even leave London, the others to follow.

But the anti-rebel Damian is only a small figure in a much larger conspiracy, a conspiracy not of conscious actors but of forces far more primal. Although the anti-rebel Damian is known as a former disciple of the rebel Elijah, this new figure, Clark, is unknown to most of the major actors in the revolution. His arrival is marked not by the blaring of trumpets or the cheering of crowds but instead by the chattering of so many boots against pavement in the miscellaneous small city on England's North Sea coast. Although the ethnic nationalists have declared independence in Edinburgh, and Cardiff, and in Northern Ireland a full-fledged civil war is underway between sectarian forces, it's this figure Clark who should become part of an unholy alliance. But elsewhere, events continue to mount. Although the nationalists in Britain are in ascendance, there are other countries throughout Eastern Europe and the Balkans where nationalists are burning everything that moves. A great inferno has come to consume the entire continent, with many lives hanging in the balance and many more already perished. All this is known to Elijah, but yet to be made known to most of his disciples throughout the Popular Front. This figure Clark has a chief role in the grand coalition of forces beginning to take shape, passing information as he does to the American ambassador, who in turn passes this very information onto his superiors in Washington, D.C.

The Americans, they've been on the sidelines, watching as all Europe has burned, their own costly and ultimately futile war against the Chinese in the Pacific continuing even as they prepare themselves for intervention in Europe. Further, various concurrent wars in the Middle East continue to consume millions of lives and tear countries apart. But this Clark, he's been working all along for his own benefit, and for the benefit of a small number of wealthy and powerful individuals. The revolution which Elijah and his disciples lead in Britain, along with the revolutions led by other like-minded persons and groups throughout Europe, they threaten those relatively small number of wealthy and powerful individuals. This Clark represents that faction of persons whose wealth and power derives from the misery and impoverishment of many, many more. After all that's happened, after the nuclear firestorm on the continent and the wave of revolutions which've unleashed hell across Europe, the time for this figure Clark to rise is almost at hand.

22. Uttermost

Even if the larger war has yet to come to an end, the crisis which had precipitated it continues. The nuclear firestorm on the continent which had threatened to consume all Europe continues to present a lingering threat, as if the world's powers could decide at any moment to hurl a volley of nuclear-tipped missiles at one another. Fighting continues, if not on the front lines of the continental war then on either side, all countries consumed in their own civil strife. Whether the British army is brought back or not, they'll soon run out of supplies, the revolutions at home and in France and Germany having slowed the flow of supplies out to the front lines. In Poland, right-wing nationalists have taken to organising a massive campaign of ethnic cleansing, targeting Jews and Romani in particular, which the British army and the others don't intervene against. But the Polish working-class party, aligned loosely with the cause of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front in Britain, has taken to defending the Jews against attack. Elijah instructs his disciples to continue to manage the supply of the army on the continent as best they can, making use of what remains of their logistical apparatus. "Don't you ever think about how strange it is that you've wound up here?" asks Lynn. "Not really," says Valeri, "because if I hadn't wound up here, I'd have wound up somewhere. I've always been a troublemaker. Even as a young boy, I never waited for trouble to find me. I went out and made my own trouble." "Like what?" asks Lynn. "Fights with the other lads in the schoolyard," says Valeri, "turning my nose up at any old authority I could find." This particular evening seems hotter and swampier than most, in a time of a rapidly warming climate still the night seeming to reach a new heat. But after all they've been through, together and apart, the men and women of the Popular Front can only look forward to their next battle. "This position won't be easy to defend," says Lynn. "When they come it won't matter all that much," says Valeri, "the enemy will have more troops than we do." Lynn nods. She says, "we'll see what happens."

It's all so confusing and disjointed, with a great morass of death seeming to sweep across the world all at once. It wasn't all that long ago that all Europe seemed on the edge of tomorrow, that the international order which'd persisted for so many years seemed invincible. And now, now men like Valeri Kovalenko stand on the precipice, about to cast themselves irrevocably over the edge and into the unknown that lies beyond. All that Valeri's been through, the lifetime of struggle against one thing or another, it's all leading to something, anything at all. True, he's always thought of the future, but only in the vague and instinctive sort of way that he has. "I left home when I was only a girl," says Lynn, "I left my father and my mother and took to the streets." She proceeds to take Valeri through the years she'd spent on the streets of Liverpool, recounting only some of the little details, as if to hold something back. But the next time Valeri and his lover Tabitha have a spare moment for one another, neither of them know what to say to each other. "This can't last," says Valeri, though even he doesn't know what he's talking about. "I know," says Tabitha, seeming to meet his look, eye for eye. Although their service in the armed wing of the Popular Front has brought them together and continues to present new challenges for both, each of them has decided entirely of their own accord that theirs is an affair that can't last very long. At the central command post, where Valeri and Lynn have found a moment of quiet after a burst of activity, it seems as though they all must work harder than ever before. "They're not coming," says Valeri, "not yet." In the distance there's columns of smoke rising, seeming to rise from miscellaneous points in the countryside. As the season turns from the hottest summer on record, the fighting hasn't let up.

For now, though, Valeri must remain with the others at their positions outside the city of Milton Keynes, the revolution having assumed a character entirely unlike the fight he'd taken part in only some years earlier. But there was never peace, there could never be peace, even the notion that the advances of their revolution have meant increased hardship for all. In the absence of any major battles, sometimes Valeri and the others see aircraft flying overhead, though they're unable to tell whether these aircraft are friend or foe. As the revolution has slowed and much of the fighting has bled into nothing, there's time, too much time for Valeri and his young lover Tabitha to avoid one another. For his part, Valeri begins to feel almost guilty on their affair, knowing as he does that he should devote himself wholly to the struggle of the revolution. After having another secret tryst in the middle of the night, Valeri and Tabitha have more time to spend talking, always talking, yet never managing to say much of anything. It's difficult for Valeri to muster the courage and the energy to keep up the effort. A few nights pass, with their position staked out at this little estate perched precariously on the top of a hill. They move more guns into position, with Sister Simpson having sent forward some of the field guns they'd seized when they'd captured the city of Milton Keynes. From the preparations they're ordered to take, Valeri quickly surmises they're to be here a while. "Keep the forward positions on full alert," says Valeri, directing their defence from a post he's set up at the estate's house. "Keep the forward positions on full alert," says the younger Aretha Cordoba, relaying Valeri's instructions to the runners. He's uncomfortable with this new authority, and every time one of the brothers or sisters throws him the one-fist salute it takes him a moment to throw the one-fist salute back. At their command post, he relays more instructions to Aretha, who steadfastly relays them on to the brothers and sisters in their field positions beyond.

Still, the inner conflict that's riven their fighters hasn't become tamed by the passage of so much time, nor by the collective experience of them all having fought together. It's around this time that Valeri begins to consider the larger implications of the path they've chosen for themselves. They've shored up their numbers at various stages, in the city of Milton Keynes having taken a number of volunteers from among the councils of workers at local factories, mills, and warehouses. To Valeri, the most pathetic and wretched among the volunteers have come from the residential blocks, many of them having happened across their formations during the normal course of conducting the war. It's in the spirit of the rebel Elijah's edicts that Valeri has chosen to accept these as fighters, despite some misgivings by some of the others, the older and more experienced fighters. It immediately occurs to Valeri how strange it must be for even someone so young as him to be considered more experienced, that these young men and women who make up the bulk of his fighters would've been considered little more than children in another time and in another place. "It's going to be too cold out soon, in a matter of weeks," says Lynn, returning from the forward positions, "we won't have enough warm clothing for everyone." It recalls the last winter, when Valeri and the others had been at a constant risk of hypothermia. "When the time comes we'll get some fires going," says Valeri, "we can take wood from the fences around the property." Lynn nods, but she seems to Valeri to be reluctant to do so. Valeri turns to Aretha and says, "see if we can send for more coats," but he knows it's a futile task. The whole country's critically short of food, fuel, and the kind of clothing necessary to withstand cold weather. With another record cold winter season looming over them, the fear of death seems to intensify with the oncoming storm. The wind tugs lightly at Valeri's collar whenever he steps outside, its tugging seeming to become more ominous as the clouds blacken and the sky darkens. This night will be long, but many nights much longer beckon. Valeri has no time for idle speculation, and yet he has all the time in the world to indulge in this habit. "War's a young man's game," says Valeri, "always has been, always will be." But Lynn shoots him a knowing glance, as the oldest fighter in Valeri's platoon-sized band entitled to some small measure of respect. "Don't feel bad," says Aretha, the next time Valeri's alone at his de facto command post. "Why would I?" asks Valeri. "We all have something to get used to," says Aretha. In response Valeri only nods.

It hasn't been all that long since Valeri himself was among those fighters forced out of their own homes by the Home Guard, that much-maligned and remarkably ineffectual force. Most of those who'd perpetrated the massacre of refugees inside the old liberated zones remain at large, having been absorbed into one faction or another after the overthrow of the old Provisional Government. This is why so many haven't taken Elijah's offer of clemency for whoever would fight for the Popular Front; it's not that the offer is distrusted, it's that there are so many people from the old way of life reflexively think in terms of their own enslavement. But the young woman Tabitha has come into Valeri's life so quickly and easily, and she could just as quickly and easily leave. It's not forbidden for the Popular Front's fighters to pursue romantic or sexual relationships while serving, but still Valeri can't escape the feeling that he's doing something wrong. It's for this reason that he orders Tabitha among the fighters sent out to the most remote position, furthest from his estate house command post. When next his lead hand and he have a moment in the middle of the night to confer, it's somehow easier and harder than Valeri would've expected. "Don't say it," says Valeri, already having learned to anticipate the onset of her episodic talents. But this time his anticipation is wrong.

"I won't," she says, "but I'll give you something else to think about." It's been only a few days, now, since they'd felt the onset of winter in the form of rapidly falling temperatures. "They won't attack us during this cold snap," says Valeri, "they've got to be as hard up as we are." Lynn nods. "I don't think you came in here to talk about the weather," says Valeri. "You're right about that," says Lynn. "Well," says Valeri, turning to face her, "let's have it." By the time this evening is through, all grievances will have been aired. It won't be enough. Valeri's been through all this before. He's become something he'd never intended to be, through no fault of his own. The larger picture, the metaphysical drama continues to impress itself upon them, even as these fighters must confront the harshness of the oncoming winter's season. As hard as they must work to stave off the cold, it's the acute hunger that should pose the most mortal threat of all. The mass killings, the lynchings have not tapered off as the weather begins to turn, rather they've escalated into a wave of violence the likes of which Europe hasn't seen since the twentieth century. For all the enlightened ideals which Europe had aspired to, the truth behind so many nationalist movements and raw, unvarnished capitalism has been laid bare.

The Home Guard which once numbered in the millions of men remains at large, only fragmented into a hundred smaller forces loyal to a hundred new flags. A portion of the men of the old Home Guard have taken in with the Popular Front, seeking to accept Elijah's offer of clemency for anyone who would agree to follow their banner. After all the fighting, after all the death and wanton destruction that's been wrought upon them, even Valeri can't begin to imagine the horrors that lie in store for them all. After they'd shared the last in a long series of uncomfortable, awkward conversations, Valeri and his lead hand Lynn have arrived at a new understanding, bridging the gap between them. Valeri, for his part, wants to make amends with the dark essence which guides the revolution, although he doesn't know it as such. "Enemy activity," says Valeri, "they've got to be coming for us now." A few more days have passed, and they're in the midst of a gradual warming. Temperatures have risen above freezing. The unseasonable cold has lifted and allowed a thaw to set in. "I don't think so," says Lynn, "they're just moving around a bit. We've got a lot of work to do here." It recalls a moment some weeks earlier when Valeri and Lynn had a personal rapprochement, she relating some aspect of her former life on the streets of Liverpool while he conveying his years at the old union hall in some working class district of Greater London.

"I never took part in any of those strikes," says Lynn, "I was always just trying to survive from one day to the next." A light wind carries across the estate, raising goosebumps on every patch of Valeri's exposed skin. "I used to know someone like you," says Valeri, "I mean, someone like the person you used to be." But Lynn shakes her head and says, "I'm still the same person I've always been." By this time of day the sun has set, threatening another frigid night. Lynn goes on to say, "they used to take us off the streets. The police would come and abduct some of the women at random, then dump them off in some dark corner of the city." There's a pause which seems to Valeri to be much longer and more uncomfortable than it is. "Were you ever taken?" asks Valeri. But Lynn doesn't respond, not right away, seeming to choose this very moment to allow a silence to settle over their conversation. Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it, but this is the most Lynn has chosen to open up about her past traumas to anyone, ever. After having fought together for almost one full year, they've come to see each other as friends. But this, Valeri thinks is not a good development. Everyone he's come to be close with on a personal level has been taken from him. He doesn't tell this to Lynn. "I used to take advantage of the strikes," says Lynn, "it meant there were a lot of flats and shops smashed or vacant, easy to steal from. I stole what I needed to survive." Valeri doesn't say anything, instead thinking of a woman he'd known who'd led a life not altogether different from the life Lynn has led. He thinks of the prostitute Maria, and he wonders where she might be, not knowing she's been fighting for the forces of the Popular Front longer than him.

But the thirst of the British working class for vengeance hasn't been slaked by the ad hoc tribunals convened thus far in areas seized and controlled by the Popular Front. In fact, a key decision reached at the Popular Front's recent congress of deputies in London was the need to establish a harsher and far less discriminating means for giving this thirst a satisfaction not available by any other means. As Elijah's revolution has given more than reasonable chance for every man and woman in Britain to become followers, now there must be a wave of reprisals against those who would purport to oppose the course of the working class struggle. Just outside the city of Milton Keynes, where Valeri and the others under his charge are continuing to fortify their positions as best they can, the full brunt of an unseasonably cold and early winter's onslaught hasn't dampened their spirits. "I come from a long line of ordinary workers," says Valeri, "at least, as far as I've ever been able to figure." He proceeds to recount for his lead hand his family's arrival in Britain from the Russian city of Krasnoyarsk, the many family he must have in Russia that he's never met. "Who knows what's become of them in this war?" he asks. He then asks, "what if I should one day meet them? Would I even recognise any of them?" Lynn pauses, seeming to Valeri to consider her thoughts. She says, "maybe not. But maybe that's the point." He looks at her sideways, in the middle of the night a light wind tugging at his shirt's collar. The night is quiet, much quieter than has become normal.

On this night a particularly harsh cold snap is beginning, with the temperature here in the British to fall below even that of the Russian hinterlands Valeri's family came from three decades ago. It should still be late-summer; the unpredictability of the world's rapidly changing climate has meant uncharacteristic heat and cold, sometimes at exactly the wrong time of the year. It isn't even clear exactly when this cold snap begins, only that when dawn breaks the following day people have died from exposure in the night throughout Britain and elsewhere in Western Europe. The fires they'd burned to try and keep warm here at this little estate have been kept fueled by any wood they could find, whether from trees hastily felled or from buildings stripped bare. None of the brothers and sisters in Valeri's unit have died in the night. It seems a cruel joke that they'd be subjected to a brutally cold snap after having been given a break in the form of a brief warming. But then Valeri's come to be used to cruel jokes, in the way that he has. Although his determination to carry forward with the struggle is marked by the scowl on his face and by the clenched fist he throws up in salute, he can see through the formalities. The men and women remain committed, inasmuch as they can be. But when a chain of lightning comes down from a clear blue sky, Valeri and every other man and woman in the countryside north of the city of Milton Keynes can see the same stars above. There's more, there's always more, but the night is done. A silence seems to emanate from the distant countryside, from which Valeri can surmise the enemy must be grappling with the same difficulties they are, chronic shortages of food, fuel, and adequate clothing to ward off the bitter cold, which at least places them on an even footing. "We've got to prepare to take to the attack," says Valeri, "I've thought Elijah might have something in the works." After having met their leader nearly a year earlier, Valeri has rarely told anyone of the things he'd seen. "Many people have met Elijah," says Lynn, although she knows from a silent and momentary interrogation of Valeri using her newfound abilities that he means what he's said in an entirely different way. As Valeri must work to conceal his minor injuries from Lynn and from everyone else around him, he thinks on the healing power of the words of Elijah. After having fought alongside one another for nearly a year, Valeri and Lynn still have their personal differences. This fact is made evident to Valeri not in their arguments during moments of pause, as they've stopped voicing their differences some months ago. But their devotion to their common struggle is a common trait they've both come to embody.

For Christopher Jenkins, the past few months spent on the barricades in the city of Birmingham have been a learning experience like none he's ever had. While he hasn't seen his friend, Helen Reed, in some months, he's had so much work to do in helping out in the streets that he's not had much time to think of her. It seems to him as though they're ordered to take down barricades in one place and put barricades up in another, only to bring down those barricades so recently put up and put up new barricades elsewhere. "I'm glad to have steady work," says Chris, speaking with a few of the other workers on the line. "I don't know where they're getting all the material from," says another worker, a young woman whose name Chris hasn't quite learned yet. "It doesn't matter," says another, a young man, "all that matters is that we've got the work as long as we can keep working." They see planes flying overhead, and they don't know it's neither British nor Russian, but American planes flying a long and slow arc through British airspace. These barricades, they're meant to defend working class districts against attacks but also to direct the flow of goods and supplies through urban areas in such a way as to divert essential food and fuel to where the Popular Front needs them the most. "I don't know where they are," says Chris, speaking a little while later when they're talking about their respective families. There's precious little time for the men and women who work on the barricades to rest, with the flow of refugees across their lines in both directions demanding twelve-hour days and six-day weeks. "They're coming for us soon," says another worker, which Chris can only agree to.

For Valeri and the others in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, the clear nights now have meant more time to consider their positions, something which Valeri has taken to doing. "I never realised this'd happen," says Valeri, "I never really thought so much about the end goal." The younger Aretha Cordoba says, "we've all got our reasons for fighting." But Valeri says, "I think the war's going to be over someday. I want to fight until we've won and done away with all oppression." There are many such conversions, many such conversations taking place throughout all Britain, and in every other country currently in the throes of revolution. Although he doesn't realise it, can't realise it as such, he's in the midst of becoming one of the rebel Elijah's disciples. But neither of them can know what the future holds, not even Lynn with her still-developing talents. They can hear the rattling of gunfire in the distance, but it's very faint, almost seeming to blend into the background night. As if to accentuate the moment, a single crack can be heard, too strong to be heard against the booming silence that emanates from the countryside. Neither Valeri nor Lynn know what challenges lie ahead of them. Before putting in for the night, Valeri takes one last look at their forward positions, finding the brothers and sisters in each position weary but warmed by the fires they've lit. He takes great care to visit Tabitha's position last, and as he approaches it his stomach seems to rise into his throat. But he then reminds himself of one of the last things Lynn had said to him before retiring to her position. She'd said, "it doesn't matter what you've done, it only matters what you're going to do."

Still elsewhere, just outside the city of Nottingham the councillor Julia Roberts has only recently been named to the larger council formed, one of many set up to govern many industrial concerns in and around the city. But still Julia can't help herself from thinking of the man she'd displaced from her smaller council several months ago. Her family has demanded so much of what little spare time she has; many of the families of the workers have been moved closer into the city. "I won't give in," says Julia, in a meeting with the Popular Front's apparatchik, "even if the others move against me." But the apparatchik says, "you should be prepared to move pre-emptively." This is a conversation the apparatchik, who seems to be a different person with every meeting, whether the meetings are scheduled or whether he shows up unannounced. "How far in advance will you give us notice?" asks Julia. "You should be prepared to move with as little as a day's notice," says the apparatchik. "That'll take some work," says Julia. "Then I advise you to start preparing immediately," says the apparatchik. Although Julia's work must begin the moment this meeting is over, she doesn't begin right away. After having been maneuvering for several months, merging councils into one another and mustering support from among the various factions, now Julia faces a dire new threat. "I'd like your support," she says, later, in a meeting with Fred White, her former superior. After a lengthy pause, Fred says, "you've got it." And then the news comes: her family's all dead.

After another long night spent in the grips of a deep freeze, Valeri and Lynn emerge into a morning with frost covering every exposed surface. There's been no snowfall, leaving the dirt and sod frozen. They find all their brothers and sisters have made it through the night, but they receive reports of deaths in the city of Milton Keynes from exposure. The first Valeri sees of Tabitha following the morning's rise comes when he puts to the positions to help in digging some more trenches, a task made all the more difficult by the frozen earth they've got to move with only shovels. Although Valeri ought to be in his headquarters at the estate house, he knows there's little he could accomplish there. Besides, he takes a certain satisfaction in performing the kind of manual labour that goes into digging trenches and moving earth, in treating his body as a machine to be manipulated as ever should be required. The rhythmic movements, the smooth, repetitive contractions and expansions of his muscles as he moves earth using implements found in a nearby shack, they make him feel deeply satisfied in ways even he can't understand. But there's only so much work to be done before his duties as head of this growing band of fighters require his attention.

Meanwhile, in the city of Sunderland Joe Hill works among the men who've been given a second chance, only to find himself seeking shelter against the current wave of violence. He's sitting with a group of workers in a common area, even as the sounds of voices screaming seem to emanate from everywhere, all at once. "Who are they coming after?" asks Joe. "We're all here to work," says another worker, "they don't have a reason to come after us." Still another worker says, "they're coming after anyone, they don't need a reason." Several more of the workers will be killed, caught out in the open as the militiamen and gangs of sectarian youths happen across a bus carrying some of them. But this day ends differently from all the other days, with Joe learning that his friend Nina Schultz has been killed. When he learns this, he immediately sets into a kind of depression, with the whole world seeming to turn into slow motion and his vision seeming to have lost its colour. He hadn't know it until recently, but he'd come to have feelings for Nina, feelings he'd left unexpressed, feelings he now wishes he'd told her about. Events soon overtake these workers here in Sunderland, forcing them all to become something more than what they are.

"Word from Sister Simpson," comes a voice. Valeri looks up to see that it belongs to one of their runners. The young man who serves as runner goes on to say, "there's activity in the city. Come quick!" Valeri takes a moment to process this information, before handing his shovel off to another. "What's all this about activity?" asks Valeri, on arrival at his command post. "It seems to be all around us," says Aretha, manning her screen. She seems to be studying it intently, poring over the information scrolling past. "Is it an enemy attack?" asks Valeri. He wonders how the enemy could've outflanked them when their position affords them such a good view of the surrounding countryside. "Doesn't seem like it," says Aretha. And Valeri asks, "then what?" But Aretha takes a moment to study her screen, as if to derive some unknown meaning from the words and symbols she rapidly and skilfully scrolls across. "We're not going to listen to that number," says Valeri, after having waited too long, "get the men ready, we're going." Lynn nods, and leaps to it.

Still elsewhere, the young woman Marilyn Carter subsists under slavery, working at gunpoint by the hand of the local militia. In Norwich, the recent Popular Front offensive has failed to dislodge the National Forces, which has in turn resulted in a harsher and more violent wave of repression targeting anyone suspected of harbouring sympathies for the rebels. Marilyn isn't sure when the protection of the militia might be withdrawn, leaving them at the mercy of those very people who now protect them. "This is so confusing," says Marilyn, speaking with some of the other workers after a strenuous day on the roads. "It's hard to work when it's so cold out," says another worker. The seemingly instantaneous transition from the heat and humidity of the hottest and longest summer to the coldest and most brutal winter in memory has come as a shock to these workers. They continue to be ordered into the street in their summer clothes, with the militia's only concession being the small fires they're allowed to burn for warmth near their work sites. But when they look overhead, pausing in the midst of their harsh, twelve hour days, they can see the same aircraft flying as everyone else. They wonder whether these aircraft carry nuclear-tipped missiles, or even ordinary free-fall bombs. "Well," says Marilyn, "I don't think we'll have long to find out, one way or another." Each of them could die at any moment, without warning for the nuclear volley that could be speeding towards them at speeds several times the speed of sound. "It's too cold," says Marilyn, "I need something more." They decide on a course of action, some of them, and by the time they go through with it, their lives will have changed so radically they'll have no idea what to do next.

It recalls the summary execution of the royal family at the hands of Popular Front fighters, an event which'd transpired during the last days of the now-defunct Provisional Government. Although no video footage was taken of the executions or their aftermath, pictures of the royal family's lifeless bodies have flashed around the world, dissemination of these pictures ordered by Elijah himself. Valeri's seen them. All Popular Front fighters have seen them. But as this attack bears down on them, Valeri can only think of the impending action. Valeri orders all positions to look out for movement. But it doesn't come, not right away. "It's not the enemy," says Aretha, finally, after having looked at her screen for some time." Valeri stands over her, and says, "then what is it?" But she doesn't respond, not right away, instead continuing to look over her screen, as if to decipher some hidden meaning from the reams of text scrolling past. Finally, she says, "they're holding off. The enemy's not anywhere near here. They're coming, but they're not coming anytime soon."

Finally, in one of London's many working class districts Roy Cook continues to work on the barricades. As it's so cold, the number of refugees flowing one way or the other across any given barricade have dramatically shrunk, with only the occasional family or childless man or woman seeking shelter heard of in one part of the city. So has Roy's small labour detachment slowed in their work, taking several days now to put up or take down each barricade. It doesn't even make sense to Roy and the other workers why they must keep on putting up and taking down these very same barricades in different parts of the city. They talk about it every day. But it matters little to them, so long as they have steady work. "There's more people being put to work," says one of Roy's fellow workers, "a brother of mine is working now." Another fellow worker says, "several of my friends have gotten work under the new authority." Finally, Roy says, "and we're all working for our own cause now." These new scores of workers have become part of a new army of labourers, working for the cause of the Popular Front, raised as one would raise an ordinary army. They're paid according to a prescribed schedule, a living stipend along with food and other supplies. The Popular Front has achieved this through a variety of measures. But for now all Roy and the others have to do is keep on working, each smooth, rhythmic contraction and expansion of each's muscles moving the revolution that much closer to victory. Even as he works, Roy thinks of his dead wife, Samantha, and he wonders if ever he'll be able to see her again, if not in this life then in the next.

But still the Americans continue to make their presence felt. After their largely ineffectual first wave of attacks their naval and air forces continue to remain in the region, a presence centred on their carrier battle group in the Bay of Biscay. Despite clashes with pilots following the new People's Republic in Britain, the Americans continue to sortie across the British Isles, although they do so without purpose, seemingly without having been told what they're here to do or why. But wherever these Americans fly, they carry the threat of full-scale intervention, a threat which Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front must reckon with, careful not to incite the Americans to carry out this threat before the time is right. The first demonstrations against American action have already taken place in London, surrounding the American embassy, and in other Popular Front-controlled cities as well. These demonstrations are instigated by the Popular Front, and mark the beginning of the Popular Front's actions against the Americans, thus precipitating a new stage in the revolution here in Britain. All this is lost on Valeri and those who fight in the foot soldier's war, slogging through the English countryside from one city to the next. Although he's vaguely aware of the American presence, he doesn't know the larger forces that continue to align, nor could he, limited as his viewpoint is. "This could be our big chance," says Valeri, "what are our orders?" Aretha clicks on her screen, then says, "we're to hold position here and wait for further instructions." This prompts Valeri to say, "no change in orders, then." It's because of this fact that much has left to be done, here and everywhere else in the contested parts of Britain. But in every part where this winter uprising is taking place, the rebels of the Popular Front aren't safe from harm, nor from having to defend themselves against the ongoing uprising. After studying their maps of the area and considering their options, Valeri and Lynn agree they have no options at all. They can't call in any air support, given that the Popular Front doesn't have any aerial squadrons in the area capable of conducting attacks on enemy positions. They don't have any field guns—yet—with which to conduct bombardments of the advancing enemy. It matters little where the enemy is coming from, even as Valeri and Lynn both seem amazed by the enemy's ability to mobilise its forces so quickly.

As winter bears down on them, they need not field guns but warm clothing. For the first time in several months, the forces of the Popular Front across the country are neither capable nor incapable of advancing, with their enemies facing the same predicament. "They're coming," says Aretha, "too many of them!" Valeri and Lynn exchange knowing looks, nodding before both head for the line. By the time Valeri arrives he's seen the final gun crew off, with only a few more hours to go, nothing will have changed, even as everything across the whole world will have irrevocably changed, again.

23. Torn Apart

Soon, the harshest and longest summer Britain's seen in hundreds of years is a memory, in this time of a rapidly changing global climate the boundaries between the much-colder winters and much-hotter summers seeming to become more narrow and violent than anyone can remember. But no matter how stormy the season, no matter how violent the storms which lash the British Isles, the threat of hunger persists, as the last harvest had been the poorest in recent British history. Although the city and port in Liverpool remains in firmly in rebel hands, the imports of food and fuel remain at a low ebb. But when next Valeri reports for duty, filing in a loose, ragged formation along with the rest under Sister Simpson, he marvels at the rapid pace with which the winter's snow has melted, seemingly overnight turning the frozen ground into a thick mixture of mud and mush. It's been well over a year since the declaration of the new People's Republic, and even under the hardships of war the new state has enjoyed a resurgence in its fighting spirit.

Although the people of Britain have been working hard for so long as they've been, now those under the banner of the new People's Republic are working to be masters in their own homes, and it's this fact that drives them all to work as hard as they can manage. "There's too much time," says Valeri, "but we'll be ready for them, whenever they come." A few others work within his improvised command post in the estate house, but his lead hand, Lynn, is out at the moment supervising defensive preparations around the property. "I can't imagine how all this is going to end up," says the younger Aretha Cordoba. As she's become Valeri's chief operator, with one of the few still-functional screens, she's been given a post in the estate house from which she can relay instructions given to them by Sister Baldwin. "I don't know if I can trust them," says Valeri, "after all we've been through." He doesn't intend to speak specifically with Aretha, although the others manning the command post are all mostly unknown to him. "It won't matter much soon," says Aretha, prompting Valeri to look at her.

She seems to him to be almost beside herself, in a way that he can't quite figure out. They've been serving alongside one another in the armed wing of the Popular Front for nearly a year now, and still they know each other so poorly. They have so much in common, but the exigencies of the revolution have kept them from realizing any more than the most cursory of familiarities. It's cold out, far too cold for Valeri to stand, and he manages only by trying some old sacks they've found around his arms and legs, with most of the rest of the men and women resorting to similar measures. The fires which sustain them are fueled by wood taken from the estate house, as well as from trees and shrubbery in the immediate area. Still Valeri can't help but marvel at the speed with which the seasons have turned; this doesn't make the experience any less harsh. It's almost winter, with more than a full year having passed since the declaration of the new People's Republic. Fearing nuclear fire has become like an impossible fact of life for nearly everyone across Britain, Europe, even the world. Although there're no more major battles to be fought in the meanwhile, death continues to mete itself out indiscriminately. This revolution which had begun so many years ago in the streets of Britain's cities has been underway for so long as there's been men and women to fight over the things men and women fight over. "It's not the first time this has happened," says Valeri, speaking at their command post with the younger Aretha Cordoba, "and I don't think it'll be the last."

There's a brief buzz of activity as a burst of gunfire cracks through the night. It's nearby. "I think you're right about that," says Aretha, "but there's nothing you can do about it." Valeri feels the urge to sling his rifle over his shoulder and rush towards the firefight, but he's only a half-step towards the door when the voice of Aretha calling out compels him to stop. "They're coming in," she says, "too many of them." Valeri turns back, realising his place is here, not there. "This was supposed to be a quiet period," says Valeri, looking over Aretha's shoulder at her screen. "I'll make sure the enemy gets the message," she says, and for a moment Valeri doesn't detect the sarcasm in her voice. "Be clear in your meaning," says Valeri, "make every word you speak count." She nods. He looks around the room, but doesn't see Lynn. Suddenly there's a young man at the door, one of those selected to be a runner out to the lines. He breathes hard, using one hand to clutch at the doorframe as he's doubled over, gasping for air. "Sister Jackson at the northern position," he says, "large number of enemy troops attacking." Valeri takes a moment to look over their map, and he marks a red 'x' where the enemy attack is coming in. his first instinct is to head out there himself, but he restrains himself this time. "Don't stop shooting," says Lynn, "keep up your firing." She speaks to the fire teams, but Valeri waits for the all clear to make his signal.

As a matter of course, it seems they have so many bodies to bury and so many signals to send. After having moved onto this hill and occupied this estate house, they've suffered only a few casualties, the harsh winter weather having impeded both their action and the enemy's movements. Although only a little less than a year has passed since the founding of the new People's Republic, the revolution which gave it life has been decades in the making. In his more serene moments, Valeri might be given to thinking on the future they face. But Valeri's never been one for too much self-introspection. "Keep firing on them," says Valeri, before turning to Aretha and saying, "get on the line to Sister Simpson. Ask her for permission to advance into the countryside." When one of his fellow brothers at the little estate house asks what he's thinking, Valeri says, "we can outflank them and force them to retreat." But even Valeri's beginning to think of the bigger picture. He realizes that the heart of the matter lies in their ability to choose the struggle, no matter how strong the prospect of victory or defeat. But their revolution is far from the revolution of old, their legacy as having inherited the mantle from those who'd fought and died in the revolution more than fifteen years before this one, the revolution which'd claimed the lives of Valeri's mother and father. After having fought off this latest attack, Valeri's men and women count their dead and lick their wounds. They don't know why the enemy has chosen to attack now, nor do they know whether this attack represents the beginning of a new enemy offensive or merely the last gasp of a dying way of life. "If we don't move we'll all buy the farm," says Lynn. But Valeri shakes his head, saying, "our orders are to remain in position." Lynn says, "we've disobeyed orders before."

And Valeri says, "that may be true, but this time we've got a whole city behind us." Although neither of them say it, the implications of this fact are understood by both. If the enemy should succeed in retaking this position then there could be a second massacre in the city behind them. Already the threat of such a massacre has galvanised the brothers and sisters under Valeri's charge, giving them new spirit to fight despite the tremendous hardships they must endure. As they survey the damage from this latest enemy attack, they come to a new understanding. But larger forces continue to position themselves for a greater struggle. At the United Nations in New York, the man known only as Lucius brokers an agreement between warring powers to permit the return of British troops from the battlefields of eastern Poland. A sticking point in negotiations had been the lack of any government which the international order would be amenable to taking repatriation of the army. The new People's Republic and the Popular Front which controls it continues to repudiate recognition from the nations of the world, insisting as the rebel Elijah does that the future they seek to build should confer no such legitimacy on evil. In the night, it always happens in the night, Lucius attains a promise from the Americans to recognise a coalition government headed by the one known as Damian and to assist this government with a deployment of forces as soon as practical. Of course, this'll take time, the bureaucratic wrangling which afflicts the so-called United Nations requiring an extensive and lengthy procedure to bring a plan already decided on to action. For Valeri and those under his charge, though, these events in New York are rather distant and antiseptic, consumed as Valeri and the others are in fighting for their own day to day survival. After repelling this latest enemy attack, they haven't seen any evidence of another for several days. "I don't like it," says Valeri, when next a moment of peace presents itself.

"They'll come again," says his colleague, another young fighter named Kara Myers, "and we'll beat them back then, too." She'd been among the fighters they'd taken in when they'd entered Milton Keynes a second time, she having volunteered. Although she hasn't had much of the fighting yet, she demonstrates a youthful vigour that makes men like Valeri seem much older than they are. "This position's as good as it's going to get," says Valeri, before turning and making for the next. Valeri has come not to think of himself at all, as if to reinforce in his own mind his status as part of the working class. He endures a kind of cognitive dissonance at his gradual ascent from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never truly be. In the meanwhile, the Popular Front's seizure of Britain's remaining nuclear armaments gives the new People's Republic a powerful deterrent, although one which confers upon the new regime an entirely new set of problems. Although the seizure of nuclear weapons has taken place, it hasn't been announced to the world, not yet. But after the nuclear exchange on the continent about a year and a half ago, the threat of nuclear annihilation has become a fact of life for everyone here in Britain and in every other country across Europe. They hear of the massacres taking place throughout the country in areas still firmly under opposition control, and it's Valeri's personal experiences in observing the aftermath of such massacres first hand that gives him a perspective on events simultaneously unique and utterly banal. "I don't want to keep fighting forever," says Valeri, "but it's not up to me. It's not up to any of us. If the enemy surrendered right now then all war could end, forever." He's speaking with a group of soldiers at a forward position, not long after the most recent enemy attack. In truth, Valeri remains entirely uncomfortable with his new position as leader of a growing band of rebel fighters. This discomfort is made abundantly clear by the way he always feels the first instinct to leap out the door and towards the enemy when word arrives of the latest attack.

"I have asked an enormous favour of you," says Valeri, the next time he speaks with one of their apparatchiks in the city behind them. "You have," comes the reply, "and all any of us can do is try to accommodate you." Still it makes Valeri feel out of place to have become relegated to the role of the foot soldier in the revolutionary war. "A lot of people are starving out there," says Valeri, "but we'll make it." By the time the enemy next attacks, much will have changed. Many more massacres will have been perpetrated throughout the country, without the forces of the Popular Front being able to stop them as the Popular Front's advance has largely ceased. "I don't like the idea of just waiting for the order to attack," says Valeri, a little while later, "even as there are so many people out there being killed just because of the colour of their skin or the language they speak." Lynn says, "you'll get no argument from me on that." Given that there's little action around their position, they've got little else to do but talk. Some of the others Valeri's taken to leading in study continue their study, while Valeri purports to consume himself in the tasks of maintaining their position at the top of that hill. In the city behind them, as well as every other city across the country, the violence and the degradation of the old regime continues, with Sister Thompson and all the other Popular Front apparatchiks throughout the country working to overcome the horrific brutalities of life. This Sister Thompson does by continuing her work chairing the tribunal in the city of Milton Keynes, methodically and dispassionately working her way through the people delivered to her custody, absent the pomp and circumstance of old.

But in the country just outside the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others under his charge prepare their defences against an attack which shouldn't come, not yet. The enemy which should impose itself upon them doesn't come in the form of an attack by troops, rather in a new wave of hunger and disease, as this winter turns past Christmas. This revolution, Elijah has said, should be sustained by the very people it seeks to liberate, and it's in this spirit that Sister Simpson has taken to seizing food from the various workers committees around the city. When Valeri's position receives their next supply of food he makes sure that every man and woman under his charge receives something before he eats his. The impending starvation of millions of people has created an entirely new set of challenges even for the fighters of the Popular Front. "Do you know what this is supposed to be?" asks one of the young fighters under Valeri's charge, a woman named Gail Marsh. She's been with them since they'd struck out from London around a year ago. "It's a chance to make ourselves count for something," says Valeri, trying to be the leader he's never been, "it's a chance to bring the end of the war a little closer." He's become conscious of the need to stress the anti-war character of the Popular Front, that the whole reason for the revolution was the collective opposition to the war on the continent by the great majority of the British people.

"The war will end as soon as it can," says Valeri, even though he has nothing to base this statement on. "I hope you're right," says the woman Gail. As this Christmas comes and goes, there's little opportunity for ceremony, with the city of Milton Keynes seeing special church services but otherwise nothing official to mark the occasion. Families have what food they can; the Popular Front's special rationing hasn't been relaxed but tightened for the holiday season. If ever Valeri should've felt reluctant to deny women and children food, then his mettle is tested most when a group of refugees present to his position, asking for something, anything at all to spare. But they have nothing to offer these people, nothing, as Valeri is come to say, but freedom. In some parts of the country, the massacres and the killings which'd began under the old regime continue unabated, with some of the worst violence carried out in the provinces. It matters little to the men and women of the Popular Front whether they've got any chance left to redeem themselves by the armed struggle they're part of. Now, more than a year has passed since the founding of the new People's Republic. Much has changed, both in Britain and around the world, but still men like Valeri Kovalenko struggle simply to survive. But now they struggle together, in service of a common cause, their long and arduous march through the countryside emblematic of something far more profound. And Valeri doesn't think of his own personal future, so consumed is his life in fighting for the revolution. Still he thinks, from time to time, of his dead mother and father, killed as they'd been when he was only a boy. Still he wishes, from time to time, he could visit their grave somewhere in one of London's many sprawling residential districts, although he suspects the cemetery where they're buried has been left to grow wild. He doesn't know in fact that their cemetery has been occupied by homeless, the destruction of so much housing throughout the revolution and the fifteen years that'd preceded it having driven so many people to take refuge even in a graveyard. It was not even twenty years ago that the screens had been filled with breathless voices boldly proclaiming the eternal character of the pre-revolutionary way, no matter how decrepit and rotten it was behind the scenes. Still throughout London and all Britain's other major cities there remain standing the gleaming, glass and steel towers which'd once sprung up seemingly overnight. Nearly all have been abandoned by their once-owners, not that anyone could've ever known who'd owned them, concealed as their true ownership had always been behind a byzantine and opaque system of fronts and holding companies. "It's a long ways off," says Valeri, referring to their final victory in the revolution at home, "in fact, it's something none of us will live to see." The young men and women who make up the bulk of the Popular Front's forces can't remember any time before the war.

In Northern Ireland, the mass killings have assumed a sectarian character, the nationalists subjected to a horrific campaign of ethnic cleansing at the hands of unionists. The unionists and the nationalists have kept up their respective campaigns of sectarian violence after the re-emergence of paramilitaries committed to violence on both sides. The Good Friday Agreement, signed decades ago, has been abrogated by all parties and their respective paramilitaries. In Belfast, the nationalists have seized several parts of the city and defend them like fortresses. A young man named James Byrne has taken in with the nationalist paramilitaries defending their neighbourhoods against unionist attack. After having repelled one such attack, James and the others resume their patrols, marching through the streets. "Where do we go?" asks one young fighter. "I don't know," says James. They're discussing nothing at all, embarrassed as they are by the limited vision of their elders. "We've been given specific instructions to find and kill anyone who's in the Popular Front," says another fighter, the eldest among them, "no matter whether they're armed or unarmed." They happen across a few civilians in the streets, and they search each, finding no arms or any material that might prove these men and women members of any Popular Front affiliate. "They're all clear to go," says James, but the eldest fighter among them interjects. The eldest says, "select two of them at random and put them up against the wall." James is reluctant, but complies without protest. The two selected are shot dead, their bodies left to rot in the street. But these young men have been won over by sectarian propaganda, turned against their brothers and sisters in union who have been so similarly turned. In the end, these brothers and sisters will have been joined with the revolution, with their leaders punished for their crimes.

For now, Valeri and the others under his charge must tend to their wounds and gather their strength for the next battle, consumed as they are in service of the revolution. After having won the city of Milton Keynes in a brutal series of battles, all that's left for the men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury is to secure their victory by establishing new defensive positions facing north and east. Sister Simpson's newest communiqués suggest attack is imminent, even though they've fought off the most recent enemy attack only a short time ago. "If you receive word of another shipment, call for me immediately," Valeri says, speaking with another of his subordinates, a young man named Theodore Schultz. The young man nods his quiet understanding. Then, as Valeri's about to turn and make for the next position, the young man says, "I don't think there's going to be another shipment for a long time." Valeri pauses to consider his response, before saying, "well, keep an eye out anyways." Valeri's stomach growls, and he turns away from the young man's position hungry and tired as ever. After they've had their food distributed for the night, Valeri has only the smallest meal he's had in months. It consists of a slice of bread, a tin of creamed corn past its expiration date, and a second tin of beans. Water's taken from a nearby river. These emergency measures are typical of conditions endured throughout the country, in areas under the control of the Popular Front and those of the National Forces.

In the Welsh city of Swansea, not far from the capital Cardiff, the nationalists have pursued their own course separate from those who would seek unity among the working class parties. But as well there are various minor factions, neither aligned with the nationalists nor with the Popular Front, these various minor factions previously associated with the now-defunct Provisional Government. A young man named Oliver Lewis has taken up with the nationalists, who've seized the city and largely eliminated any competition to their rule. Still they receive orders from their leaders to push through neighbourhoods in search of Popular Front sympathisers, having been told that there are many secret assemblies dedicated to overthrowing nationalist rule and instituting Popular Front rule in its place. One day, Oliver's group search a block of flats, haphazardly choosing some doors to break down and not others. In one flat, Oliver finds a few people, mostly middle aged men and women along with a few children. He's about to leave them be, when he receives a call to hold position and wait for the others. His fellow gunmen arrive, and soon the order comes through to execute everyone in this flat. "It must be a mistake," says Oliver, only to be overridden by his commander. His commander says, "there are many secret assemblies we don't know of. If the order is to kill them, then we can kill a few people today or have to kill many more tomorrow." This conversation is had in full view of the residents, including the children, who are aware of their fate. These civilians aren't members of any secret assembly, aren't loyal to the Popular Front, although even if they are then their killing would still be an act of murder. Although Oliver has personal misgivings, in the end he complies.

These shortages have been resolved through the total requisition of all resources by the Popular Front, with not a hammer or nail, nor a crust of bread or tin of expired soup left in private hands, at least in areas under the control of the new People's Republic. But even these measures won't last. Throughout Britain, there are relentless mutinies against the miscellaneous powers who order acts of barbarism and murder. At the estate in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri's platoon-sized band of fighters survive. But as Valeri has come to learn, the revolution has never been and must never be an impassionate, ill-disciplined uprising, must always consciously work to disregard the impetuous urges in favour of a carefully organised strategy. At their little estate, Valeri orders a new set of positions, guns turned in every direction. The ammunition stores they've seized have greatly replenished their fighting abilities, but Valeri knows from experience even these stores won't last long against a determined assault, particularly if the enemy should attack on multiple fronts. "We'll set up deeper in the property," says Lynn, "we've found a large cellar directly underneath the main building. We can sleep in there." Valeri asks, "what of the civilians?" Lynn says, "they're still here, they've got nowhere else to go." Valeri nods. "Move them into the cellar whenever the enemy attacks," says Valeri, "they can take shelter there." Left unsaid is their mutual understanding that this estate should serve as a refuge for so many Jews seeking their protection. The Jewish refugees who'd fled murder at the hands of the sectarian militia and gangs of racist youths remain in Milton Keynes, their refuge centred on the synagogue. They bring from the cities beyond stories of having been subjected to a renewed pogrom that has killed many and left many more homeless. In the Scottish countryside, the violence is reaching a new fever pitch, with the various factions pitted against one another. The illusion of unity offered by the separatists and the nationalists is long ago shattered.

In the smaller city of Falkirk, the various factions have come to an uneasy truce. A young man named Jack Taylor fights as a gunman for a nationalist force, one of many vying for control of this city. Jack and his fellow gunmen are going door to door, searching for stores of weapons and ammunition to confiscate, under orders to kill anyone found to be harbouring Popular Front fighters. They seize a store of weapons from an unknown block of flats, then march the residents from the flats adjoining the flat in which they found the weapons into the hall. Jack is personally charged with lining the men, woman, and children against the far side of the hall. "If none of you will confess, then you'll all suffer," says the head gunman, before turning to Jack and saying, "shoot two of them." Jack says, "they've got children." He can see these are not rebels. "Shoot them," says the head gunman, "or you die first." Reluctantly, Jack singles out two men, and shoots them dead. Eventually, one man volunteers himself as the supposed Popular Front rebel, and the nationalists abscond with him in the night. This man isn't a rebel, and he'll be tortured for information he doesn't have. He volunteered to spare the children. He doesn't know it but the Popular Front is here. This isn't its time to rise. But that time is rapidly approaching.

An attack on an old Royal Navy base by forces loyal to the Popular Front yields an unexpected gift. In a protective enclosure the rebels find a single submarine, the submarine carrying long-range ballistic missiles with nuclear warheads. It'd been thought that all Britain's nuclear weapons had been evacuated, with submarines and missile-laden aircraft having been dispatched to the United States where they remain interned under guard. At once, the commander of the attack, a woman known only to the men as Sister Hamilton, sends a message to London informing the new People's Republic of their prize and requesting instructions. The people of Britain continue to agitate against the war on the continent, an agitation which provided the impetus for the recent wave of uprisings throughout the country. All around Greater London, anti-war banners remain, draped against walls, flying from telephone poles and streetlights. These banners were not hung by miscellaneous civilians but by agents of the various factions who've joined the Popular Front since its foundation. The rebel Elijah is on his way through the streets in the back of a lorry when he receives the report on their capture of the nuclear weapons at that old Royal Navy base. Although he must keep a brave face for his disciples, in a private moment he becomes despondent, allowing himself this weakness. On arrival at their headquarters in the heart of old Westminster, though, he's presented with grim news. But the worst violence of all isn't reserved for victims of ethnic sectarians in the provinces, rather for those caught in the struggle behind nationalist lines in England. In the countryside somewhere between Cambridge and Peterborough, a column of refugees, some Jewish, are happened upon by nationalist forces on their way to the front. The nationalists have long taken to murdering anyone who looks vaguely Jewish, according to their own racist caricature of a conception of Jewish people.

A young woman named Karla Flowers is in this column, along with her younger sister and brother. After the lorry they sit in had stopped moving, they can hear the sounds of boots trampling against the pavement all around. There's several voices shouting angrily, indistinctly. "What's going on?" asks Karla. "They've found them," says another, a young man. "Found who?" asks Karla. But before the young man can reply, the back door to their lorry is opened, with soldiers angrily demanding everyone out. There are no Jewish refugees in this lorry, but the presence of some in others have fed the nationalists' worst impulses. Soon the refugees are lined up along the road, in a ragged and haggard line, the nationalists proceeding to shoot them all dead. The last thing Karla does before she's killed is hold her siblings' hands tight, the three of them silently praying for deliverance from this evil. They'll have it, if not by their own effort then by the effort of the dark essence which guides the revolution. The rebel Elijah has been able to use the burgeoning anti-war sentiment to his own advantage, maneuvering his apparatchiks carefully into positions where they can exact his plan. But these, these nuclear weapons, their sudden acquisition changes everything overnight. Elijah realizes this. In an emergency session with his closest disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, he decides on a course of action. "We'll keep the nuclear weapons secret from the general population," he says, "for now. When the time is right, we'll reveal their existence and our possession of them to the American ambassador." This sets off a firestorm of debate amongst his disciples, each of them holding their own positions passionately. In the end, though, it shouldn't matter when the world at large learns of the Popular Front's acquisition of nuclear weapons, for everyone would've known it inevitable anyways. After a long and painful accession to the halls of power, still the People's Republic must survive these threats. Meanwhile, in London the greatest trial yet staged by the forces of the new People's Republic and the Popular Front that controls it is about to begin.

Finally, in the countryside somewhere between Southampton and Basingstoke the full extent of the nationalists' cruelty is revealed in the most heinous of massacres yet. A column of refugees has been moving along the old M3 when they're set upon by militiamen. They're stopped first, with militiamen blocking the road ahead. These refugees are headed into Greater London, seeking the protection of the Popular Front against the atrocities of the nationalists. A young woman named Susan Schneider is among them, with her two small children fleeing certain death in her hometown along the way. Positioned near the front of the column, she can overhear the leader of the militiamen asking to speak with whoever's in charge. A middle aged man from the lorry at the front of their convoy volunteers himself. "We order you to stop where you're going," says the head militiaman, "and submit to our authority. We'll take from you whatever we want, and arrest any suspected rebels." The refugee says, "please let us through, we have nothing to give you." The head militiaman says, "nothing but the air in your lungs and the blood in your veins." In the distance behind them, Susan can see militiamen moving down the convoy, before setting up a barricade on the road behind the last lorry. The militiamen make a show of rifling through each of the lorries. "Please," says the man, "have mercy." But it's not to be. As the militiamen start from the back of the convoy and work their way forward, Susan holds her young children close. She can see the light filtering in through holes in the back of the lorry's thin metal skin. With a few others she thinks to jump out the back. But as she takes her children and approaches the tail of the lorry's cavernous interior, suddenly the door opens, and two militiamen point their rifles inside, spraying fire, killing her, with their first volleys missing the children. But the children won't be spared.

As terrifying and as brutal as these turn of events might seem, there's hope, there's always hope. At a small, nondescript shophouse in the outer environs of the city of Manchester, a congregation meets every Sunday. This congregation is only one of thousands that've sprung up over the past year in cities controlled by the Popular Front, each having risen all but spontaneously following the declaration of the new People's Republic. This young congregation is led by a firebrand preacher, with the congregants coming from all ages and ethnic backgrounds. But this preacher has no qualifications, has been ordained by no central authority, instead having been seized by the Holy Spirit. He buttresses his sermon with quotes from his Bible, every quote eliciting an 'amen' or 'hallelujah' from the congregants. "...And that is why we must all persist through these dark and difficult times," says the preacher, after having sermonised on the need to support the new People's Republic. He continues, saying, "We have lost much. And it's precisely because we've lost much that we must keep on working, or else all we've lost will have been in vain." This is the character of the spiritual awakening sweeping through Britain's working class, after so many decades of the nation's churches being given to empty ritualism and deadened materialism. Now, with the Popular Front's work of overthrowing capitalism in the midst of succeeding, the working class can become born again en masse. The preacher will soon take several of the congregants to meet with the Popular Front's apparatchik, to sign an agreement incorporating their church and several others into the Popular Front.

Although the apparatchiks of the Popular Front have been carrying out their work in every city and town they've seized, this greatest trial will see some of the most difficult trials any of them have ever endured. But Elijah knows their work is only beginning. Now he must begin to lay the foundation for all that's to come. Everything that's transpired, everything that's been so hard won will have been lost if their work to lay the foundation for what must come is unsuccessful. Elijah is yet unaware of the rise of this figure known to the world as Clark, but the time for him to become aware is almost at hand.

24. Brought Together

Two months pass. After news arrives of the first mass killings in Poland and the Balkans, almost as soon as the first bodies have fallen to the ground, a new decision must be reached. As if the endless death and destruction were a small price to pay for what must come, the bodies have fallen but the blood has not yet been spilled. But these internal debates which've come to characterise the quieter moments of life soon give way to the new horrors unfolding all around them, all at once. Even with the lack of screens among many of the Popular Front's fighters, new of these killings in Poland and the Balkans travels quickly. As the British army remains stationed in Eastern Poland but not in the Balkans, the vast majority of the news and images that flood the screens of so many Britons comes from Poland, leading to the sensibility setting in that most of these crimes are taking place there. It's a confusing and disjointed sequence of events, one which Valeri and those under his charge are only vaguely aware of as they continue to fortify their positions. "I don't know if you've heard," says Lynn, approaching Valeri as he shovels frozen dirt, "but there's trouble on the screens." Valeri doesn't even look up, continuing to shovel frozen sod as he says, "there's always trouble on the screens." But then Lynn uses her newfound abilities to communicate without speaking, conveying her thoughts to Valeri even as she says nothing at all. She leans down, squatting at the top of the positions, seeming to be perched on the edge as Valeri stands at the bottom. "Do you really think we're going to make it?" he asks. She says nothing. He stops working, pausing to look her right in the eye. "I suppose you're right," he says, "if we could all die at any moment, then we've got no reason not to keep fighting." Sometimes, when there's these little moments of quiet, Valeri and the others under his charge can hear the distant screaming, or But these are not the first such mass killings in Poland and the Balkans during these troubled times; these are simply the first such killings that've emerged from the tremendous background noise of so many concurrent wars spiralling out of control all at once. Despite the truce between Russia and its allies and the loose coalition of Western countries on the other, still the threat of nuclear annihilation from either side has forced an uneasy standoff, with most of the nations' armies in the same state of heightened alert. Although Elijah has seen fit to continue supplying the army on the continent through a complicated arrangement, this can't last forever.

This news of mass killings in Poland will provide the impetus for the next step in carrying out the rebel Elijah's plans for the revolution here in Britain. Although men like Valeri remain isolated from the larger events by the concerns they have with day to day survival, their learning of the mass killings against Jewish and Romani populations causes them all to acknowledge grimly what they've known for a long time. A few nights after they've learned of the first massacres in Poland, Valeri finds himself unable to lead the others in study, so distracted as he is by the news. He joined the forces of the Popular Front with a particular conception of what the Popular Front had done, what it'd been, only to find himself the foot soldier in a war much longer and much more vicious than anything he could've expected. "I don't have membership in any of those parties," he says, referring to all the vast and disparate factions who've come together under the banner of the Popular Front. All the other factions besides the Worker's Party and the People's Party must accept as a condition of their membership the co-equal leadership of these two. This is not widely known even among the rank and file members of the churches, trade unions, and student associations who make up the bulk of the Popular Front's various factions, but is known to their leadership. In time, Valeri and the others will come to see the vast bulk of the Popular Front in ways they could've never before. "Are you ready?" asks Valeri. "As ready as I'm going to be," says the younger Aretha Cordoba. She's been preparing herself mentally to join these new study sessions, although Valeri can tell from the light behind her eyes that she must be looking forward to it. "I know this is hard for you," he says. "No," she says, "this isn't hard for me." At an earlier juncture, she'd let slip and told him about her Jewish lineage, on her mother's side of the family. He'd remarked that 'Cordoba' didn't seem like much of a Jewish name, which'd prompted her to tell him of her mother's maiden name, Weiss. "Aretha Weiss," Valeri had said, speaking rhetorically. "Well," Aretha had said, "not quite." The recent escalation in the killings and lynchings of Jews at the hands of sectarian militia and gangs of nationalist youths have given many Britons reason to fear. If the violence spiralling out of control on the streets of Britain's cities and towns is any harbinger for the future, then Valeri and the others have much to fear, and not only for themselves.

But for the nights that pass slowly and arduously, neither Valeri nor any of the brothers and sisters under his charge know what to expect next. After Aretha had told Valeri of her Jewish lineage, it began to occur to him that she must have had a reason for not being more open about it. In the Popular Front all Jews have protection from violence, from the pogrom that's continued in parts of the country under the control of its many adversaries. She must know, he reasons, that Jewish people are welcome throughout the Popular Front, and that Jewish fighters can be found wherever the Popular Front fights. But that's not all. After having revealed her parentage Aretha seems to Valeri to be rather distant, as if she'd said something she shouldn't have. "Are you going to be a problem moving forward?" asks Valeri, speaking not with Aretha but with one of the others at a forward position. This is a young man who'd joined their forces only recently, after having been picked up in the countryside between the city of Milton Keynes and their current position surrounding their command post at the estate house. "I promise I'll fight harder than anyone else," says the young man. Although Valeri is no psionic talent, he's gained the ability through ordinary experience to comprehend the true intentions of the men and women. It's this tension between Lynn's still-emerging psionic talents and Valeri's still-gathering experience that should come to characterise the developing schism in the revolution. After having been consigned to the trenches they've built with their own hands, Valeri's determined that they must fight harder still. But the recent revelation of Aretha's Jewish heritage has engendered in Valeri a new respect for her. He believes as he's always believed that the forces of the Popular Front have a space for everyone, a belief which has been reinforced by the rebel Elijah's edicts that anyone who agrees to fight for the Popular Front is forgiven their sins. "I think it might be a good idea to keep the emplacements open," says Lynn, "for the field guns, if they ever arrive." But the discussion they have is cloaked behind a subtext both understand even as each understands exactly what they're doing.

After a few more nights have passed in the coldest winter yet witnessed. Valeri and a few of the others at his estate house command post take to watching footage of atrocities in Poland, beamed to them nearly instantaneously by way of the handheld screens carried by many of the angry, nationalist youths who perpetrate these pogroms. "Where else could these crimes take place?" asks Valeri, speaking rhetorically even as he's surrounded by his subordinates. "They're happening right here," says his lead hand, Lynn, as she goes on to talk about the scores of Jewish refugees now under the Popular Front's care in the city of Milton Keynes behind them. "How long can the world sit on the sidelines?" asks one young man, a subordinate named Bradford Weaver. "They're not," says Valeri, "they've never been. I think the first thing they're going to do when the act is fight us." From atop a makeshift pole mounted on the roof of the little estate house flies the flag of the Popular Front, its red and gold fluttering in stark contrast to the shocking whiteness of the snowbound countryside. It's been several weeks, a few months even, since the onset of the wave of uprisings that permitted their entry into the city of Milton Keynes, and very little has changed for Valeri's fighters since then. Some Popular Front bands are ordered to keep up the offensive by local apparatchiks, operating on instructions from the higher ups. Others, like Valeri's, are ordered to remain in place. The distinction between the two is not lost on Valeri, as he receives reports from his operator on the Popular Front's activities in the cities and in the countryside beyond. None of them can possibly see fit to challenge the larger plan which their leader Elijah has laid out for them, no matter how they might long to lash out in anger. It recalls the moments not all that long ago when Valeri and the others might've seen fit to disobey their orders whenever the whim to do so overcame them, only some weeks, perhaps a couple of months earlier.

"We've seen so many people killed here," says Valeri, "what's so special about what's happening in Poland?" But even now, surrounded by his subordinates in the estate house where he makes his command post, Valeri can sense the gathering blackness, the evil presence that seems to emanate from the sky. "Nothing," says his lead hand, Lynn, "nothing at all." People are dying, innocent people are being murdered at the hands of so many criminals, and still it rankles Valeri to be now made to sit on the sidelines and fight something vaguely resembling a conventional war at the same time. After a period of rest, allowed by a momentary pause in enemy action, Valeri and the others here look to the countryside beyond and wonder why they haven't yet been ordered to take up the offensive again. Their one lorry has broken down again, this time while evacuating casualties to the hospital in the city of Milton Keynes. Without any spare lorries anywhere in the city, this breakdown means any further casualties will have to be evacuated by manual labour, on stretchers carried every step of the way by two men each. It's cold, too cold, with the temperature having remained below freezing throughout the winter thus far. All Europe north of the forty-fifth parallel is suffering from the frozen hell that this unseasonably early and cold winter. Some of the older fighters serving in the Popular Front, as well as the older citizens throughout the country, can remember a time when Britain's winters were characterised by an endless and light rain, as well as months of overcast skies at a time. It wasn't all that long ago that such a vicious and merciless cold would've been a generational experience, the kind of winter that future generations study in school. But Valeri and the other men and women here at this little estate house in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes have become hardened against the bitter cold, their thin jackets and gloves combined with the fires they've lit providing enough warmth to keep them fighting. "Have you made up your mind?" asks Valeri. "No," says Lynn, "but I've got something to say to you." After all that's happened between them, after all they've been through together, neither Valeri nor Lynn can help but allow themselves to be given to factionalism.

Although Valeri doesn't know if the enemy should ever seek to establish a new position in the countryside beyond, he finds it oddly comforting to be arguing with someone, anyone at all. "Where were you when the war started?" Valeri asks. It's a little while later, and he's speaking not with his lead hand but with his secret lover, Tabitha. "That depends what you mean," she says. "The war," says Valeri. "Which war?" asks Tabitha. And this, this gives Valeri some pause for thought. He then asks, "where were you when the police murdered all those demonstrators?" He hasn't told her that he was there, part of the very crowd where so many people had been shot and killed. "I was at work," she says, "at the warehouse where I worked at the time. When we heard of the massacre we all walked out." But Tabitha never had the protection of a union, something which'd engendered some resentment at the time. "This has all got to end sooner or later," says Lynn, "but I don't know when that's going to be." But Valeri keeps on shoveling sod, even after he's dug a hole far deeper than they could need. He says, "the only thing we can do to find peace is win." But even so simple and honest a man as Valeri is becoming given to understanding the larger picture, as he recalls the rebel Elijah's admonitions that their struggle can never be won. Valeri thinks on the various passages he's read from the two books he has in his possession, an old Bible and a new copy of the foundational text of the new People's Republic, 'On The Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and its Components.' An old man approaches their position. He says, "I'm only a humble farmer, but I can't imagine how it's going to be possible to sow in the spring." Valeri considers it quite telling that the old man is already looking forward to the coming spring even as the whole country remains in a deep freeze. It's almost the new year. It seems to Valeri as though time continues to pass quicker than ever, as though each year that passes should become quicker than the year before.

The next time Valeri can manage to come round to Tabitha's position, she's distracted by the distant thunder. It seems only a small thing, but the distant thunder is palpable against the quiet that's set in all around. Actually, Tabitha's a few years older than Valeri, older than she looks. "It's been a few weeks," says Valeri, as he looks over their position. He makes a point of feigning indifference. Her body is concealed behind the clothes recently confiscated from some miscellaneous bunch of people, chiefly by a pair of oversized trousers and a large jumper. "Has it been that long?" she asks. Both are becoming given to the way of the Popular Front's fighters, the way of self-denial even during times of incredible hardship. "I never went back to work," Tabitha says, "it was a while before any of us returned to the warehouse. But when we did, it wasn't to work." The massacres and the lynchings which characterised life during the last days under the now-defunct Provisional Government continue, even during this relative pause in the fighting there accumulating a vast death toll. When Valeri and the others under his charge observe columns of refugees passing through the countryside below, he orders the closest section to approach the refugees and track them along the road. Eventually, he comes to appreciate something different about this young woman Tabitha. It's a small thing, to be so close to another but to be unable to reach out and touch her, and it leaves Valeri a changed man. "What did you do when you went back to the warehouse?" he asks. "We took over," says Tabitha. "A lot of workers took over," says Valeri, recalling his having taken part in that very uprising. "It wasn't so easy as that," says Tabitha. She proceeds to recount having found herself and the other workers under attack from goons hired by managers at the time. With the other workers she'd retreated, and regrouped at their nearby union hall. Then, they'd waited a few days before staging a new attack on their warehouse.

"But there was more to it than that," Tabitha says, "it was so different the second time. I don't know how to explain it." Valeri tries to place this exact sequence of events in terms of his own experiences at the time, but he can't. Tabitha doesn't seem to know much of the struggle of the brothers and sisters in union, given that she, like most British working men and women, has never been a member of a trade union. It's only been a short while since Valeri came to see Tabitha, and already he's got to move on, the other positions demanding his attention equally. Actually, Tabitha's is the only position that doesn't require any serious work to prepare any better for the hypothetical enemy assault, the others all demanding his labour in order to make up for the lack of their own. All the while Valeri makes the conscious effort to focus on the task at hand, diverting his attentions from the welfare of his would-be lover to the prospect facing them of a new enemy assault which could come at any moment. But it doesn't come, not right away, the meanwhile permitting them all a brief respite from the intensity of the fighting. This comes at a time when the winter weather has seemingly frozen every muddy crevasse into sod.

But the massacres and the lynchings which came to characterise life during the last days under the now-defunct Provisional Government have diminished somewhat, as the appetite of so many people for such horrors has faded over time. The last in a series of attacks on their position has been routed, only for additional attacks to threaten at any time. For Valeri, though, this period of relative calm hasn't meant the opportunity to engage in much personal growth, his debate with some of the most fervent believers in his unit. His having taken to leading some of the men and women under his charge in study now has led to a seminal moment in all their growth as rebels. "I won't rest until the last of the managers, businessmen, and landowners is brought to justice," says Valeri, seeking to impress the seriousness of the moment on those who've gathered to learn, "but I know that can never be complete." He sees Lynn, not sitting with the others but standing a little ways away. They meet at the estate house. She's been around their various positions, inspecting that which has already been inspected many times over. Valeri points at one of the fighters assembled, a young woman named Kara McKinney. As has become their custom, the current speaker has only to point at the next speaker to signal the end of his turn. The young woman Kara McKinney takes over. "...And there's no stronger force than the factions united," says Kara, "like the struggle against our enemies, the struggle to unite all our factions can never be complete." This is a core component of the rebel Elijah's teachings, and it's been disseminated as part of the package of learnings to all who would join the ranks of the Popular Front, whether trade unions, churches, or student associations, among others. But in these study sessions the entirety of the Popular Front's knowledge is laid bare, with such a simple man as Valeri to lead them this knowledge hidden behind words. After having emerged as the de facto leader of one faction of fighters, his learned knowledge opposing Lynn's still-developing talents, it seems altogether strange and discomforting for Valeri to be unable to access the plain meaning of the texts laid out before him. These two texts, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components' and the Bible, any analysis of either requires more than the simple reading of words by the literate. It's during one such study session that Valeri finds himself lost, standing in one room with several others, holding these two books in his right hand, one book nestled in the other. He's been using his left hand to gesture, only to find himself suddenly at a loss.

For now, though, during this confusing and disjointed in-between time, Valeri and those under his charge are left listless, dazed and confused. It seemed only a short time ago that they were dashing into the city of Milton Keynes, seizing the city in a lightning attack after having slogged through the countryside for so many months. Now, with the coldest winter in Western Europe's last two hundred years only beginning, all action seems to have come to a halt. After Valeri has seemed to turn a corner in advancing his own personal consciousness, he seeks to help the others in his small, platoon-sized band of fighters in advancing through their own such journeys. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?" asks Lynn, though she seems to mean it in a forward manner. "No more or less than anyone else," says Valeri. They proceed to talk about the basic outline of the enemy forces in the countryside beyond their position, even as there's little they can do about that problem. They agree on their own truce, agreeing inasmuch as they can, with events about to overtake them both. "We'll be on the move again," says Valeri, turning away from Lynn to manage the new fortifications he's been building at the estate house itself. "These are the only two books I need," he says, pointing to his copies of the Bible and the foundational text of the People's Republic. "If you believe in one," says Lynn, referring to the Bible, "then you can't believe in the other, right?" But Valeri shakes his head, before saying, "one will always supersede the other." They go on to have a debate, the very same debate that's been had a hundred thousand times over and that'll continue to be had for so long as the Popular Front's men and women remain in the midst of their confusing and disjointed journeys. By the time this night is through, more people will have died, many more. But that doesn't seem altogether important to Valeri and the others under his charge, for their time to face the enemy within is nearly at hand. As another night passes, the deep freeze they've had to endure seems to refuse to let up, a sudden snowfall in the middle of the night dropping several centimetres on the ground. Although Valeri's men and women survive through the burning of fires for warmth, not everyone is so fortunate, across the country people dying from exposure to the extreme cold.

Elsewhere, in the city of Birmingham, Christopher Jenkins works on the barricades with many others, the ranks of these workers having been swelled by the Popular Front's offering of work when so few else are able to provide employment. They find clothes to keep themselves warm, and they sleep in flats near their most recently-erected barricades. After having been made to erect these most recent barricades across a narrow street in a residential area of the city, it falls to Chris and a few of the others to move across the city. "Where are we headed now?" asks one young man. "East of here," says Chris, "they've got nothing but words for us." Another young man asks, "what does that mean?" For Chris, these next few days will mean continued hardship as they make their way through to the eastern part of the city. Many of these workers who've been taken into the service of the Popular Front's ranks in the area are now being directed east, where they'll construct new fortifications against the expected attack on the city.

But there's more to it than that, there's always more to it than that. At some point in the very near future, Chris'll encounter his friend, Helen Reed, again. "Don't slack up," says Chris, when next they're put to work again. Chris has been designated lead hand by the local Popular Front apparatchik over this small group of workers. Deep in the city of London, a large city beneath the city has emerged in the old underground stations and tubes. The trains have long stopped running, and hundreds of thousands of people have taken refuge from the threat of nuclear fire along the tracks and on the platforms. Although many of the people who live in these underground sanctuaries leave during the day to work, some have taken to spending their whole lives here, without having ventured above ground in months. Two such people are a young man named Lochan and a young woman named Maya. They came to one particular underground station at different times; she's been living here since the nuclear firestorm on the continent, while he only took up residence here a few months after the People's Republic had been declared.

Still elsewhere, the young woman Julia Roberts prepares for a coming assembly. The Popular Front has commandeered a large lecture hall at an old university for this purpose, with chairs reserved at the head of the hall for each member of the large council which has formed. The council is expected to vote additional powers to the Popular Front, with the agenda having been set already at previous sessions. Although Julia isn't the first to arrive at the hall on the day in question, she's among the first, and she doesn't see her old friend Fred White when she arrives. The hall itself is rather nondescript, consisting of an ordinary, paneled office building at one end and a large hall at the other. The conference hall can seat several hundred, and it's filled for the event. Despite the harsh winter weather, hundreds of people stand outside after the inside of the building has been filled. "They've all come here to see us," says Julia, speaking with Fred a few hours before the assembly is scheduled to begin. "Do they know the outcome is already determined?" asks Fred. "I don't know," says Julia, "but it doesn't really matter if they do." The people clamouring to get into the conference hall aren't sitting on any currently-formed council, nor are they members of any council that'd been displaced by the council Julia now sits on. But they come nevertheless. Soon, the Popular Front's local apparatchik arrives, there to agree to take the powers voted to the Front by the council. Then, Julia knows, the real drama will begin.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Sunderland the young man Joe Hill has managed to keep on working at the plant that's still in operation despite the chronic shortages and constant violence throughout much of the area. Joe and the other workers sometimes expect the Popular Front fighters to attack the area, but this is an expectation they never seem to realise. After a night of continuous work for little pay, Joe and the other workers start to think about the course of the war. "The war will end sooner or later," says Roy, "and when it does, I'll just serve under whoever wins." This sentiment is echoed among some of the workers, many of them having similarly expressed a desire for the fighting to end. A guard comes around, shooting glares at some of the workers but conspicuously avoiding Joe. "I haven't even seen her in days," says Joe, after having been asked by one of his fellow workers about his friend Nina. "You shouldn't wait around for her to come," says his friend, "you should find her." So many workers have come and gone, disappearing as soon as they'd appeared, and Joe sees the wisdom in this friend's message.

But in London, this network of refugee encampments beneath the city are not places of idle suffering. They're places of work all the same. Maya works in the section of the camps devoted to repairing machine tools, while Lochan works in a section devoted to medicine. They haven't seen much of one another since they'd come to be friends, their work days underground demanding so much of their time. It's been several weeks since either of them have seen the sun. But they keep on working anyways, both of them too young to remember a time before this life of endless struggle. Much will change in the coming weeks. Before the spring thaw can set in, many more people will have died throughout Britain and across a restive Europe. Not all will have died from the cold. In fact, for every man, woman, or child killed by the sectarian forces and by the gangs of nationalist youths, there are many more who've been saved by the strict rationing and careful planning of the Popular Front's apparatchiks. But that won't matter much longer, as all Britain, all Europe's edging towards the logical outcome of so many years of unrestrained capitalism and unfettered greed. A small number of working class men and women ask Sister Thompson for an audience, where they plead for mercy on one of the accused, a former functionary of the local authority who pledged his support to the now-defunct Provisional Government. Sister Thompson says to them, "if any of you should volunteer yourselves to take his place on the gallows, then let it be so. This man is one of those who have refused atonement, and so the full weight of his crimes will be held against him." Sister Thompson has sentenced the man to die, and his death will serve as the culmination of so many weeks of work at a frenetic pace. This man, whose name won't be known, but he's been responsible for some of the worst excesses of life under the pre-revolutionary regime.

Still elsewhere, in the city of Norwich the young woman Marilyn Carter still works under the local militia, enslaved according to the whim of the authority who commands it. In this part of the country the collapse of the pre-revolutionary order has meant the local authority resembling a feudal lordship, with its will enforced by the brutal means of the militia. After so many months of having been subjected to the indignities and the brutalities of slavery, Nina has become almost dulled to the worst of it, expecting as she does the war to end any time. Today, she and some of the other slave labourers are serving on the docks at one of the area's warehouses, loading shipping containers with machinery taken from industrial centres further into the country. "Where do you think these are going?" asks one young man, a young man who's been brought in to work alongside the others only recently. "Doesn't matter," says Marilyn. It occurs to Marilyn that these industrial machines are being shipped abroad, but she doesn't think to say anything about it. "I'm looking for something that isn't there," says Marilyn, a few hours later after they've been put in for the night. "Nothing is certain," says another worker. They're shacked up in their housing. "Something's coming," says Marilyn, "and it's almost here." And even through the hardships of this winter the work must continue in the network of refugee encampments beneath London.

Among so many others, Maya works during the day, while Lochan works at night. They have scarcely any time to spend with one another; but what little time they have is spent in the underground's communal areas. Periodically the power goes out completely, plunging the underground or sections of it into complete darkness, but for the battery-powered torches some of the workers have. After a particularly hard day on the lines, which is how these workers have taken to referring to their work given that they work on repurposed underground lines, neither Lochan nor Maya see each other despite both looking for one another in the nearest communal area to their respective worksites. Both Maya and Lochan have been thinking about the same thing recently, and either one of them has arrived at the same determination at the same time, give or take an hour or two. In the countryside beyond Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others look for any advancing enemy activity. "I can't even see any enemy positions out there," says Valeri, peering through a pair of binoculars. "Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they're not there," says Lynn. And this is a moment that the Americans choose to fixate on, this harshest, earliest winter in many, many years, with a particular image seeming to beam across the screens of so many all around the world. This image, it's of an elderly woman left to freeze to death in an alley behind a disused shop somewhere in the north of England. An enterprising young reporter had paused to take a picture of her the day following her death in the night, one night, and disseminated that picture of her frozen corpse via networks across the world. It matters little that this elderly woman had frozen to death in the night in a part of Britain outside the control of the Popular Front and its newly-founded People's Republic. By the time Valeri and the others at this encampment find themselves in action against the enemy again, much will have changed again.

Still Valeri is like all the others fighting under the banner of the Popular Front in that he has invested everything he has in the cause. But when these spare moments present themselves still he allows himself to turn to the pages of the only two books he carries, seeking not entertainment but enlightenment in their pages. These moments have been vanishingly few since he'd first been given any kind of authority all those months ago. Still, after all that's happened, after all he's been through and after all he's seen lost, such a simple thing as the reading of books he's already read can enable him to become equipped for what must come next. Valeri and the others here at this little estate house perched on top of a hill outside the city of Milton Keynes won't have long to wait until the full horror of the path they've chosen is visited upon them. The next time Valeri encounters one of his brothers or sisters from their recently-taken study sessions, he thinks to keep a stiff upper lip and a tight jaw as he makes a show of inspecting their position. "It's coming soon," says Valeri, speaking a little while later with Lynn, Aretha, and a few others at their estate house command post. "You're right about that," says Lynn, "but it may not come from the place you expect it." Were it coming from anyone else Valeri might take issue with the veiled threat, but after having kept up pretences for so long he's too exhausted to do anything.

Finally, for Roy Cook these uncertain times have proven particularly challenging. He works on the barricades like many others, preparing for a defensive effort that may never be necessary. After having lost his young wife, Sabrina Hale, only a few weeks after their unceremonious marriage, Roy hasn't had the time or the energy neither to become personally invested in one thing or another, seeking instead simply to work through each and every day, a task which comes to require more energy than he can muster. Although he continues to work, being that he must in order to avoid having his modest income withheld by the local apparatchik of the Popular Front, he can no longer summon the energy needed to do more than the minimum acceptable amount of work. When the order comes through for their output to be increased, both individually and collectively, Roy responds in turn, increasing the effort he needs to meet this new minimum, but no more. On the line, he sometimes feels guilty for having been rendered incapable of working any harder than he is by nothing more than his mounting depression, given that there are many more people out there capable of working less than he due to real, physical ailments, yet who choose to work harder than he. But when the rogue pastor approaches him, at the nearby church one Sunday, and asks him to volunteer for duty in ministering to the faithful, every Sunday, beginning next Sunday, all Roy can do is agree. He says, "I'll be here." The rogue pastor says, "I'll be counting on you." The pastor recalls as Roy does that this is the very church where Roy and his wife had been married, all those months ago, only to be torn apart by a cruel turn of events.

These nuclear weapons, they're unusable in their present condition. The submarine that carries them is similarly unusable, unfit to head to sea. To make matters worse, even if either component of the system were in perfect working order, the forces of the Popular Front are lacking in any personnel who have the expertise needed to operate them. But this matters little to the rebel Elijah, who understands the political value in having these weapons. Since learning of the Popular Front's acquisition of these weapons, Elijah has been in continuous consultation with the dark essence which guides the revolution, seeking to refine and better coordinate the Popular Front's complicated movements and strategies with the impulses of the dark essence. But London isn't the only city in Britain to have turned its underground into a network of encampments, nor the only city in Britain to have these encampments turned into places of work. In Manchester, Birmingham, and Liverpool, the former underground tubes have become cities unto themselves in exactly the same manner as in London. It matters little that these underground stations and tubes would offer little real protection from a nuclear blast, as they're too close to the surface and in any case a nuclear blast would consume all available oxygen and suffocate the inhabitants to death. When next Maya and Lochan have the chance to see one another, there's little time to waste. "I love you," says Maya. "I love you too," says Lochan. There's more, there's always more, but with such long hours and such dark days neither Lochan nor Maya can spare a moment for one another. By the time they've worked through the next night in their respective underground industrial plants, they'll have much to discuss, much to plan around, much to marvel at, the rapidly changing course of the war demanding new sacrifices even from those who've sacrificed everything.

25. A New Way Forward

Almost instantaneously it seems as though the world has changed, as if someone had absconded with the world men know and replaced it in the night with a world that looks and feels exactly alike, but different, a counterfeit world that seems dissimilar in some hardly quantifiable way. But this turn of events remains unknown to men like Valeri, men who remain ensconced in the little positions they've clawed out in the countryside. When Valeri and the others under his charge next see bands of Popular Front fighters, it's in the form of a haggard group retreating from their most recent engagement. It seems impossible and absurd that this winter should still permit any kind of offensive action by either side, but it's exactly the absurdity and the impossibility of offensive action that reveals itself. "They look so tired," says Valeri, "and it seems there's fewer of them than ever." He stands with a group of his own fighters, mostly young men and women. It wasn't all that long ago that he'd been a young man in the company of so many older men and women, when he'd first come under Sister Simpson's charge. "What can they do?" asks one soldier, a young man named Edmund Crawford. From his own personal experience, Valeri has a vague experience on what to expect. He says, "whatever they can." After the whole lot of them have come to know of the terrible crimes being perpetrated against the Jewish population in countries like Poland, Serbia, and Ukraine, Valeri thinks on the future they should all seek to build. "We can't stop the killing of so many innocent people," he says, speaking to himself as much as to the other assembled fighters, "not right away." Some of them look at Valeri with a quizzical, half-sideways sort of look, each of them recalling his having passionately denounced the killings of Jews and certain others in some of Britain's towns and cities. "What are you saying?" asks one fighter, a young woman named Hilda Cunningham. "I'm saying," says Valeri, "no matter what we do, there are going to be a lot of innocent people who die." After all they've been through, each of them as individuals and the whole lot of them as a unit, some of the brothers and sisters under Valeri's leadership ought to be forgiven for misunderstanding his meaning. He goes on, explaining that he's come to an understanding with the refugees at the estate house, permitting them to take shelter even as battle threatens to explode all around them.

A representative from the local Jewish community in the city of Milton Keynes approaches Sister Thompson and asks her for additional supplies, for foodstuffs and medical supplies. Although Sister Thompson has nothing to spare, she promises the Jewish refugees will receive some additional aid, though she takes great care to inform the man that they may have to wait a few days to receive it. After all that's happened, after the terrible crimes that've been perpetrated against so many innocent people, the one crime that should resonate most among the local population is the single murder of a young woman at the hands of some previously-unknown gang of sectarians, the four perpetrators soon arrested and hauled before Sister Thompson for conviction and hanging. It doesn't fall to Valeri to collect the criminals, of course, but Valeri empathises with those who must carry out this task; when he hears of the perpetrators having been publicly hanged he feels energised in ways that he hasn't for some months now. After Valeri had seen so many Jewish refugees in so small a country as Britain, he wonders who might have been hiding anti-Semitic or otherwise racist beliefs all along, who might've simply been waiting for the ideal opportunity to act on their heretofore concealed beliefs. "What are you saying?" asks one fighter, a young man named Alexander Clifford. "I'm saying," says Valeri, "that when we take up arms against the enemy, it's not the end of our struggle but the beginning of it." This is what the rebel Elijah has been teaching them, since even before the uprising which took the lives of Valeri's mother and father as well as many more mothers and fathers across Britain. "But what do you mean about taking up arms?" asks Alexander. "We've done this already," says Valeri, "but there's much work left to accomplish. I don't think this war will ever truly end."

They know of the pogrom against Jews in Poland, although they know less of the pogroms underway concurrently against Jews in certain other countries, such as Serbia, Albania, and Bulgaria. Although these countries have had very small Jewish populations for many years, the genocidal criminals who would seek to erase them from existence have expanded their search for Jewish blood to include many who aren't Jews, who look vaguely like some racist caricature of what the criminals think a Jew ought to look like. Now, men like Valeri must sit on the sidelines while half a continent away a senseless slaughter of innocent people carries on. "I'm saying I don't like it," says Valeri, "and I don't like the fact that we're here to fight but we've all got to wait for more people to die before we can do anything." But the struggle of so many people to survive through this unusually cold and brutal winter must continue. The struggle of Jewish people to make their way through to safe haven in the territory under the control of the Popular Front is met with the struggle of the Popular Front to enlarge the territory it controls, the salvation of so many innocent Jews is forsaken by the failure of the Popular Front's forces to win a quick and easy revolution, even if such an eventuality was never possible. It seems so odd to Valeri that it's only now that these tensions should erupt into a full-fledged campaign of ethnic cleansing, well over a year after Elijah had declared the founding of the new People's Republic and longer still after the old, hated Provisional Government had become essentially defunct. But then Valeri is becoming given to the belief—to the understanding that there's only struggle for those who would seek peace. "What are you saying?" asks another of Valeri's fighters, a young woman named Opal Reed.

"I'm saying," says Valeri, "that we're fighting a war that can never be truly won, not in the traditional sense of winning or losing." At this moment, Valeri and the others are bitterly cold, a wind having caught. It hasn't snowed in some weeks, but the frigid temperatures have meant the snow and ice that covers the countryside haven't melted. With nearly all vehicles immobilised in such cold, most travel has to be by foot. In his heart Valeri knows that if his band of fighters were to leave their position and head into the towns beyond, they'd find corpses of people, including children, who'd frozen to death. He doesn't know it, can't know it, but in the parts of Britain still under the control of the National Forces many Jewish victims of pogroms are killed not by the bullet or by beating but in being stripped of their clothes and made to walk through a field or down an empty road. The Popular Front can only seek to protect the country's Jews to the extent that it can, which leaves men like Valeri frustrated at their inability to protect them all. No matter what happens, Valeri knows, no matter how they fight, innocent blood will continue to be spilled in parts of Britain not under their control and across Europe, even the world. Even as the Popular Front takes in as many Jewish refugees as it can, men like Valeri must know there will always be some left untaken, and those left untaken will be subject to terror and murder at the hands of the nationalist forces and the gangs of sectarian youths. These parties have emerged in the reaches of Britain outside the territory controlled by the Popular Front and its new People's Republic. But were these virulent anti-Semitic sympathies always there? Were these racist feelings simply in the background, waiting for the opportunity to express themselves? These thoughts trouble Valeri, even as the larger truth must remain obscured behind his limited vision. As Valeri is an avatar for the larger working class struggle he will brook no tolerance for evil. When next his motley band of fighters take to the offensive—and he's sure this is not long away—he promises himself quietly that any perpetrators of these heinous crimes that he catches will be met with justice, quickly, brutally, publicly. He knows he's capable of dispensing such justice, having proven it to himself several times since taking up arms such a long time ago. "Are you ready for what might come?" asks Lynn, after a few nights have passed. They're not inside the estate house but elsewhere on the sprawling property, outside despite the bitter cold.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," says Valeri. Although Lynn hadn't been around when he'd discussed the ongoing events with some of the others, she's heard of his statements, though she'd needed no hearing of them to know how he thinks. Her still-developing talents have afforded her the ability to choose when she wants to reach inside his thoughts and feelings to find whatever she may. After they'd fought together for over a year, after they'd seen so many of their brothers and sisters killed in fighting for freedom of the working class, and they still could all be undone by something so simple as a minor internal fragmentation brought on by rather pedantic and boring factional differences. Men like Valeri, he's beginning to realise, must never allow this to happen. He realises this even as his small, platoon-sized band of fighters nears its own internal factionalisation. Still, in this disjointed and confusing in-between time only the dark essence which guides the revolution can seek to infuse its influence whenever it should will to do so. Although Valeri is only one man, a rather small man at that, he is becoming an avatar for the larger working class struggle. It's this fact that Valeri isn't aware of but which he can come to appreciate in some vague, instinctive way. "They'll attack soon," says Lynn. "How do you know that?" asks Valeri. But Lynn only looks at him, in the inquisitive sort of way she's taken to looking at him whenever he forgets himself. The most heinous crimes of all are yet to be perpetrated, even as there've been so many crimes already perpetrated, here in Britain and across Europe. When next the enemy attacks their positions, Valeri and the others will have made little further progress in hardening their defences, although they'll have accomplished so much more than the simple rebellion which they originally joined in. But then these were never the simple days that some might have seen fit to impose on them. "Are you coming?" asks Valeri.

"I've got to tend to some of the forward positions," says Lynn. Valeri thinks to press the matter, but he's struck by the sudden awareness of himself. He lets it be. By the time the night is through, much will have happened, here and elsewhere in the country. The hated figure, the anti-rebel Damian assesses events from his headquarters somewhere in the northeast of England, having guided the formation of the coalition known as the National Forces thus far. Where the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front seek to rescue Jews from pogroms, the anti-rebel Damian and his allies in the National Forces seek to capitalise on the murder of so many Jews by the hands of sectarian militia and gangs of misguided youths. The exact location of Damian's headquarters is not known even to many of his closest allies; but then this is by design, as all things of any consequence are by design.

It's around this time that the first of Elijah's disciples begin to leave the Popular Front he's worked so hard for so long to build. As he's taken to meeting with various and sundry factions that make up the bulk of the Popular Front's strength, he's been forced to make numerous compromises for the sake of retaining the cohesiveness of his coalition. Even as he's done this, though, he's been working behind the scenes, through his apparatchiks to engineer a new consensus that'll eventually come to supersede anything that could be agreed upon by so many competing factions out in the open. "I no longer believe in the greater purpose," says one of Elijah's disciples. "Then your fate is just," says Elijah, "as is the fate of all those who would seek to take away the freedom of the working class under the guise of democracy, a democracy fundamentally in service of they who would make themselves to be our enemies." This is only a small sample of what must come, the very beginning of a great fragmentation of parties which'll have consequences far beyond the revolution here in Britain. But it's now that the true extent of the anti-rebel Damian's treachery should be known, that his capability to call on certain men to turn against their own should be revealed. It's not for the faint of heart. At that little estate house somewhere outside the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and Lynn must continue their work under a gathering black cloud, the source of which they can't know. "Something's changed," says Lynn. "How do you know?" asks Valeri. She turns to look at him, but stops herself halfway. He knows that her talents can be used to divine the intentions, the thoughts and feelings of those around her. She uses her talents at this very moment to understand his knowledge of them. But he also thinks on the limitations of her talents, that they must only be useful within certain limits. She uses her talents to conceive of his understanding of their limits. But she knows that his conception of the limits of her talents are wrong.

She's loathe to speak any further, as the growth of her talents have produced a correspondingly grown antipathy for speaking as a means of communication. But Valeri, Valeri has no further ability to reach into her thoughts and divine her intentions in the way that she can with his. While the anti-rebel Damian works from a headquarters in some unknown location in the northeast of England, his master Lucius works from a location known to all, to all who would care to know, in the forest of glass and steel that make up the borough of Manhattan in New York City. Long filled with monuments to every kind of post-industrial excess, it's in this city that the final elements of the global conspiracy against Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front will begin to take shape, both in Lucius' office and in the various and sundry offices and halls that make up the building which serves and has always served as the headquarters for the so-called United Nations not a kilometre away. By the time the worst of this winter's harshness has passed, Valeri has grown accustomed to the bitter cold in ways even he couldn't have anticipated. He learns to be able to withstand even temperatures as bitterly cold as twenty degrees below zero, leaving patches of skin around his arms and legs exposed. "As long as I can keep my hands and feet warm," he says, speaking with some of the men and women under his charge, "then I can stay outdoors." It seems crazy to them, and it is. Even Valeri doesn't understand it. He's gained this new ability to withstand even the harshest winter Britain's seen in over two hundred years not by his own efforts, but by the grace of the dark essence which guides the revolution. "If it weren't for all the people who would suffer without end," he says, "I'd wish it was this cold all year." He doesn't mean it, can't mean it, but he's beginning to come around to the notion that he should be something so much more than what he could ever be.

In Northern Ireland, the worst aspects of the upheaval continue to realise themselves. A young man named James O'Neill has taken in with a unionist paramilitary, and in the absence of any coherent government at Stormont these unionist paramilitaries have become the de facto government for much of the province. After hearing a wave of nationalist atrocities against protestant civilians, James and the others have taken to seeking vengeance anyplace they can find it. His gang of unionists, around twelve men in total, have invaded a nationalist neighbourhood, intent on killing anyone they find. These men are cold blooded murderers, and they seek women and children for their victims. This time, they find their victims in a small house just off the main road, a family they gather in the main room of the house and then gun down. "They're all animals," says one of the gunmen, "and they'll send us all to Dublin if they get the chance." The unionists suspect the nationalists to be in league with the new People's Republic, when in fact both factions of sectarians are enemies of the new beginning engendered by the Popular Front. "I hate them all," says James, as he wipes the blood from his clothes. They beat a quick retreat into unionist territory. "Be ready for them to attack us," says his leader. James says, "let's gun them down when they do." But while these sectarians engage in their massacres of innocent civilians, the Popular Front's apparatchiks continue their work behind the scenes, even in the province of Northern Ireland making inroads towards a new beginning.

By the time they're next thrust into battle, Valeri will have imparted all the wisdom he has into the mostly-young men and women under his charge. For this, they'll fight a little harder, a little longer, persisting only because they must, but not because they choose to. "I don't think anyone should've expected it'd get this cold," says Aretha. "It's not how cold it's gotten that makes it so difficult," says Valeri, "it's how long it stays this cold." After having arrived at a much larger notion of the revolutionary struggle, men like Valeri still have the petty notions of themselves to overcome. But many of Elijah's disciples are to leave him in the coming months, although the anti-rebel Damian is the only disciple of note to leave him so far. Here in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes these tepid debates must continue, in the absence of any major changes in the circumstances that precipitate them. Still, change is coming. "I welcome it," says Valeri, "and you should welcome it as well." The younger Aretha Cordoba nods her agreement, only for Valeri's lead hand, Lynn, to interject. Lynn says, "there are many people who will die in this cold." She pauses, then continues, saying, "many people have already died." But that's not all.

In Wales, the sectarianism is on full display as well, with unionists opposing nationalists to a lesser extent than in Northern Ireland. In the capital city, Cardiff, a young man named Connor Jones is part of the nationalist paramilitary which serves as the de facto army of an undeclared republic. In the capital city, Cardiff, these paramilitaries have been rounding up and executing anyone suspected of harbouring sympathies for the Popular Front, as well as anyone who would oppose the secession of a new Welsh state. But the mere fact that this new Welsh state is yet undeclared shows the inroads made among would-be Welsh nationalists by the forces of the Popular Front. Connor's among the group of gunmen who go door to door, searching the area after having received information that a Popular Front apparatchik is in the area. After barging into every house on a particular street, they've found nothing, only having seized some screens and destroyed them. But after so many fruitless searches, tempers have worn thin. The very next house they barge into yields only more citizens hiding, which prompts the militiamen to shoot dead one young man. "You're here," says Connor, "we know you're here." But after the young man had been shot dead, the others have fled. "We should burn this place down," says another militiaman. "I want to kill them all," says Connor. He's a ravenous beast, characteristic of so many nationalist fighters who make up the great bulk of the force that opposes the men and women of the Popular Front. Their crimes are manifest. But they can't kill everyone, and their brutality is only driving more would-be nationalists into the ranks of the Popular Front, if not in form then in spirit.

As Valeri and those under his charge come to grips with their own still-developing talents, much larger events continue to transpire. But as Valeri is and always has been an avatar for the larger working class struggle, his debates, his interactions with, even his developing knowledge of the advanced character of the dark essence which guides the revolution are only a sample. The very same debates, the very same explorations of the inner character of the working class struggle are taking place across the country, across the continent, even across the world. By the time Valeri's had his say, much will have changed, even as nothing will have changed at all. "If the last thing any of us does," says Valeri, speaking with his lead hand, Lynn, some days later, "is fight to the death, then we should all think of it as a good way to go." His lead hand wonders why he's seemed to start talking about dying, now all of a sudden, after having confronted the very real prospect of his own death every day for years. But in Scotland, there aren't any unionists, leaving the only two factions of note those of the Scottish nationalists who seek independence and those among the Scottish working class who follow the banner of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. A young man named Noah Wilson has volunteered for service in the nationalist paramilitary, having become seduced by the exclusionary rhetoric emanating from the nationalists' propaganda outlets. Like the others, the paramilitaries in Scotland go door to door, searching for Popular Front supporters. Unlike the others, in Scotland Noah and the rest readily find Popular Front supporters, in Scotland such supporters openly advertising their support by way of flags flown from open windows and banners hung bearing the slogan of the Popular Front, 'NO SURRENDER.' But when Noah and the others come across an armed safehouse, they're reluctant to press in. "They'll resist us if we go in," says Noah's commander. "They're already gathering their forces," says Noah, after having seen and reported on enemy gunmen in the area, "we could be ambushed at any moment. Let's move on." In the end, it's agreed. They move on, but report on what they've seen. Not everywhere are the nationalist militia so lucky. Throughout most of Scotland the worst of the war has yet to come home.

But in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others face more challenges. "It's because I'm starting to wonder about where we all have to go," he says, "and where that'll lead us from there." Valeri is nearly thirty, and this age makes him almost an old man among the fighters of the Popular Front. Most of the older men and women he'd seen have been killed or separated from his unit, sent elsewhere to do other work. The bulk of the former Home Guard has yet to commit to follow the banner of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front, although the time when many of them will do this is rapidly approaching. "Somehow we've all got to take back what's always belonged to us," says Valeri, "and I know you'll be on my side in this." This time he's speaking with the younger Aretha Cordoba, attempting to foment support among the men and women for his position, fearful as he is that there may be those among their ranks who would deign to leave behind all they've fought for. She doesn't bite, not right away, leaving him unsure of himself, now more than ever. It's not the last time, nor the first that any of them will be forced to make a choice between the people they are and the people they ought to be. A feeling of raw electricity seems to surge through their group, at exactly the same moment as through all other groups of rebel fighters everywhere in Britain. Men like Valeri don't know it, can't know it as such, but this electricity is a sign of the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution. After learning of the younger Aretha Cordoba's Jewish parentage, Valeri is come to having a renewed sympathy and respect for her. He'd asked her where she was from, and she'd said that she was born and raised in Newcastle, which Valeri silently notes as being in the grips of the enemy National Forces. "I haven't heard from my mother in quite a while," she says, "and my father was killed years ago." Valeri asks, "how did he die?" But he immediately regrets asking, partly thinking the question inappropriate. Aretha says, "he was killed in a prison uprising."

"If we capture some of the murderers, I'll execute them myself," says Valeri. But Aretha looks him right in the eye and says, "save at least one of them for me." Valeri nods grimly. It's been a while since any of their thirst for blood has been slaked, and this fact has meant all of them, regardless of their positions on the debates they've had internally, are eager to confront the next battle. The enemy will attack, they reason, before they can, and this will demand they fight to protect what they've won. With the gathering of so many Jewish refugees in the city of Milton Keynes behind them, and the reports of so many atrocities against Jewish in the country beyond, Valeri knows their position here surrounding this little estate house is a bulwark against genocide. But Valeri, for one, won't allow the harsh weather and the sub-zero temperatures to have any visual effect on him, and he keeps his mind on positive thoughts.

They don't know it, can't know it, but the Popular Front which they serve in is in the midst of a great reckoning. "This area has seen better days," says Valeri, "we've all seen better days." His subordinates have noticed the subtle change in his demeanour, and he takes great care to assure them of his resolve. But there's one person among them who doesn't need to be assured: his lead hand, Lynn. She looks on. Valeri hadn't been aware she'd approached. It's this moment that causes Valeri to wonder if she might be aware of his miscellaneous affair with the younger Tabitha, but only for a moment and only in the back of his mind before pressing concerns take over. He knows in his heart that the younger Tabitha won't live much longer, as he's come to know the futility of these kinds of impassionate affairs. He can't have them. He is becoming more and more with each passing day like the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be. Elsewhere, not altogether far from the spot where Valeri stakes out his claim to the future, a little while later Valeri receives the first new reports. "They're coming," says the man, "from the northeast." Another man appears moments later, and says, "more coming, from the northwest." They both pant heavily, gulping down breaths as they speak. Valeri trades a knowing glance with his lead hand, Lynn, before turning to the younger Aretha Cordoba to snap out instructions.

"Everyone should be ready," he says, "we'll come under attack any time now." Even still, Valeri can hear the faint blaring of trumpets emanating from the sky. Even while Valeri and the others continue their work in fighting the foot soldier's war in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, there are many who fight an altogether different war. The violence and the degradation directed against the country's Jewish population hasn't let up but intensified, with nationalists and sectarians of every stripe escalating their killings not only of the few Jews still left in their grip but of Romani as well, along with many others. These groups have the protection of the Popular Front, although most of Great Britain's land area remains outside the control of the Popular Front. But an instrumental happening is coming, with Valeri and the others in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes bound for a new beginning. In pride there is shame and in shame there is pride. This instrumental happening has revealed the pride of so many working class men and women, pride in their seeking the dignity of self-government, in mastery of their own destiny. But so has it revealed the shame felt by so many of these men and women, the shame in being left so weak and helpless by the government of their enemies which lingers even as it's been wholly destroyed. The working class here in Britain are in the process of ceding power to their own, by way of their proxy, the Popular Front. In this they'll see the realisation of their own destiny.

Although the rebel Elijah has publicly denounced the attacks on Jews here in Britain and elsewhere across Europe, it becomes incumbent upon him to denounce these attacks with a renewed vigour. This he declares in meeting with his closest disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, but as well in a silent communion with the dark essence that guides the revolution. After the others have spoken their piece, the rebel Elijah has only the dark essence which guides the revolution to reckon with. A fragmentation is underway, with many of Elijah's disciples to abandon him over the coming months. "As it is written," Elijah has told his disciples, "the first shall be last and the last shall be first." It's in this spirit that he directs his disciples to let go whoever seeks to abandon their struggle, a decision which, in itself, causes more to decide on leaving the Popular Front. By the time Valeri and those under his charge have seen themselves through this darkest moment, much will have changed, even as nothing will have changed at all.

26. A Belated Homecoming

It's around this time Valeri and the others first hear the news: the American ambassador is dead. A crowd of angry demonstrators have stormed the embassy's grounds in London as part of the still-ongoing uprising by the working class throughout the country. The rebel Elijah had not known of the storming of the embassy in advance, but he makes a point of attending its aftermath. There, in full view of the hundreds of ordinary working men and women he declares the initial phase of the uprising complete. "You've all done well," he says, after having made his way to the centre of the crowd. He's aware that everyone in the crowd has heard of the onset of the pogrom against Jews in Poland, and he assures them these crimes will not go unpunished. "As we have seen the horrors of the worst violence and degradation in our revolution's history," says Elijah, "so must we know that this is the reaction of the leaders of men against us. Every step forward we take towards becoming our own masters, so must the enemy who seems to be our masters seek to overturn us. I offer you not peace, but war. I offer you not the easiest path forward, but the most difficult. All I ask from you is that you choose." In truth, though, the rebel Elijah fully expects only some of these men and women who've stormed the embassy and killed the ambassador to become soldiers of the revolution; as the storming of the embassy and the killing of the ambassador were acts of passion, the surge of the crowd against the embassy's gates and the shattering of so many windows preceding the slaughter of the ambassador outside in front of the embassy. The implications of this event aren't lost on Elijah's disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front. This turn of events, inevitable though it may have been, make American intervention in European wars inevitable. Now, as Elijah addresses the crowd from the gentle slope of the embassy's main entrance, American intervention is becoming assured. As he'd once ordered the burning of the houses of parliament in the old city of Westminster, Elijah orders the burning of the American embassy. As the burning of the houses of parliament had signified the beginning of the end of an old way of life here in Britain, so does the burning of the American embassy represent the beginning of the end of an international order.

It was here in England that the industrial revolution first began, through the invention of devices like the spinning jenny and the power loom, which began the capitalist period; it's here that the beginning of the next period of our historical development has begun in earnest. The Americans are aware of the relentless violence consuming so many in Britain, but still they aren't motivated to intervene, in their terms. Although the technological basis for establishing the next stage in history has been laid a long time ago and in countries beyond Britain, it's only here and now that the first steps towards a new beginning are taken. "What do we do now?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba. But Valeri doesn't even look at his lead hand before he says, "pray." Before this night is through, they'll all have something to pray for, whether their own survival or the survival of the world we all live in. The news of these new governments established in Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland would've inspired a new confidence in men like Valeri were it not for the threat of nuclear annihilation around them all, at all times. These new governments, they're so fragile both in spirit and in form, and they won't last very long. Acting under instruction and guidance from Elijah's disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, these new governments is disseminated far and wide.

Simultaneously, Elijah orders the closing of all foreign embassies and consulates throughout Britain, and the expulsion of all foreign diplomatic personnel. It's something of an empty gesture, as most countries which once had a diplomatic presence in the country have long ago closed their embassies and consulates and recalled their personnel. Still, Elijah believes it an order that must be given, the rapid pace of turning events having forced their hand. Those few foreign consular staff still in the country will soon find themselves arrested by barely-uniformed fighters of the Popular Front, to be forced to submit to the authority of the new People's Republic which they've all yet refused to recognise. The rebel Elijah has instructed his disciples to actively spurn recognition from foreign powers, and it's in this spirit that his orders to close the embassies and consulates and to arrest diplomatic personnel are carried out enthusiastically and with lightning speed. Far from home, with no means to achieve their own salvation, these foreign nationals have no choice but to submit to their captors and hope that they won't meet the same fate as many captured by the forces of the Popular Front. Although Elijah has no intention of harming any of these foreigners, and directs his brothers and sisters in the Popular Front to secure them in custody pending their transfer to airports for flights to their home countries, he knows their time will come.

But whether or not they can solidify their positions within the unit is still an open question. "I'm ready if you are," says Valeri. He's speaking with the younger Aretha Cordoba. They're not alone, but the others in the estate house are far enough away that a low speaking voice won't carry to them. After all they've been through together, it seems to Valeri as though they can finally trust one another. Trust, trust has never been an issue, with all their fighters presumed to have been equally committed to the cause they've all pledged their lives for. But there's something else, there's always been something else, in the long time it's been through to the long time it'll be before the future can be realised, Valeri and the others under his charge have only suffered a small fraction of the loss they must before the war can be won. In the distance, a light rattling of gunfire can be heard, evidence, Valeri's sure, of the battle nearing their positions once again. "I hope the attack comes sooner rather than later," says Valeri. "I hope you're right to want that," says Aretha. "The sooner the attack comes," says Valeri, "the sooner we can put all this nonsense between us to rest." Aretha nods grimly. She knows that he's referring to the divisions among them that're growing, seeming to grow with each day that passes. The cold temperatures and the cover of snow and ice have ensured that the stench of death has been frozen, to be released into the air all at once when the spring thaw comes in eight to twelve weeks. Inwardly, Valeri is sure the coming spring's thaw will produce an unusual abundance of rotting corpses, the thick, acrid smell decaying flesh soon to be inescapable throughout all Britain. A consequence of the unusually cold and length winter has meant that the bodies of many of those who've died from starvation have been largely preserved wherever they fell. "It's a hard thing to convince all these people," says Valeri. He's speaking not with Aretha but with his lead hand, Lynn, in a bid to bridge the gap between them and avoid the unpleasantness which must inevitably come. "You don't have to convince all of them," she says, "just enough of them." With all that's happened, with all they've been through in their long and painful slog out from London into the surrounding countryside, it seems to Valeri as though his life personally has led not to this but to something imminent in his future.

Over the next several weeks, much changes, with the seasons a new political change emerging. As the season is to change from the harshest and coldest winter in memory to the onset of an early spring, the stench of freshly rotten corpses predictably emerges, almost overnight. After fighting off an enemy attack, the first in months, several of their fighters are dead. Nearly all of those killed were among Valeri's faction, leaving a majority of their remaining fighters a part of Lynn's faction. As Valeri surveys their positions to the northwest, he feels a growing apprehension in the pit of his stomach. He approaches Tabitha's position, and he fears she's dead. But the part of him that should be concerned for her remains in the background, subordinate to the part of him that sees in her the same thing that every other person sees in her. "I know what you're thinking," says Valeri. "How do you know that?" asks Lynn. A distant explosion sounds out, drawing their attention for a moment, only for a moment, before they turn back to one another. "You're not so hard to figure out," says Valeri. Lynn has come to deliver her findings on their forward positions to the northeast, which she does with an almost artful economy. "...But I think they'll be able to hold," she says. "I trust your opinion," says Valeri," so whenever we get any more men, I'll send them to over there." He gestures in the direction of the positions where Tabitha happens to be. He turns back to her and asks, "is there anything else?" Immediately he becomes acutely aware of himself, as if to suggest he's become something other than what he is. "The assault's coming," says Lynn, "it's going to be here sooner rather than later." They can hear the distant rumble of vehicles trundling towards them, sure as they are that these vehicles must be taking a roundabout path. "Everyone to the positions," says Valeri, "it's time." This next assault on their positions around this little estate house in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes will be over quicker than the last, but with consequences far more brutal and violent than any that'd come before it. Valeri's not ready, nor is Lynn, but they must present a strong image to the men and women, for the sake of the men and women as well as for their own.

Still, whenever Valeri should doubt the way forward, there must always be something to reassure him of the path they've chosen. After this latest enemy attack on their positions, Valeri sends word to Sister Simpson at her headquarters in the city of Milton Keynes, asking permission to take to the offensive despite their losses in men and munitions. He receives in response a simple statement denying his request, and additional instructions to remain in place. Although Valeri's disregarded his instructions on occasion in the past, this time he acquiesces, knowing as he does that their position at the top of that hill controls a critical approach to the city of Milton Keynes. If they fail to hold off the enemy, then the enemy will succeed in capturing the city. Shortly thereafter there will surely be a massacre of the city's Jewish population, along with many others. This, they must stop at all costs. This, they'll fight to avert until they have nothing left. "They're up to something," says Valeri, speaking with his operator, the younger Aretha Cordoba. She says, "you may be right about that." She relates to him her having seen Lynn discussing their present situation with a few of the brothers and sisters who are given to her point of view. Aretha and Valeri discuss this issue for a while, both acutely aware of the implications of what they're saying. "This is becoming absurd," says Valeri, "we're becoming suspicious of our own, when we should be suspicious of our enemies." Aretha nods, seeming to reluctantly agree with him, nodding slowly. As easy as it is for Valeri to want to bury the hatchet with members of the other faction in his band of fighters, it's something else altogether to carry out such a task. A few nights pass without incident. After having buried their dead from the most recent enemy attack, Valeri notes the thinning of their ranks as more conspicuous than ever. Meanwhile, it's still cold out, far colder than it should be in Britain, but with the end of the winter's season approaching fast the nights seem to be growing warmer. It's been only eight weeks since the killing of the American ambassador, and in those eight weeks much has happened, both here in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes and throughout the world.

After another enemy attack has been beaten back, they've got even fewer men and women left at arms. Valeri immediately gets on the line to Sister Simpson, stating frankly their situation, requesting additional men to shore up their defences. This time he conspicuously leaves out a request to be permitted to take up the offensive. Sister Simpson promises more fighters, although she doesn't say when these'll arrive. After ending the conversation, he hands the screen back to the younger Aretha Cordoba. "You didn't tell her about the division among the men," she says. "No need to report that," says Valeri, "not until we've got something to report." He makes for the door, stepping out of the little estate house. On his way out, he stops to look back at Aretha, catching her glance at exactly the right moment. This is absurd, he knows, and she seems to know it as well. But she, she doesn't seem to want to confront the truth, even as events should soon conspire to force her to choose a side that she's already chosen. "Don't do that," says Valeri, speaking with one of their fighters at a forward position. The most recent enemy attack has killed the other fighters at this position, and Valeri's promised more fighters to the lone survivor, a young woman named Ruth Graham. "I'll keep watch for now," she says. Valeri acknowledges this statement. He doesn't know what else to do, exactly, as any fighters he'll be able to take from the other positions still won't be enough to provide adequate manpower here. Nevertheless, he doesn't let on about his uncertainty, working to keep a blank, impassive look on his face everywhere he goes. It's not easy, it's never easy, but it's something he's learning to adapt to. Far beyond the spot in the country outside the city of Milton Keynes, larger events continue to mount. These events have been set into motion by a complicated arrangement of forces, forces far more primitive and impulsive than men like Valeri could ever understand.

To Valeri, things seem to be happening so fast, seem to be accelerating even as a momentary lull in the fighting has set in. Elsewhere, though, a rapid sequence of events are set to occur, some of them instigated by the rebel Elijah and his disciples, others by they who would oppose him, here in Britain and around the world. In Scotland, the new government consists of a council of leaders from various factions who make up the breadth of the Popular Front's support, mostly an assortment of trade unionists, churches, and student associations. They meet in the country's capital, the city of Edinburgh, although they don't occupy the Scottish parliament buildings in Holyrod, but in the nearby building formerly occupied by the High Court of Justiciary. After declaring the new Scottish Democratic Republic, the members of this government immediately begin discussing a march on parliament to eradicate the old government, to be supported by gunmen in strategic positions along the way. The old government, which this new Scottish Democratic Republic declares illegitimate, is denounced as given to ethnic sectarianism and capitalist exploitation of the working class in Scotland and in every other country around the world. The old Scottish National Party continues to command the allegiance of many Scots, and forms the government which ostensibly has controlled most of Scotland since a declaration of independence. The government helmed by the Scottish National Party is referred to by its backers as the Scottish National Republic. But the true course of events are far more complex than simply duelling governments hardly a kilometre apart. The new government is declared the Scottish Democratic Republic, so called in order to win the sympathies of many Scottish nationalists who are hostile to the excesses of wealthy Britons under the old regime. This Scottish Socialist Republic will prove to be longer lasting than all the other governments that come to be during this time, whether those governments are loyal to the People's Republic in London or part of the coalition that calls itself the National Forces. But it, too, will fall, in time it takes to fall much changing in Scotland and around the world. Yet, to Valeri things seem to have happened so slowly that they may not have well happened at all. It's been well over a year since the declaration of the establishment of the People's Republic in the ruins of Westminster, and in that time Valeri's small band of fighters have advanced from London out to the small city of Aylesbury, and from Aylesbury out to Milton Keynes, a distance of one hundred and twenty kilometres. The overwhelming majority of that distance they'd crossed by foot.

In Wales, the new government doesn't meet anywhere in Cardiff, the country's capital and largest city. Rather, the council meets in Swansea, Wales' second largest city. Like the others, this council is self-appointed from among various factions, mostly from trade unions, church leaderships, and student associations from the country's universities and colleges. Although they don't occupy a favourable position in the city, they're reasonably sure that their defences will hold against the impending nationalist offensive. The new government in Swansea declares its authority over the entirety of the country, declaring itself the People's Republic of Wales, declaring all other governments defunct. At once there's a rush of activity, with some of the neighbourhoods in the city still controlled by nationalist militia, those neighbourhoods still in nationalist hands despite repeated attacks by forces loyal to the new People's Republic that controls most of the city. The government declared by nationalists many months ago in Cardiff refers to itself as the Welsh Republic. The melting snow and ice creates mud in the countryside throughout Britain, making advance even slower going than before. Those few bands of fighters on either side who have motorised vehicles and enough to fuel to run them find it impossible to advance through this hostile terrain. Such units soon abandon their vehicles to make across the terrain on foot.

For Christopher Jenkins these past several weeks have seen work on the barricades around the city of Birmingham proceed at a frantic pace. He's had no chance to see his friend, Helen Reed, nor any other friend, as the work has come to demand nearly all of his time. They're not always building barricades in the streets; sometimes they're assigned to dig ditches, in order to later fill them with water to impede an enemy advance. "Flush 'em out," says Chris, "and keep 'em coming." Chris and the other workers are watched over by a nearby Popular Front gunman, who monitors their progress. "Once we know it's safe," says another worker, "maybe we'll be able to go home." But when the nearby militia launches an attack, the first large-scale, organised attack on Birmingham since the People's Republic had been declared, Chris and his fellow workers are called in to participate in the defence. Some of them are given firearms, but many are not. Those that aren't, Chris included, are told to keep working on defences, roadblocks and earthen fortifications, only much closer to the action. At times, Chris finds himself in the midst of the battle, with he and the other workers ordered into positions between Popular Front gunmen and the advancing infantry of the National Forces. A burst of rifle fire cracks through the air over his head. He dives into the trench he's digging. It seems to him as though he's about to die. But it's not to be.

But to Valeri all this seems rather antiseptic, rather distant, as he's in the middle of a pitched fight to survive. The imminent assault on their positions at that little estate house doesn't seem to matter much, given as Valeri is coming to terms with the larger turn of events. In Northern Ireland, the new government is weakest of the three, as the province there is riven by centuries-old sectarian divisions that continue to pit worker against worker. The new government doesn't meet anywhere in Belfast, nor in Derry, Northern Ireland's historic second city. Belfast is a war zone, the scene of heavy fighting between sectarian factions, while Derry is a firm stronghold of the nationalists. Instead, the new government meets in Armagh, not far from the porous border with the Irish Republic. Not long ago Armagh was a hotbed of sectarianism, only for the Popular Front to gain a foothold here and force out republicans as well as the few unionists here. The leaders of local sectarian forces were arrested, subjected to show trials, and then hanged. The gunmen employed by sectarian forces were offered the same chance offered throughout the country to men of the now-defunct Home Guard: join the forces of the Popular Front or die. Only a few refused to join, and were summarily hanged in the town centre. Now that a new Irish People's Republic has been declared from Armagh to have sovereignty not only over the British province of Northern Ireland but the whole of the island, they expect imminent attack from various factions throughout the country. Finally, there's the Republic of Ireland in Dublin, sure to fall at any time to the unrest.

Still elsewhere, Julia Roberts has finished her work on the large council. They've voted all power to the Popular Front; shortly thereafter the Popular Front suspended their council for the duration of the war. Now that her work is done, Julia returns to the railyard where once she'd worked, where once she'd been elected to council from by way of her agreement to serve as an alternate. The railyard has changed so little since she'd been away, yet to her the place seems completely different, as though these surroundings have been absconded in the night and replaced with surroundings different but exactly alike. In the middle of her first shift back, battle comes. "All workers to the central shelter," comes the order, blared over loudspeakers. The worker's voice competes with the sudden emergence of rifle fire studding the background. "Keep up with it," says Fred White, Julia's old lead hand, now relegated to the status of an ordinary worker. "Keep the trains moving," says Julia, shouting from her spot alongside the rails, "don't let up!" But when the enemy breaks through and enters the railyard, they'll all have to join in the fight, in ways they'd never thought possible.

But this new state, dubbed the 'People's Democratic Republic of Ireland,' will be the shortest-lived of the three states declared in the former provinces of the United Kingdom. Like the others, this new government in Armagh pledges loyalty to the Popular Front which controls the People's Republic from the ruins of the old city of Westminster. Unlike the others, in Ireland the powerful sectarian forces that have run roughshod over the remains of the old state have immediately taken to targeting the new government, leaving little hope that the defenders of Armagh will last very long. But no matter the outcome of the next series of battles in the countryside of Northern Ireland, no matter the impending defeat of the Popular Front's forces in the province, a new beginning is at hand. While Valeri and the others under his charge fight off this latest enemy attack, the first on their position in a matter of months, these events in the provinces of the formerly United Kingdom will soon overtake men like him as though the strongest wave of enemy attacks yet endured.

Still elsewhere, Joe Hill works alongside the others at that plant in the city of Sunderland, in the thick of the fighting like all the others despite living firmly in nationalist territory. The rebels in the area have launched attacks on strategic installations as well as any place of political value, expending their strength in attacks that very much resemble those carried out by the Popular Front under the old government of the United Kingdom, even before the hated Provisional Government had come and gone. In the past several weeks, Joe's learned that his friend Nina Schultz is dead; he learned this when the identities of several people killed in recent attacks had been published. But for every person whose identity becomes published, there are many more whose identity will never be known. The recent surge in attacks have made it impossible for Joe Hill to come in to work, and thus deprived him of the meagre earnings he'd taken home from that plant. "Think about what you're doing," says Joe, speaking with one of the other workers who've taken shelter in a block of flats. "I don't know what I'm doing," says the other worker. None of them live here, they're only sheltering here. "This has got to be the worst its going to get," says Joe, "it's going to be all up from here." But the other worker says, "you could be wrong about that." They've both lived through the hardships of war, the chronic shortages of basic foodstuffs, the threat of gun and bomb attack, even the prospect of nuclear annihilation. Now, with the rebels of the Popular Front engaged in a pitched battle with the nationalist militia only a few hundred metres away, Joe's finally resolved to do what he knows he should've done a long time ago.

In every case, the new people's governments don't consist of assemblies of learned scholars or wealthy businessmen who'd bought their way into power but of ordinary men and women, self-selected from among the great number of workers around the country. In time, these new people's governments will form the basis for a new union to supersede all that'd come before it. All this remains distant and antiseptic to men like Valeri, men who fight in the dirt and frozen mud of a Britain in the midst of its harshest winter in two hundred years. Valeri's small, platoon-sized band of fighters have stopped using shovels to move earth, having given up on the frozen sod as too difficult to move through manual labour. The enemy still hasn't come, and the positions Valeri's fighters have fortified are as fortified as they'll get without the pouring of concrete or the laying of steel plates. Valeri doesn't know much about war, doesn't know much about the finer points of strategy or tactics. He only knows that the senseless slaughter can only foment more disdain for the universal enemy of all working people, in every country around the world.

Still elsewhere, Marilyn Carter continues to live and work in Norwich under the local militia, but risks being caught in the open during the current wave of uprisings and offensives. Despite attacks in this area by bands of Popular Front fighters operating behind the lines, the local authority has ordered that these slaves should continue their work, declaring the work too essential to be abandoned even during these most dangerous times. By now, it's become obvious to Marilyn and the other slaves that their work is meant to strip Britain of its remaining industrial apparatus, given that they're personally responsible for operating the yards and docks through which this stripped-down apparatus is channelled. But the reason for this operation, they don't know, nor could they. "We should join in the uprising," says Marilyn, speaking with a group of the other slaves a few days after the rebel attacks had begun in earnest. "They won't win here," says another worker, "and when they fail, we'll all be killed." But Marilyn says, "we'll be killed anyways. When there's no more machinery left to ship, they'll kill us all to eliminate witnesses to their crimes." Another worker says, "have you got it in you to stand up to them?" This gives Marilyn and all the others pause for thought; they clearly remember each time they'd had the opportunity to take part in one uprising or another, only to fail for want of the courage needed. "I'm not going to die here," says Marilyn, finally resolving to do what's necessary.

While the new working class governments in Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland form, still the People's Republic headquartered in London faces an existential threat from the nationalist offensive. All these new working class governments are opposed in their provinces by nationalists of various stripes, each of these acting out of a confused and disjointed fear. The spectre of a nuclear firestorm remains lingering over Europe like an awful blackness, an evil spirit that seeks to annihilate all life from every corner of Europe, from every corner of the world. After the Popular Front's fighters had seized nuclear armaments, it became only a matter of time before the powers of the world learned of this development, and in turn took actions in response. The rebel Elijah, he endeavours to continue to hide their new armaments from the powers of the world, even as he's personally taken to the captured American embassy and declared boldly to the world that no power will be negotiated with. After having fought off successive enemy attacks, Valeri and the others are badly depleted of manpower and munitions, even as their resolve has never been stronger. The blood that has fallen from the sky as rain remains unseen to most, the thick currents of blood flowing through the streets seeming to melt the snow and ice that covers so much shredded flesh and bone.

Finally, in one of London's many working class districts, the middle aged Roy Cook continues his work on the barricades, having volunteered like so many others to participate in the civil defence initiatives of the new People's Republic. Like many other worker's brigades, he's caught in the middle of the action, building defensive barricades at exactly the moment there are Popular Front fighters rushing to man them. He keeps his back turned to the battle, perceptible to him only by the cracking of rifle fire and the rumbling of the ground with every bursting bomb. A fighter calls out his name, and Roy barely hears it above the din. He looks up. The fighter offers an outstretched hand. Roy takes it, the fighter hauling him over the barricade, behind the relative safety of so many burnt-out lorries and piles of rubble. "Can you shoot?" asks the fighter. "Not well," says Roy. "Good enough," says the fighter, before handing Roy a rifle. Roy looks it over quickly, then realises it's from another fighter shot dead only moments ago. "Kill anything coming at us," says the fighter. Together, they turn to the barricades, looking downrange. Later, after this attack has ended but before the next can begin, the fighter's lead hand comes around to inspect the damage. "Consider yourself drafted," says the lead hand, speaking to Roy. This is a duty which Roy agrees to, although he'd have no choice. He wonders, as the nationalist militia bear down on them again, whether his young wife Sabrina would approve of this turn of events. He thinks, as he steadies his aim and prepares to shoot, he'll ask her someday, if not in this life then in the next. Any of them could be killed at any moment, whether in a hail of bullets or in a nuclear firestorm that could come without warning.

But elsewhere in Europe new events should force the rebel Elijah's hand. The revolution which he has guided since its inception, since his release from prison two, three years ago, now stands on the precipice, with only the slightest and deftest of touches required to nudge it over the edge and into the abyss. It wasn't all that long ago that the Americans had forces stationed at bases across the continent, from Britain to Romania and many points between. Then, increasingly given to isolationism and bitter political infighting, the Americans had removed the last of their forces and closed their bases, in one fell swoop renouncing their ability to intervene. Future history might well debate the link between these events and the revolutions which're now underway across the continent, as well as the war with Russia on the continent and the subsequent nuclear firestorm. But this debate is to miss the larger point. As Valeri and those under his charge prepare for their next trial, all that any of them can do is persevere over evil in their struggle simply to survive.

III

27. Aspirations Left

And once this latest cable from the American ambassador is received at the headquarters of the People's Republic, a pall descends on the scene. It's as though a morose feeling has infused itself into the spirits of every one of Elijah's innermost disciples, a sense that everything has been lost. Although the rebel Elijah had long foretold of the world turning against him and his movement, as the powers of the world are controlled by the leaders of men. "If we voluntarily renounce our nuclear weapons," says one disciple, a man named Solomon, "then the Americans and their allies may reconsider their plans to make war on us." But another of Elijah's disciples, a man named Abraham, says, "or they may become emboldened after freed from the risk of nuclear retaliation." As his disciples debate the implications of this recent turn of events, Elijah consults the dark essence which guides the revolution, fully involved in the debate playing out before him even as he devotes himself fully to seeking atonement for his past lack of faith. "Clearly the Americans have already decided on a course of action," says another disciple, a man named Aaron, "and whether we renounce nuclear arms or not will never dissuade them." A fourth disciple, a man named Emmanuel, says, "then their decision has been made without regard for our nuclear arms." In this, Elijah's disciples arrive at an understanding which he has known all along. Elijah stands, at the head of the table, and all discussion ceases as his disciples look to him for leadership. He pauses, seeming to look each and every one of his disciples in the eye, before saying, "search your selves, and you will know what you've always known. These Americans, their allies, they've always been given to turning against our revolution and against the struggle of working class men everywhere, even within their own borders. In this, we realize the essence of our struggle. The Americans, with their enormous military and advanced weapons, are impossibly strong. We, with our army consisting of ordinary workers in arms, are impossibly weak. But as I have told you, as you have come to know, in strength there is weakness and in weakness there is strength. We'll fight, and we'll win. We know how to do nothing else." But their agreement is had to continue the secret of their possession of nuclear arms. "The American ambassador is dead," says Elijah, "and the killing of other ambassadors and their staff is complete, marking the end of one era and the beginning of another."

In the end, agreement is reached among Elijah's disciples. Not only will they refuse to renounce their nuclear arms, they'll make a very public show of displaying these arms, making them out to be so much more than they are. But for Valeri Kovalenko and the others serving under Sister Simpson in 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury, this turn of events is greeted with a renewed enthusiasm, Valeri himself having been given irrevocably to the struggle. The small part of Valeri that'd harboured some regret for his actions, the part that'd lingered in the back of his mind, it's now gone, having been made to disappear in the face of his overwhelming courage and strength. In his spare moments between marches this way and that, he keeps on with his reading, alternating between his Bible and the foundational text of the new People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components.' He becomes consumed in his readings, a voracious appetite for knowledge that can only be revealed by repeated readings. As he had only recently studied under the personal stewardship of Sister Simpson, now he must study without, but never must he study among a group of his peers. It's around this time they hear the news: the Popular Front has established new governments in Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland, these intended as alternatives to the nationalist coalitions that control most of those countries. It matters little to Valeri, concerned as he is with the fighting on the ground, but the new governments will soon draw the larger war into a newer, more violent crescendo. "I don't know where you get the courage to keep on telling the men and women these things," says Lynn, speaking with Valeri a few nights after the storming of the American embassy in London. "I haven't been telling them anything," says Valeri, "except the truth." But Lynn says, "what truth?" After having spent the past few nights separated into groups within which they'd debated the same points interminably, it seems to Valeri as though his lead hand should seek to put an end to this petty division even before it'd begun. Valeri has his doubts. He overcomes them in the time it takes a single flake of snow to reach the ground, having fallen from thousands of metres above.

Soon, there's fighting again, this time the men of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury emerging from a wooded area in a surprise attack on enemy positions. At the head of the attack, Valeri drops to one knee, aims his rifle steady and true, and rakes fire across enemy troops, in the flash of an eye the position seized. Two enemy troops are killed, but the rest flee. This position is an estate in the countryside, one which contains an estate house once listed as an historical landmark by some now-defunct local authority. As one of the first Popular Front men inside the estate, Valeri has a look throughout the sprawling property, his party finding their way along the road leading to the estate house itself. A modest villa compared to some of the castles found throughout Britain's rural areas, this two-storey house has been spared the ravages of war thus far, its windows all intact, its walls unbesmirched as so many are by bullet-holes. Inside the house, they find only a miscellaneous gaggle of refugees. One young man volunteers himself as a representative of the others, and explains helpfully that they'd taken refuge in this estate after having found it abandoned by its owners. After they'd taken up here, more refugees arrived, a small number trickling in over time as the war raged all around, only ceasing recently, days before the arrival of the 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury. Valeri correctly surmises the ebb and flow of battle in the surrounding countryside and townships had dictated the starts and stops in arrivals of refugees here, and probably many other such estates across the country. But now, with the future of their nascent People's Republic hanging in the balance, all Valeri can do is keep on fighting. "I recommend you leave the area," he says, speaking with the refugees, "no one can guarantee your safety if you stay." But the young man says, "no one can guarantee our safety anywhere." He speaks of the threat of nuclear annihilation, the war on the continent continuing. "You can stay," says Valeri, "but you should stay out of harm's way." The young man nods and turns back for his family. It's all anyone can do in these confusing times, when they could find themselves under attack at any time but without any way of knowing the identity of their attackers.

At the top of a hill with a view in all directions over key rail lines and motorways, the estate is a perfect spot from which to establish control of the surrounding areas. This doesn't occur immediately to Valeri and the other foot soldiers who arrive on the scene first, but becomes readily apparent as they receive new orders to fortify their positions. This is to be the scene of a decisive battle for control of the surrounding countryside, one which'll be over almost as quickly as its to start. "Don't be too careful," says Lynn, speaking with Valeri as they all work on fortifying their positions. "Why not?" asks Valeri. "You'll overlook the obvious," says Lynn, "there aren't a lot of good options here." With this Valeri can only agree. The civilians continue to hide. Many of them are Jews fleeing persecution at the hands of nationalist gangs and sectarian militia. Operating under orders from the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, Valeri declares these refugees to be under the protection of his small, platoon-sized force. As enemy forces continue to gather, it seems to Valeri as though this new stage in the revolution might just pass them by.

There may yet be a decisive battle, he thinks, but it surely won't be here. If these new governments can persist even for a brief time then the purpose of their existence will have been fulfilled. All this remains rather distant and antiseptic to men like Valeri, men who are consigned by forces they can't comprehend to the muck and grime of the daily struggle. "I hate the racists most of all," says Valeri, "and everyone who would throw their lot in with them." They know of the pogroms against Jews and others taking place throughout the parts of the country still under enemy control, and of the mass killings taking place in many countries on the continent. But they know only vaguely of the genocidal campaigns being waged by nationalist forces in some countries, with the British Army still on the continent forced to watch helplessly as new governments in Poland and Ukraine take it upon themselves to wipe out entire peoples. The British Army won't be left in Poland for long. Secretly the rebel Elijah has been negotiating with its officers to bring them home, these negotiations kept secret so as to avoid swaying the course of the revolution one way or the other, but also to keep the Americans from deciding to intervene sooner rather than later. With the American ambassador dead and their embassy seized, the point is moot. But then Valeri receives the news. Enemy forces have been spotted in the urban area below moving a pair of artillery pieces into position. It's not known where the enemy managed to find the pieces; they could've been seized from a military shipment meant for the army on the continent. At once Valeri makes his way to the other side of their fortifications and through a pair of binoculars peers into the town, searching for the artillery. "If they can get those pieces into firing position then we're dead," says Valeri. "What do we do?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba, at his side along with a pair of fighters. "We have to attack," says Valeri, "and destroy those guns or seize them for ourselves." He makes a mental note of the position, and guesses at the calibre of the guns. The wind tugs at his shirt, momentarily blowing in from behind them. "Set a fire," says Valeri, "set as many fires as you can. The smokescreen will blow over the enemy's guns and make it impossible for them to fire at us." After snapping out the orders, his lead hand, Lynn, says, "the wind could change at any moment and blow the smoke right back in our faces." But Valeri says, "that's why we must act now, before the wind changes." It's not Valeri's own conscious thought that's compelled him to take this action, rather the dark essence which guides the revolution choosing this moment to make itself felt through him. He doesn't know it, can't know it, but the next time Valeri's to find himself in such a situation, demanding such tactics, the dark essence will choose instead to withhold its influence from his thoughts and impulses, forcing him to act of his own accord. But the officers of the British Army in Poland have been concealing from Elijah their own secret negotiations with the anti-rebel Damian, mediated by followers of the man known to the world as Lucius, only Lucius. A portion of these followers are here in Britain, but most are abroad. Both negotiations have been taking place concurrently, for several months.

One good shot is all it might take to kill them, a possibility Valeri's had to consider ever since joining the uprising so long ago. A few days have passed, no more than a week since Valeri's men and women had come across that house. After Valeri and Tabitha have found a spare moment, they meet for another of their secret trysts. It's lasts only a short while, less than half an hour. Soon, they gather some old tyres found on the estate's property, along with miscellaneous other things they can burn, and pile them up in the field ahead of their positions. It's only been some weeks since the most recent enemy attack, and Valeri reasons the next must be imminent. But what he doesn't know is that the Popular Front has its fighters positioned throughout the country for another offensive, with only the slightest nudge in one direction or the other necessary for them all to unleash a new wave of hell. "I don't know how much longer we're going to have," says Valeri, speaking with Tabitha after they've finished. "None of us do," says Tabitha, "I don't know why you're bringing this up now." But Valeri shakes his head slowly, then looks this way and that, as if there could be something he should be looking for. "It's been a very long time since I've been with anyone," says Valeri, "and with the war I don't know if I can keep it up for much longer." The life of a soldier has had more periods of inactivity than activity, and it's precisely these periods of inactivity that've permitted him to pursue such indulgences as an affair with a young woman. He doesn't know it, can't know it as such, but the dark essence which guides the revolution is guiding them both to a new beginning. After having lit those fires, Valeri might've expected his band of fighters to have come under immediate and sustained assault. But it hasn't come, not yet, not in the days that've passed since. All this waiting, this waiting doesn't sit well with Valeri, even after all the growth he's experienced still the impatient and impudent youth in him chafes and chomps at the bit for the next action.

Although Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it, the dark essence which guides the revolution has chosen him to be among the minor prophets whose testimony should form the basis for a new gospel of the working class. This gospel will soon place him in a position to add his own personal story to the larger narrative that's taking shape all around them, all at once. Already an unknown man has begun to seek Valeri out. This man doesn't know who Valeri is, nor does he know that Valeri is the man he seeks. A chain of events that'd been set into motion even before Valeri was born will soon see him thrust into a role he'd never sought out but was destined for all along. Their machine guns, only recently acquired, have proven to be an invaluable tool. But the machine guns don't render their positions invulnerable. In the next attack, Tabitha is killed. Valeri doesn't find out right away. After the enemy has been beaten back, he returns to the estate house, and asks for runners out to every position for reports. "She was rather important to you," says Aretha. "How did you know that?" asks Valeri. "You're not so good at hiding yourself as you think," says Aretha. "It doesn't matter anymore," he says, "I've got nothing to hide anyways." He's always known that his relationship with the young woman Tabitha wasn't to last much longer, whether he'd ended it when he had or whether he'd let it carry on. After lighting the fires there's nothing that can extinguish them, not even the rain which must inevitably fall as the winter fades into an early spring. Valeri thinks to have the bodies of their fallen buried, and orders several small pits dug in the fields where the bodies can be buried in an orderly fashion. He supervises this process himself, helping out in laying the bodies to rest as gently and carefully as he can. He takes great care to make sure that Tabitha's body remains unseen by the enemy, if any enemy should be around them. When the younger Aretha asks him why they don't cremate the bodies, he says, "I've read that human ashes don't make for good fertiliser. This way, their bodies can provide nutrients for crops to grow in the future. Maybe they can help future generations, even in death."

But as Valeri is an avatar for the larger working class struggle, he's come too far to be undone by something so simple as the wounds he's been concealing. Inwardly he mourns, not only for the loss of this young woman he'd come to love but also for the loss of his capacity to have such feelings. As Valeri is an avatar for the larger working class struggle, he's becoming better aware of himself, seemingly with each passing day. Although Tabitha isn't to be the last woman he'll have any kind of intimacy with, she'll prove to be much more than a passing fancy, much more than an affair to keep him sane while fighting an unwinnable war in the English countryside. To Valeri, this seems so morbid, so obscene to be so consumed in himself even as people around him are suffering and dying in unimaginable numbers. "I've been around the perimeter," says Lynn, speaking to Valeri some time after the burial but before the next enemy attack on their positions. But it's not to come, not right away, in the meanwhile much changing in the world all around them even as nothing's changed at all. A few days pass. The worst late-winter storm any of them can remember continues to punish them with sub-zero temperatures and fierce winds that chill to the bone.

Valeri continues to consider their next moves, both his own personally and those of the men and women under his charge. He thinks of the possibility of death frequently; sometimes when he's at their foremost positions he'll look into the distance, over the snow- and ice-covered countryside and he'll imagine the enemy coming at them even when he can see nothing. It's these moments of inaction that permit him to reflect on what he's been through, on everything he's learned. Tabitha's recent death has caused him to reconsider his mother's and father's deaths, as if they had to die so that he could live as he does now. Although he's convinced that his joining in the revolution would've transpired even had his mother and father not been killed in the failed uprising that preceded this one by more than fifteen years, now he's not so certain. He believes that their deaths began his ascent, and now after Tabitha's death that the person he's becoming requiring so much sacrifice. The news, they've kept on receiving news by way of their few operational screens, without filtration by the Popular Front's apparatchiks. These governments, it's only been a few weeks since each was declared in a rapid sequence of events, and in that time much has happened. These repeated attacks Valeri's band of fighters has fought off are only a small part of a much larger sequence of events. Throughout the country, the Popular Front's offensive serve to counteract the enemy's attacks. As many bands of rebel fighters have come under sustained assault like Valeri's, there are many more who've been dispatched on forays into enemy held territory, sometimes penetrating deep into the territory held by the National Forces coalition. These new governments in Scotland, Wales, and Ireland had been declared with the intended purpose of receiving these offensives by Popular Front fighters, but none will succeed in realizing this purpose.

In the city of Falkirk, the nationalist militia have found themselves in a pitched battle with Popular Front forces, the worst of the violence having come upon the city after so many years of relative calm. A young woman named Olivia Wilson has taken in with the Popular Front fighters, after having come across the bodies of some of the victims of nationalist massacres. Now, she defends a stretch of the city, seeking to block the movement of nationalist militia through. "Keep your fire on the street," says her lead hand, "keep it steady and constant." They know an overwhelming force is coming at them. Without reinforcements they can't last long. "I'll go down fighting," says Olivia, "I'll make them pay for every inch they take." Her lead hand nods. "I've seen them kill so many innocent people," says Olivia, "they've killed some of my friends. I won't let them get away with it." With that she turns back to face the street, looking for any sign of movement, hoping the enemy will attack sooner rather than later. She'll get her wish; she'll be killed along with many other Popular Front fighters. By the time the nationalists pacify the city of Falkirk, another uprising will have begun in another Scottish city, then another, then another, until the whole of Scotland seems to be up in arms. The nationalists in Scotland will come to pose a grave threat to the continued existence of the People's Republic and the Popular Front that controls it, if only in aligning with the coming gathering of forces.

These new governments, they're only the harbinger of something more. All the world's in the midst of a new awakening, the example of the revolution in Britain having proven a lasting inspiration to many. But there were already many who were given to revolution, in France, Germany, in the old industrial centres of Italy's Po Valley and in Russia's vast, decrepit hinterlands. In each of these, revolutions are gaining strength, revolutions entirely separate from yet irrevocably linked to Britain's working class revolution, each led by political organisations similar in form and ideals to Elijah's Popular Front. When the way to the future clearly set, all that remains is for the stewards of our future's past to take that critical next step into what must come. In the city of Newport, just east of the Welsh capital of Cardiff, the nationalist militia have almost succeeded in expelling the remaining Popular Front forces, with only a few areas still under the latter's control. A young woman named Amelia Jones has taken in with the Popular Front here, joining only recently. She'd joined even as the nationalist militia here and elsewhere in Wales had been in the midst of a successful offensive. She'd been compelled by the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution to take in with the rebels. As groups of nationalist fighters take up positions around them, she prepares for a fight to the death. "Let them come," she says, "they can't kill us all." A recent wave of strikes throughout the area has largely petered out, leaving Amelia and the other Popular Front fighters without support from the worker's committees. "We're all there's left," says another fighter with her, "it's just us now." The nationalists have been methodically moving from block to block, dragging out suspected Popular Front sympathisers and killing them in the streets. There's no longer any benefit to be had in keeping hidden, so Amelia and the others have staged their uprising and taken their stand. Although the new government has been declared in Swansea, here in Newport Amelia and the others are isolated from the Popular Front's new beginning. They've all lost everything they've had to lose, whether friends, family, livelihoods, all lost to the war. Now, with nationalist gunmen bearing down on them, Amelia and the others make their last stand.

The recent turn of events, the storming of the American embassy and the killing of the ambassador coupled with the forcible closing of all embassies and consulates have given the conspiracy of foreign forces reason to expediate their plans to move against the revolutions in Britain and other European countries. These affairs remain distant and antiseptic to men like Valeri, men who remain consumed in the petty challenges of surviving from day to day. The last of the revolutions to erupt will be the most spectacular of all. "Is this the revolution you thought you'd be fighting in?" asks Lynn. Valeri doesn't answer, not right away, instead choosing to let Lynn's still-developing talents reach into him and draw out his thoughts and feelings. "There's something we all could be doing better with our time," says Lynn, "I've got some news about the forward positions." But she has more to say than just that. There's a back and forth between them. Valeri can't shake the notion that it's all an elaborate ruse. "Get on the line to Sister Simpson," says Valeri, after a lengthy and sometimes heated talk, "and tell her we're in real trouble here." This time, Lynn only nods, before leaving.

Still elsewhere, in one of Belfast's many working class districts the Popular Front has had a difficult time making inroads over the past few years. Most of the impoverished working class men and women in Northern Ireland have fallen along old lines, taking in with the nationalists or the unionists, spurning the efforts of the Popular Front to build working class solidarity across sectarian lines. Although the unionists have taken to killing nationalist civilians, this campaign of violence is met in kind by nationalists. But for a young woman named Dani Hamilton, the choice is somewhat easier to make. After having witnessed so many mass killings by either camp of sectarians, she'd joined in with the forces of the Popular Front, along with some of the industrial workers in the area. "How much ammunition have we got left?" asks Dani. "Not enough to last the night," says another fighter. They're fortified in a neighbourhood of townhouses just to the east of Belfast's city centre. The sectarians threaten to attack at any time. "We haven't got any new orders," says another fighter, referring to the lack of communication from the local Popular Front apparatchik. "Well then," says Dani, "let's make our own." By the time this night is through, they'll have escaped, finding shelter in one of the industrial estates to the north. There, they'll blend in among their working class supporters, only to re-emerge when the timing's right. They hear bombs bursting and they presume it must be the old sectarian militia experiencing a resurgence, and they're partly right. At least in Northern Ireland, this is true; throughout England, the bombings and the gun attacks that take place behind the lines continue, in both territory controlled by the Popular Front and that controlled by the National Forces. At times, these attacks almost resemble the old style bombings which took place throughout Britain following the failure of the first revolution that preceded this one by more than fifteen years but before Elijah's second revolution took shape.

In the end, the rebel Elijah reaches an agreement with the officers of the British Army to bring their troops home from the battlefields of Eastern Europe. A portion of the officers whose loyalties cannot be won will be allowed to leave the army and re-enter civilian life, while the bulk of those troops they command will be commissioned into the army of the Popular Front. In fact, the secret negotiations conducted by these very officers with the anti-rebel Damian and his National Forces coalition will see them join the National Forces, their leadership to serve in bring order to the loose and mostly disorganised coalition opposing the Popular Front. The angel of light who seeks to challenge the supremacy of the dark essence that guides the revolution will soon make its gambit for the right to inherit the future, a right the angel of light has no legitimate claim to but which believes himself entitled to nevertheless. Before the harshest winter in memory has fully thawed, a new wave of atrocities will have been unleashed. But the worst of the violence in the streets of Britain's cities is reserved for those still living in areas controlled by the nationalist militias in England, with a relentless campaign of hatred and degradation. A young woman named Emmett Brooks lives in a rural area outside the city of Bristol, and she regularly sees military convoys passing along the country roads. A few years have passed since she'd seen her father volunteer for military service, only to disappear on the battlefields of Eastern Poland, officially declared missing in action. Now Emmett works at an autobody shop, repairing lorries used by farms and other businesses.

One day, she heads into work at a particular shop, at the end of a rural road leading into a vast farming estate. But partway through the day, a battle erupts, gunmen appearing on opposite sides of the farm. Emmett takes refuge with the other civilians in the cellar of the main estate house, only to emerge when the gunfire seems to have tapered off. She emerges to find Popular Front gunmen nearby. She summons the courage to shout at them, saying, "all power to the front!" The gunmen acknowledge her with a quick, one-fist salute, before moving on. Although she's witnessed a victory in battle for the Popular Front, here in the countryside beyond the city of Bristol, the Popular Front will suffer many more defeats across the country. All this transpires even as the unrest gripping all Europe seems to be reaching a new apex, with violent demonstrations and armed uprisings taking place in Russia, France, Germany, and many others, so many governments in the midst of falling to a confusing and disjointed array of revolutionary forces. After the killing of the American ambassador and the expulsion of all remaining diplomats from the country, events have been set into motion that should inevitably lead to the introduction of American troops, though we're not there yet. The angel of light continues to work its nefarious influence, through the leader of men Lucius who directs so much American policy. A critical meeting is held, not in New York or Washington but in Yorkshire, here in England, between the leader of the anti-rebel faction, Damian, and some of the others in opposition, including Clark. Here, they agree to openly invite the American president to deploy his armed forces on British soil. Meanwhile, the angel of light conspires with the man known only as Lucius to influence the leaders of men. Their endgame: the annihilation of the Popular Front and its leadership, and the establishment of a new world order that should supersede the old. These men, along with the angel of light which guides the counter-revolution, have been secretly behind the racist attacks and the anti-Semitic violence here in Britain and elsewhere in the world, exerting their nefarious influence through political parties, local authorities, and ethnic nationalists. Their influence is exerted not by direct order, lacking as they do any rigid command structure, but by indirect manipulation of forces. In Britain, the National Forces are only a part of this nefarious influence. By the time they've realised the futility of their own struggle, many lives will have been lost, and the world will have changed, forever.

This turn of events causes disciples to begin to leave Elijah, for now only a trickle. As there were many who took up with the cause of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front during that confusing, in-between time, when much can change. By the time this night is through, the Popular Front's attacks throughout the country will have pushed the enemy to the brink of collapse, beginning an entirely new sequence of events that should have dire consequences for all. Much has to happen before the full consequences of these events can be realised, and in that time all that's been won could be lost.

28. And Unfulfilled

Six months pass. Under assault, the men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury are in the midst of a pitched battle. Attacks seem to be coming from all directions. Artillery shells crash all around the estate. Voices scream, barking out orders indistinctly, while other voices shout only to be drowned out by gunfire. At the front of the estate's sprawling property, Valeri grips his rifle tightly as he fires into the darkness beyond, hardly shooting at anything in particular, aiming only into the night. At his side, the young Aretha Cordoba shoots with him, with every pause in their fire punctuated by the tension between them. "Where are they coming from?" asks Aretha, seeming to shout even as she speaks in a normal voice. "Everywhere," says Valeri, "there's no way out now." But neither she nor he could even consider withdrawal, determined as they are to fight to the death. "North side," comes the call over the screen, "north side, come in." Neither Valeri nor Aretha respond, instead another young soldier taking the call. There's miscellaneous chatter, until finally the answer comes, a voice breaking through the din to say, "don't wait for us," before drowning in static.

Neither Valeri nor any of the others know if they can expect any help from surrounding positions, as all quarters seem to be under assault at once. "How could they raise such a force so quickly?" asks Valeri, speaking to himself as much as to the others. "At least we've got the guns," says Lynn, who turns to snap out orders. "We've all got to do something," says Valeri. He takes one of the ropes and pulls with all his might, his muscle enough to finally lodge the gun out of its rut, its wheels turning slowly as the whole lot of them pull it uphill. They draw fire, but it seems the volume of fire has slackened since the initial attack. The men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Brigade, Aylesbury fight off this latest enemy attack, but have sustained many losses. Valeri personally came close to death, with only a few metres separating him from the bullets and bombs that'd killed some of his brothers and sisters. This night sees him out on the line, at one of the forward positions under the heaviest attack. He fires his rifle in short bursts, recalling the lessons given to him by Sister Simpson so long ago. In fighting on the front line, his body is becoming like a machine, and he fights using the old tactic of reciting a series of motions from memory, his muscles smoothly contracting and expanding.

In the aftermath, Valeri surveys their positions. He finds several brothers and sisters have been killed in the previous battle, and he gives orders for them to be buried nearby. There's no time for ceremony; graves are dug and then the bodies laid to rest, as with the last. After so many weeks of furious action interspersed with long periods of restless slumber, Valeri and the others find themselves in the midst of a furious assault. With most of the other Popular Front fighters in the area engaged in repeated attacks on enemy positions, repeated attacks that Valeri realises must resemble these enemy attacks on their positions, there can be no reinforcements for them. "This is absurd," says Valeri, speaking with his lead hand Lynn, "we've got no time for this pettiness. We've all got to trust one another." Inwardly, he wonders why Lynn has been the only one in his small band of fighters to have developed the talents that she has, although he's never wondered where they came from. "I was chosen," she says. "Do you believe that?" asks Valeri. "I do," says Lynn. She pauses for a moment, only a moment, before saying, "I think you were chosen as well." They go on to discuss the tenuous hold they have on this little estate house, and the conversation soon lapses into a discussion on the numerous bands of Popular Front fighters they've seen heading in both directions across the front line. "Every offensive seems to be beaten back," says Valeri. "Just like we keep beating back the enemy offensives," says Lynn. Valeri nods. They don't always agree on everything. Still, Valeri thinks on what his lead hand had said to him, fixating on one thing she'd said above all others. "If this doesn't work, we'll have to find a new way to get what we need." The implications of this statement aren't lost on Valeri, who begins to suspect that his lead hand's time to take action must be closed at hand. If Valeri has any say in the future, in some small way, then he's certain they'll all be taking the offensive soon. In the countryside beyond, the late-winter's deep freeze has led to the hardening of the snow and ice, providing roads and fields to travel along easily.

By the time the next enemy assault on their position takes place, enough new personnel have been sent to Valeri's position that they finally seem secure. After so many months of protection from enemy attack by the unusually cold and stormy winter weather, now they face enemy attacks they can finally overcome. But not only do they look to the field ahead and the roads below for threats, as Valeri is becoming more and more aware of the threat that comes from within. He hasn't had the chance to discuss more personal matters with Lynn recently, but then he wouldn't want to, having come to suspect her of one private malfeasance or another. "We need more ammunition," says one fighter, a woman named Meredith Burke. She's a little older than Valeri, old enough that Valeri wonders if she might've left a family behind when she took in with the fighters of the Popular Front. "You'll have it," says Valeri. He doesn't know where he'll get it, whether Sister Simpson will authorise new ammunition out to them, but he promises they'll have it anyways. When he returns to their estate house command post, he finds Aretha along with a small group of fighters. Aretha notes his return and asks him over, which he obliges. "There's lots of reports of fighting in our other units," she says, "all over the place." She hands Valeri her screen. He looks over it. He reads of infighting among the bands of Popular Front's fighters, of some who've elected to follow the various factions, of others who've redoubled in their support of the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front's leadership. "This means nothing to me," says Valeri, before handing the screen back to Aretha. "It should mean something," she says. "I will follow Elijah," says Valeri, "I've met him, I've known him, in some small way. There are already many who oppose him. If there are a few more by the time this day ends, then I say it's their loss, not ours." All of the fighters present have counted themselves committed to following Elijah, and Valeri thanks them for their continued commitment. But when one of the fighters in Lynn's faction appears at the door, all discussion of commitments and loyalty ceases, with Valeri immediately directing the conversation to topics far more mundane.

Elsewhere the news of the declaration of new assemblies in the wayward provinces is met with approval from Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front. The American ambassador cables his superiors in Washington, advising them on these new developments. Although the new people's republics in Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland have only a tenuous hold on their own small footprints, largely confined to a few areas of a few cities and miscellaneous patches of countryside, theirs is the beginning of something much, much more. If the American ambassador were still alive, he'd be in custody, unlike the other nations' consular staff who've all been deported by now. For the first time in the several months it's been since they'd taken up these positions, it seems to Valeri as though they might be finally overtaken by the next enemy attack. There're so few of their own fighters left that they must face the possibility of repelling the next enemy assault with as few as one fighter in some positions. "What did she have to say?" asks Aretha. It's a few days later, and it's the first time since the most recent attack on their positions that Valeri and Aretha have had the chance to meet outside the presence of any fighters in Lynn's faction. "She said," says Valeri, before pausing in hesitation, "she said there's not a lot of time left before we'll have to make a choice." Aretha asks, "she said that?" Valeri says, "not exactly." With so few fighters left in Valeri's faction, he supposes it's only a matter of time until the survivors decide to overpower him and place Lynn as leader of their band of fighters. But the infighting that's taking place throughout the country as part of the rebel Elijah's recent wave of uprisings continues to reach its fever pitch, the distress experienced by Valeri and Aretha in leading their small faction only increasing as their numbers dwindle. A handful of the men and women present to him on this day, their armaments and munitions largely scavenged from the dead and crippled. When next Valeri and Aretha meet, along with a few of the others they count among their faction, all they can agree to do is keep watch on their brothers and sisters in Lynn's faction. "If we have to," Valeri says, "we'll strike first." He doesn't let slip exactly what he's thinking, preferring to hide the possible implications of their current path from the others to the greatest extent he can.

Now Valeri and the others stage a daring stand. On the knife's edge, their fate could be decided by something so simple as a blade of grass blown this way or that, by the slightest of changes in the direction of the wind. In this latest attack, several more of their own have been killed or wounded, leaving them with fewer fighters than ever. In surveying the forward positions, Valeri doesn't know how to make it work. They can't pull back closer to the estate house, in order to shorten their defensive perimeter, as to do so would surrender the positions overlooking the roads below that've permitted them to deny the enemy entry into the city of Milton Keynes for the past months. "I hope you've made your peace with God," says Aretha. "I've made my peace with God some time ago," says Valeri. "Then we're done here," says Aretha, "we've got nothing left to discuss." Although Valeri wishes he could find it in him to continue arguing, to continue in some feeble attempt to convince she who'd become his closest confidante of the wisdom of his chosen path, he can't. Something in him, some instinct compels him to press forward, the very same instinct that has led him along the path he's chosen, every step of the way. "I'm as strong as I need to be," says Valeri, "and I don't believe in the wisdom of all this navel gazing." But even this is a true lie. "The forward positions are in desperate need of reinforcement," says Valeri, "you can include that in your next report to Sister Simpson."

Aretha asks, "are you telling me to do so?" But Valeri only says, "I am," before turning and making out the door. He finds Lynn at one of the forward positions. She seems to be in the midst of leading a group of their fighters in a spirited discussion, as Valeri approaches Lynn seeming to be rather animated, far more animated than he's ever seen her. She gestures with a closed fist at several of the others, each of whom sits cross-legged on the ground around her in a semi-circle. There's a small part of Valeri that thinks to quietly approach her in such a way as to make his presence hidden until the very last moment before he opens his mouth to speak. But even as Valeri's debating this inwardly, one of the fighters seated around Lynn spots him and throws up the one-fist salute of the Popular Front, causing him to reflexively respond in kind. Lynn looks at the young man who'd initiated the salute, but doesn't say anything. The moment seems as frozen as the soil beneath their feet, as the air drawn into their lungs with each breath.

But the spring thaw looms. The harshest winter in memory is soon to meet its early end, with another unusually harsh summer looming over the British countryside. With food stores across the country having lasted through the winter only through careful, disciplined rationing imposed by the apparatchiks of the Popular Front, another summer of disruption to the country's agriculture will surely bring starvation worse than even the Popular Front's apparatchiks can manage. But this, this is part of the plan. The rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front have been cultivating contacts with sympathetic organisations throughout the world, since even before having founded the Popular Front years ago. After Valeri and the others at the little estate house outside Milton Keynes have improbably survived another enemy attack, Valeri can count the bodies left strewn across the land, their flesh shred from bone, their entrails spread like so much useless confetti. "Some of the men have been talking," says Valeri, speaking with his lead hand, Lynn. "What have they been saying?" she asks. Already the larger point has begun to make itself acutely felt, as though they can both sense the growing divide between them. After having split into two factions over the past several months, their fighters are headed for a clash which none of them are prepared for but which all must have seen coming a long way off. It recalls the readings Valeri had led the others in, and which he continues to lead the others in. The foundational text of the People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components,' contains numerous references to related texts, some old, some new. Valeri has been careful to note Lynn's absence from these study sessions, her absence growing more conspicuous with each session she's absent for. "I don't know what you see," says one young woman, a fighter named Tasha Wiseman, "but I think we're still a long way from winning." Valeri looks over at her, and nods, saying, "you're right about that. But no matter how long it takes for any of us to succeed, succeed we must."

After having divided between opposing factions, Valeri's and Lynn's fighters are split roughly evenly. The older and more experienced fighters are largely in Lynn's faction, while the younger and less experienced fighters are largely in Valeri's. None of them know what the spring thaw will bring, even as they're in the midst of it. As Valeri might've guessed, the rotting of so many formerly frozen corpses in the countryside has produced an inescapable stench, a foul, noxious odour that infuses every breath drawn in. although Valeri's fighters are resting following a months-long period of almost continuous action, many bands of rebel fighters throughout the country find themselves engaged in desperate fights for survival, fights which should produce so many more bodies for the rapidly changing season to rot. "I know what the future will bring," says Valeri, speaking with a group of like-minded fighters within his band, "because I've read it." This he means as simply and plainly as it comes across to the men and women. "Where have you read it?" asks one fighter, a young man named Seth Moody. Even now, it continues to be a matter of some discussion among the men and women which of the factions among will be the first to act. Despite this, when Valeri ends the session and turns back to his own concerns, he still feels the lingering sensibility that something very bad is coming. It's not only the war. Everyone dislikes war. Valeri and all the others under his charge can remember the time when they were or would've been expected by their betters to work for someone else's profits, to turn their own pain into someone else's gain. "We all came to where we are by different paths," says Valeri, as he looks across the men and women at this position. He sees all the different faces, some old but most young, even younger than him. "We're all going to wind up in the same place," he says, "but only so long as we all accept our ultimate fate if we do nothing." One of the young fighters, a woman named Jo Hodges, asks, "are you saying salvation is earned by our own works?" Valeri looks her right in the eye and says, "not at all. We are all condemned by our own works. We survive on borrowed time." Without missing a beat, Jo says, "borrowed from who?" This, Valeri doesn't say.

For the first time since all this began, since Valeri had first taken up arms with the residents of that little apartment block somewhere in one of London's sprawling, working class districts, he's begun to feel confident in himself and in the path he's chosen. When they stand for muster, Valeri and the others seem almost ambivalent on their own fates. Valeri's changed so much over the past two or three years, yet he comes to believe that he's changed very little. Absent the guidance and counsel of his lead hand, Lynn, he believes himself handicapped in having to plan and carry out the operation like a blind man having to navigate an unfamiliar environment by feebly feeling for the ground in front of him. It's a humbling experience, one which causes Valeri no small discomfort, but a discomfort he keeps firmly in the back of his mind. "The enemy still hasn't struck yet," says one fighter, a young woman named Carolyn Pratt, "I haven't seen any sign of movement." Valeri's inspecting the forward positions, one of the last time he'll perform these inspections before they take to the advance for the first time in several months. "Keep watch," says Valeri, "they could be on us at any moment, and if they are then we'll need every spare moment of warning you can give us." Pratt nods, although Valeri can't tell whether she nods out of a knowing approval or out of a grim fatalism, an acceptance of her fate. All of the men and women in their positions across this little estate outside the city of Milton Keynes eagerly look forward to the next battle, whether the few veteran fighters they have left or the newer, younger fighters who'd been recently assigned to them. It matters little to Valeri whether or not they'll die in the coming battle.

But elsewhere, Christopher Jenkins has become a soldier of the revolution, though not in the same way as anyone else. After having participated in the civil defence effort around the city of Birmingham, long a Popular Front stronghold, Chris doesn't return to the service in helping build barricades, not right away. With the Popular Front around Birmingham having suffered heavy losses in defending the city from nationalist attacks, Chris and other civilians taken into the fighting must remain so for the foreseeable future. Again under heavy assault, Chris isn't sure what to expect, falling back on what little he's learned in the weeks he's been at arms. He's with a few other fighters, manning a roadblock along a main road. They'd been retreating westwards, towards the city, and Chris is sure he'd been one of the workers who'd put up this very barricade. "Keep your fire on the street," says one of the fighters, the very same fighter who offered a hand to Chris. The man's name is Stephen Walters. "I don't know what I'm shooting at," says Chris. "I know you don't," says Stephen, "just keep shooting at the street ahead." They'll beat off this attack, barely, only to confront a new challenge in the weeks ahead. Chris spares a thought for his friend, Helen Reed, wondering if they'll run into each other again, what she'd say if she saw him at arms.

No one knows exactly where this confusing and disjointed sequence of events must lead, even Elijah himself still seeking atonement for his momentary lack of faith two years ago. After having brought down the hated Provisional Government and founded the current People's Republic, then expanded the dominion of this new People's Republic and founded sympathetic regimes in the provinces of the former United Kingdom, still Elijah must continue to seek atonement for his momentary lack of faith. In truth, Elijah knows and will continue to declare to his disciples that the power of their working class revolution must continue to grow, by whatever means it can, by whatever means it must. In the meanwhile, Valeri takes to their inventory of supplies, something he's done regularly over the past few months but which has become a rather morbid task in its own right.

Still elsewhere, in one of Nottingham's industrial districts Julia Roberts has returned to work, her duties as member of the area's super-council having concluded when the Popular Front had ordered her council into indefinite recess. But the work isn't the same, at the railyard much having changed in the time she'd been away. Despite the surge in violence and the determined nationalist attacks, rail traffic has only increased, resulting in twelve-hour days and six-day weeks for most workers. Julia leads the way in asking for volunteers to work on Sunday, the only scheduled day off, and she seeks to set a good example by volunteering every Sunday. She sees her old friend and one-time superior, Fred White, volunteering more often than not, despite his worsening health owing to lingering effects of his injuries. But when he falls on the line, one day, she can't spare the time to help him; he must be moved to the nearby hospital, his place on the line given to another worker, a younger man far stronger. "The hospital is a death sentence," says another worker. "I know it is," says Julia, "but there's nowhere else to send anyone. The trains must keep running if the revolution is to be won." This she says even as they can hear the distant sounds of battle, the cracking of gunfire and the bursting of bombs, the enemy seeming to have drawn nearer to them than ever.

This time, though, the inventory will have to be taken with them, wherever they wind up going. This is in addition to the guns they've acquired and which'll prove decisive in their next assault, wherever that may take place. "After all that we've been through," says Aretha, "separately and as the sum of our parts, we can't give in now, not to the people who divide us or anyone else." Although they've been able to use these field guns in driving off enemy assaults they still have much ammunition left for them, but little notion on how to use it. "We'll be ready," says Valeri, "for whatever happens." He means this in ways that may not be readily apparent to the assembled men and women, in ways that even he may not understand. The difference between the fighters who carry out the physical struggle on the ground and the leadership, which consists of professional, full-time political figures above all others, is acutely felt if not entirely understood by the men and women under Valeri's charge. Not all the fighters at this little estate house are given to the way of the revolution so easily, with those young fighters who Valeri'd picked up along the way still only young men fighting for themselves and nothing more. But they're on the way. With an early summer imminent, the fighters under Valeri's charge eagerly look to the surely impending offensive they'll be ordered on. Valeri's not so sure. Although he remains fully confident of the coming attack there's still that lingering sense of impending defeat, that they could be brought to their knees by something so simple as the changing of the winds or by the sudden thawing of the snow and ice. After the last six months spent enduring another unusually cold and dark winter, Valeri and the others under his provisional charge will soon enough take to the attack.

Still elsewhere, the young man Joe Hill has taken in with a group of workers, determined as they are to stage a strike at the plant where they all work. With careful planning and private appeals to men and women outside the factory, they've arrived at a decision and agreed on a date. But on the evening before their strike is set to begin, an unexpected turn of events has them all rushing to avert catastrophe. A wave of arrests takes place, much like the arrests of civilians and trade unionists under the government of the old United Kingdom, with many taken into custody of the local militia. Joe's friend, Nina Schultz, is among them. With many of the other would-be strikers, she's taken into custody and driven to a miscellaneous spot beyond the city, where she and the others are shot dead en masse. Still, the strike proceeds, with Joe and the other workers at the factory succeeding in seizing their factory and holding arms. "What do we do now?" asks one young man, after their successful rising. "We follow the plan," says Joe. They'd received secret communications from one of the members of the Popular Front in the area, a church which'd been formed despite the local government banning by decree all unsanctioned congregations. "I'll help," says the young man, "in any way I can." Joe nods. As they move to fortify their positions around the factory's perimeter, they fully expect an attack to come at any moment. "I'll never forget you," says Joe, speaking quietly, to himself, while looking on a picture he'd taken of his friend Nina. There's no time to grieve over those lost to the war, as the battle could be upon them. But it doesn't come. With the factory's grounds seized and a few firearms smuggled in or captured from arrested guards, they prepare to make their stand.

After having engaged American aircraft inconclusively on two occasions, the men and women of Mobius squadron might've expected open war to soon erupt. But it's not to be, not yet. With fuel supplies already scarce, the effects of a new American embargo are acutely felt. Mobius squadron is no longer flying over British soil, instead over the North Sea where many of their own have fallen. "There," says Hatfield, looking down and on their starboard side. They see the first ship, flanked by a smaller vessel which Hatfield guesses to be the Popular Front's warship in escort. A new round of defections have recently taken place, which've afforded the Popular Front's navy with frigates, missile craft, and an assortment of other vessels both armed and unarmed. "We are now taking up escort," says Hatfield, after having switched over to a channel for the naval vessels to hear them. A few more minutes pass. They detect unidentified aircraft coming in from the east. "Looks like Russians," says Patricia Stephens, "but they're not on an aggressive posture." Hatfield's contemplating his move when another group of contacts appears on their scopes. "Americans," says another pilot, "coming from the west." Soon both groups of enemy planes are bearing down on them, and what happens next will turn out to be something neither Hatfield nor any of his squadron could've expected.

Still elsewhere, the young woman Marilyn Carter has spent the last few weeks on the run, having fled the enslavement of the local authority in order to seek friendly lines. She isn't the only worker to have so fled enslavement. Like the others, she doesn't know exactly where to go, only that she must try to get as far away from her hometown as possible in the shortest time she can manage, so as to avoid recapture. Little does she know that the local militia have far greater problems, and have largely ignored the desertion of slaves from their masters. When she comes across a small church which flies the flag of the Popular Front, she's sure she's come across friends. Inside she finds a few other refugees, hiding out. "What can we do for you?" asks the pastor. But this hasn't happened. It wasn't a coincidence that she'd escaped when she had; after a wave of Popular Front attacks behind the lines, she and many other slaves had been given the chance by so much confusion sown among their nationalist captors. "You can stay here as long as you want," says the pastor. "Are we in rebel territory?" asks Marilyn. "Not quite," says the pastor, "but we fly the flag anyways. If they come, they'll see this flag and know we're friends." Marilyn nods, and determines at least to stay the night. There's a gaggle of other refugees fleeing persecution by the nationalists, seeking shelter under the banner of the Popular Front and the revolution in prosecutes. But the rebels won't arrive before their enemies. This church, it occupies a position on a small ridge with fields on either side, such that the church itself seems to cleave the countryside in two. But each field conceals beneath layers of snow a dark secret, one which'll reveal itself soon.

After all the blood that's been shed and the sweat that's been mopped from brows, it seems impossible for Valeri and the others under his charge to imagine that their war can end so easily, so early. A new round of conscriptions has to take place, both in the city of Milton Keynes behind them and in the countryside around. They've got more fighters coming, and they only need to hold out until these fighters arrive. Then, they'll be able to join others on the attack. Finally, in the outer environs of London, Roy Cook finds himself in the service of the Popular Front. Like many of the other men recently drafted into service, he follows with only his rifle and enough ammunition to last a brief firefight. He knows little about the ways of war, and many like him are killed in battle for their inexperience. But even during this confusing and disjointed time, when there's violence raging all around them, they experience some small moments of peace and quiet. Roy thinks for all the family and friends he's left behind. For every man who takes up arms, like him, there's ten thousand more who remain civilians, whether committed or not. Roy and some of the others are put down for the night, one night, in a stretch of country just beyond the city. He still wears his wedding ring, one which'd been fashioned out of a spare piece of metal found on the ground. He doesn't have hers. Now, as he prepares himself to join in the coming battle, he believes there's nothing that could possibly redeem him from the lifetime he's led. "Don't feel bad," says another man, a fellow soldier who'd been taken into service around the same time as him. "I don't," says Roy, "not so much. I just wish there was something I could do." The other man, whose name Roy hasn't yet learned, says, "well, that's why we're all here. We all heard Elijah's offer. We've all taken it." And to this Roy can only nod. He spares a thought for his dead wife, Sabrina, wondering if she'd have taken the same offer had she lived to receive it. But even this is a fraud. By the time Roy remains ascended to his fate, he'll realise the nature of this fraud.

But the careful rationing which has helped the nascent People's Republic survive until now may not prove enough to help it survive the coming summer. This is a problem anticipated by the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, and one which they're working to ameliorate, behind the scenes, always behind the scenes. The rebel Elijah has ordered select disciples to begin secret negotiations with certain bodies elsewhere in the world, sympathetic parties wherever sympathetic parties can be found. All that he'll require to make these negotiations is unwavering commitment to the advancement of the working class worldwide. It's not only here in Britain that the prospect of an early summer threatens with arduous difficulty. But a new beginning is imminent. With a new covenant established between the Popular Front and the working class whose war it seeks to prosecute, a new beginning can emerge.

29. A New Covenant

Another attack comes, the men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury under sustained fire once more. This time, there's the trundling of a tank's treads as the enemy has managed to put into service an armoured vehicle. But chronic fuel shortages, in Britain and throughout Western Europe, have meant this is an oddity, a curiosity that few have seen. In a small, nondescript church not far from Sister Simpson's command post, a revival transpires, the locals having gathered here and in several other churches to seek sustenance in spirit where they can seek no sustenance in the flesh. As the local shops, factories, and warehouses have come to be governed by committees self-selected from among the workers, so do the churches come to be governed by preachers chosen from among the congregants. There must be no ambiguity, no lack of clarity in the sermons they deliver, exactly as the rogue priests had once delivered sermons, as the rogue priests continue to deliver sermons. The church which would've condemned these unlawful assemblies no longer exists here, having been replaced by a church which can cater to the spiritual needs of the working class, the act of replacing the old with the new in turn provoking a spiritual renewal, engendering in the men, women, and children here a fervent religiosity once thought to be all but extinct in Britain. For his part, Valeri has little time to participate in this renewal, fighting as he is the war of the flesh, not of the mind. But when he comes across an assembly of parishioners, he feels the dark essence which guides the revolution impressing itself on him, as if to add its guidance to him personally in his moment of need. "It's been a long time since I've felt satisfied with anything," says Lynn, "I've been fighting one thing or another all my life. It's only been a few years now that I've been fighting for something that matters." After all they've been through together, Valeri has only come to a passing familiarity with the woman who serves as his lead hand, something which he suddenly regrets. None of them have much in the way of family to return to; such is the way of rebels. But Valeri says to her, "you'll always be fighting." She looks at him and says, "I suppose that's true." But he says, "maybe not always like you are now, but in some way." They exchange a pair of pointed, knowing glances.

But the rebel Elijah has a purpose in mind for the American ambassador, even as he refuses to meet with the American ambassador still his purpose reaching its apex. In time, when Elijah's purpose for the American ambassador is fulfilled, then Elijah will order his apprehension. What's to happen after that depends on whether the American ambassador is willing to confess and atone for his sins and the sins of his countrymen. The American ambassador is already dead, his body and the bodies of the other embassy staff unceremoniously dumped into the River Thames. But in the English countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, Valeri and the others soon find themselves in action once more. Valeri has designated the one brother among them who knows how to operate their new artillery piece as lead hand over the gun. The enemy attack comes just as this brother has reported to Valeri their new gun is ready to fire, something which has taken several days to accomplish. Valeri tells the brother to hold fire, for now, seeking to wait until the enemy has advanced directly into their field of fire to let them have it. "All it will take is one more enemy attack to destroy us," says Valeri, "we've got nothing left. We have little ammunition and we're badly depleted of manpower." Suddenly, Valeri feels a vague but powerful presence imposing itself on him, and he's certain it comes from a place, from the same place where he's felt the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution. Valeri climbs out of the position, looking this way and that before heading back for their headquarters at that little fieldhouse, as unsure of their perilous position as ever. If there should come another enemy attack, then Valeri isn't sure that they could fight it off. He thinks of the many refugees in the city of Milton Keynes behind them, in particular of the Jewish refugees who've fled their homes in other parts of the country for the relative safety and security offered by the Popular Front. If Valeri and the others under his charge should fail, along with the other Popular Front fighters defending the city, then a massacre will surely take place. It's around this time, this time of intense and frenetic action throughout much of the country, that the rebel Elijah delivers a statement by way of the screens. Elijah says, "as the Jewish brothers and sisters among us go, so shall we go. As they die, so shall we die. As they live, so shall we live. As their blood is our blood, so is our blood theirs." There's more, there's always more, but this is the critical moment that Valeri has replayed over and over for the men and women under his charge.

It may be the case that the governments whose ambassadors have been seized are feigning outrage at their seizure, but this was expected by Elijah and his disciples at the highest level of the Popular Front. Aircraft fly overhead, but Valeri and the others can't tell whether they're friend or foe. Actually, these are American reconnaissance aircraft, surveying the battlefields and cities of Britain in preparation for an eventual arrival. These aircraft fly from bases in the American northeast and Canada, refueled from aerial tankers. The Americans also have satellites in space, of course, which Valeri and all others fighting the war on the ground can never see. As the winter's season has largely abated, with the coldest and stormiest winter in memory having given way to an unusually hot and early spring, the snow and ice which'd only weeks earlier covered nearly every spot of ground around Valeri's position have now fully melted, turning the countryside into an impassable morass of mud. It's not lost on Valeri that the chronic fuel shortages are likely the reason they see so few agricultural implements in the fields around them, never mind the fact that these fields are war zones. With so little sowing of the fields taking place across the country, there will be even less to reap in the fall's harvest. As many people have died from starvation and related diseases this past winter, many more will perish next winter, while the Popular Front will have to make even more limited stores of food stretch much further. This is Valeri's line of thinking. But he's wrong. The rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest ranks of the Popular Front are at this very moment conducting secret negotiations with various governments and factions who seek to unseat them. But when Valeri next receives word of another enemy attack, he turns to the fight with hunger eating away at his innards, retarding his body's ability to recover from the various little injuries he's sustained over the past two years or more. Many of their fighters are in the same state of distress and disrepair as he is, although not all are capable of concealing it as well as him. "Not that I disagree with you," says Valeri, "but I think we'll all have something to say about it, before all is done." He's speaking with his lead hand, Lynn, and he's careful only to talk in guarded language and hushed tones whenever the subject is broached. They don't fight for the right to own others as slaves, as many so-called revolutions throughout history have. Rather, they fight to be free from slavery masquerading as freedom, the very same slavery which would be foisted on them by they who would deem themselves their masters. But history is on their side.

The enemy attacks have grown more feeble with each that's mounted, as though the enemy is weakening. Valeri and the others agree the enemy still recognises the strategic value of the position they occupy, with its view over the surrounding countryside and two approaches, but with the winter season having turned to an early spring they'd all have expected a renewed vigour in the enemy's assaults. After the most recent attack is fought off with few casualties and fewer rounds expended than ever, there are those among Valeri's band of fighters who might be tempted into a false sense of security. But Valeri chastises these, at the next central meeting of him and his disciples. "What did she say?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba, when Valeri returns to the estate house. "Very little," says Valeri, "I think she's planning the same thing we are." They discuss the implications of this belief of Valeri's, their discussion prompting a range of reactions. Others join in, some of the young fighters they recognise, some they don't. Their force may not have been meant to engage in these kinds of discussions, nor in these kinds of self-led study, but it matters little to Valeri and to all the other fighters who take part what they were meant to do. "I think I see through their simple plan," says one fighter, a young woman named Madeline Simmons. "If you can see through their simple plan," says Valeri, "then they can see through ours as well." He recites not from either the foundational text of their new People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components,' nor the Bible he's taken to reading alongside. But the fact that he's not yet ready to become more than he is proves that he's not yet grown beyond the ill-mannered malcontent he'd once been. "A word?" comes the voice of his lead hand, Lynn. He looks up to see her in the doorway. Outside, they walk along the path between the estate house and a nearby shed. "...And it's for all these reasons that I think we ought to work together," she says. "You may be right about that," says Valeri, before stopping to crouch. He puts a hand to the ground and gathers a small amount of dirt in his fist, then lets it slip through his fingers. With winter in full retreat, the coming wave of Popular Front offensives is timed almost perfectly to coincide with the seizure of foreign consulates and embassies, in turn to draw a wider war into being when those who would wage it against them are most vulnerable and least prepared.

These chronic fuel shortages have meant the few vessels in the navy of the new People's Republic can put to sea with any degree of regularity. The same is true of their few warplanes' taking to the sky. But when next a new covenant is offered to the remaining men and women of Britain's armed forces by the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front, more will be willing to take it, events in the midst of conspiring to unite the forces of evil against the Popular Front and the new beginning it leads. These new governments in Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland all declare solidarity with one another, and with the new People's Republic in London. In particular the government of the new People's Democratic Republic in Ireland admonishes sectarians, its governing council issuing a special declaration that the leaders of all sectarian factions must put down their arms and give themselves over unconditionally to the cause of the new government, or face death by hanging when captured. This declaration induces only a few to surrender, with the great bulk of sectarian fighters and their leaders vowing to make war against the new government. In this the tragic futility of their cause is revealed: they must continue to fight against the rising tide of history itself. "She has her like-minded men and women," says Valeri, "and if she's planning the same thing we are, then she's surely expecting that we're planning as well." Between sending reports to Sister Simpson's headquarters in the city of Milton Keynes, Aretha's been coding information on the division among the men and women, following not Valeri's orders but on her own initiative. "If that's true," says Aretha, "then they could come down on us at any time." As if to accentuate the point, in the distance a burst of gunfire can suddenly be heard, too far away to pose a threat but still close enough to be heard. A few more days, a week or two have yet to pass before they can finally take to the offensive, although even this time won't be enough for them to prepare adequately. Across the country, the factions that've emerged in the Popular Front are driven by a central premise, all of them preparing to stake a claim for one side or another in the great fragmentation that's to come.

A great chasm has emerged, threatening to cleave the men and women of the Popular Front in two. This is manifest in Valeri's band of rebel fighters as the divide between Lynn's and Valeri's factions. The great bulk of the more experienced fighters are in Lynn's faction, while the younger, less experienced fighters count themselves among Valeri's. As the season turns, Valeri begins to consider the future. Nights pass, first one, then the next, then the next. Valeri and Aretha continue to meet, along with a handful of like-minded young men and women. Although neither Valeri nor Aretha can be sure of any of their intentions, both Valeri and Aretha, as well as some of the other young men and women in their faction, choose to not take action in the meanwhile. "Calm yourselves," says Valeri, as he leads Aretha and the other men and women in discussing their plans for action against Lynn's rival faction. "All around us there's fighting," says Aretha, "and we're here discussing the finer points of things." Valeri has come to see Aretha in a different light, after having shared experiences with her.

Although Aretha has disclosed her Jewish heritage to Valeri, she's not told everyone around them, and this is something Valeri doesn't understand. Yes, there's violence against innocent Jewish men, women, and children, but not in the Popular Front, nor in areas controlled by the new People's Republic. He doesn't understand, can't understand that hers is a burden not only the product of her own life but the lives of so many innocent men, women, and children who'd been subjected to such horrific attacks. She seems, now, to be at peace with her own internal conflict, even as she's not and can never truly be. Although winter is receding still the air remains frigid, with the nights cold enough for Valeri and the others to see their breaths as loose wicks of steam exhaled into the darkness. By now, enough spare clothing has been sent from the city behind that they no longer need to light fires to keep warm through the nights. Of course, this applies to the enemy as well, and Valeri notes the absence of any fires burning in the countryside beyond their own lines. "I wish it would stay cold," says Valeri, "I wish the winter would never end." He's speaking again with Aretha, only this time absent the other fighters. There's little for them to do at the moment, as they aren't under enemy attack, nor even the threat of enemy attack. But not all is as it seems. "I'm not one for waiting," says Valeri, "I can't stand this." He's speaking with his operator, the younger Aretha Cordoba. She chooses to say nothing, allowing him to fill the silence. They've had a rare moment alone, with little for either of them to do besides wait out the coming storm. The countryside is filled with the chattering of gunfire and the bursting of bombs, only distant and weak, as if the fighters at war have determined to pick up where they'd left off when winter had fallen, only now having been enfeebled by the unusually harsh season just endured. Valeri makes a show of inspecting the forward positions, even including the positions manned by fighters counted among Lynn's faction, for the purposes of silently but surely asserting his own authority.

As the preparations are underway for a coming wave of offensive actions, Valeri knows—fully believes he must be vigilant against the possibility of action first coming from within. The estate house which serves as his command post has been subject to so many attacks over the past few months, those that'd penetrated the lines outside, with some even succeeding in breaching the walls of the house itself. After having beaten back these attacks, Valeri now faces the prospect of taking to the offensive with little energy or stamina. Inwardly, he pauses for a moment, later in the night, and contemplates the death of his lover, the younger Tabitha. The divide between Lynn's and Valeri's factions seems to grow more pronounced with each day that passes. But they won't be waiting for much longer. In the middle of the spring thaw, it seems to Valeri as though the hardening of hearts that'd taken place over the winter will take considerably longer to thaw than the countryside all around them. Although they don't come under attack at this time, they must be on guard against the possibility of their internal divisions escalating into open warfare at any time. "If you would take out the leader," says Aretha, "then maybe the others would fall in line." But Valeri negates this idea, saying, "if there's one thing I've learned from all the studying I've done, it's that men aren't led by other men. If she goes away, then someone else will rise to take her place. It's the way of things." Aretha nods.

It doesn't matter all that much how they came to be where they are, talking of their own brothers and sisters in arms as though they were an enemy force hidden within their own ranks. "Do you know when we'll be ordered onto the offensive?" asks one soldier, a young woman named Leah Hampton. "When I know," says Valeri, "you'll know." In fact Valeri doesn't know, and he hopes they'll be on the attack before either his faction or Lynn's can make a move on the other's. "It's strange how there's so little action around us," says another soldier, a young man named Colin Laine. With so many new faces arriving from those men and women recruited in the city behind them, Valeri doesn't recognise them all. He supposes the men and women recruited recently were told by Sister Baldwin and the other Popular Front apparatchiks in Milton Keynes to expect to be thrust into the midst of pitched battle on arrival at the forward positions. "That can change at any time," says Valeri, speaking pointedly towards Laine's observation.

Elsewhere, in the city of York, much has happened even as so little has changed. A young woman named Alyssa Stone works at an industrial glass factory, having been called in to work there only recently by the local authority. Already much of the industrial apparatus in the city of York has been shut down and transferred elsewhere, to where exactly neither Alyssa nor any other workers in the city can say. It's only a matter of time, they agree, until this industrial glass factory will be shut down and shipped abroad, perhaps to India or Indonesia. Nearly everyone working at this factory has lost someone, or knows someone who's lost someone to the war, whether the war on the continent or the revolution at home. The recent wave of uprisings in this part of the country have failed to establish Popular Front rule, and brutal reprisals are the order of the day. "It's hard to say," says Alyssa, "we should all get out of here as soon as we can." She speaks with a few other workers, on the one break they get at the midpoint of a twentieth consecutive twelve-hour shift. "We have nowhere to go," says another worker, "the war should end, now." A third worker interjects, saying, "but who's going to end it? No one's going to just surrender to the other side." This is the uncertainty which they all must face. This is the uncertainty which'll induce the Americans soon to act.

Even as they wait, people are dying, the countryside beyond and all the cities therein the scene of constant action. Somehow, somewhere, many of the Popular Front's apparatchiks have acted on the string of military defeats to establish new contacts among the workers, in the vague hope of building a new network. Still elsewhere, this turn of events is laid bare. In the city of Wolverhampton, not far from the nearest front lines, a young man named Albert Norman hasn't the opportunity to witness this. In Wolverhampton, the local militia has diverted most of its gunmen to the nearby battles with the Popular Front's forces, leaving only a few behind to secure the city. An impassionate uprising by a local factory's workers soon provoke the gunmen remaining to go on a rampage, killing anyone who looks vaguely to be showing rebel sympathies. Albert and the other workers at a machine shop in the city. Although they've not taken part in the recent uprising, they fear for their safety. "I hate the war," says one worker, "I want it to end." Another worker, a young woman, says, "we can't live in this country much longer." Albert doesn't say anything, not right away. The three of them are among a small crowd of workers sheltering in their factory, fearing for their loved ones, most of the workers already calling their wives and children to make sure they're safe, urging them to stay inside and lock the doors. "None of us are going to die here," says Albert, "we've got to live. I can feel it." But Albert's feeling will prove wrong when the militiamen come by. The men determine the closed factory to have been fortified against attack, and thus come to the belief that there must be rebels inside. Before the night is through, many of the workers inside will have been massacred. Albert's one of them. He leaves behind a young wife and two sons. The Popular Front's forces haven't been able to defeat the nationalist militia despite repeated attacks on the city. Their failure along with the inability of the nationalists to govern, to offer any kind of governance, will soon lead to a much wider war than any could've ever foreseen.

By the time there's action again here in the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, much will have changed, even as hardly anything will have changed. Forces loyal to the banner of one faction of nationalists or another continue to make their bid for control of relatively small pieces of the country, still failing as they are to coalesce into a single force as sought by the National Forces and their leaders Damian and Clark. Still elsewhere, this failure is made all the more apparent. In the city of Cambridge, a young woman named Hazel Lynch lives among the ranks of the unemployed, even the demands of war having failed to produce employment for all. After repeated attacks on the city by Popular Front forces have destroyed much of the city's housing stock, women like Hazel must live in communal housing provided by churches and other concerned groups. Hazel sleeps on the floor of one church, not even in the pews by on the floor between them. When the next attack by the Popular Front's forces comes, it penetrates deep into the city, plunging this church into the thick of it. "What can we do?" asks Hazel. "We can pray," says the pastor, "pray for victory." The pastor, like so many others, sympathises with the Popular Front. But this time, their prayers go unanswered. The nationalists beat back this latest Popular Front attack, then set themselves upon this church in retribution for the pastor having flown the red and gold flag of rebellion in the middle of the battle. "Please don't hurt us," says Hazel, when the militiamen barge in through the main entrance. But her pleas fall on deaf ears. She's shot dead, along with the pastor and several others in the church, with the rest driven out so that the militiamen can burn the place to the ground.

As if the moment should seem just right, Valeri and Aretha are set upon by Lynn, Valeri's lead hand entering that little estate house without any escort. It seems to Valeri as though she comes to make amends, and he speaks with her. "We'll have to be ready to be on the move at any time," says Lynn, "I hope you've been making all the necessary preparations." Valeri says. But to this Lynn says nothing, choosing instead to make use of her still-developing talents, impressing upon Valeri her general intent. This makes Valeri feel altogether uncomfortable in a vague and non-specific way, in a way he's never recalled feeling uncomfortable in his life. Still elsewhere, in the city of Chelmsford the Popular Front forces have repelled nationalist attack after nationalist attack, only to face the prospect of another attack they can't repel. A young man named Alvin Kemper has lived in the city for several years, and has personally witnessed much of the fighting since an uprising had established Popular Front rule here. He believes, like many others, that the fighting can't go on forever, that inevitably some form of peace should take hold. Although it's been decades since Britain was free of unrest, still he clings to this belief, irrational though it may be. When the next attack comes, nationalist militia push the Popular Front forces deep into the city, only to let up at the last moment. Alvin can see the Popular Front building a new barricade immediately outside his flat, suggesting to him they expect an attack at any time. He doesn't know that if Chelmsford falls then the Popular Front won't have any serious defensive lines between here and the outskirts of Greater London. "Do you think they'll win?" asks his younger brother, speaking with him as they both watch the building of the barricades. "I hope so," says Alvin. "What if they don't?" asks his brother. Alvin observes a particular gunman straining to carry heavy loads, and for a moment makes eye contact with the man. "They will," says Alvin, before breaking eye contact with the gunman. Alvin goes on to say, "let's get into the cellar," and heads with his brother down.

As a calm period has set in, there's little prospect of having to defend themselves from a determined enemy attack. Despite this, the forces aligned against their positions continue to make feeble attempts on probing their defences, attempts which Valeri sees as defying logic. But this is the sort of thinking which his lead hand, Lynn, could understand clearly. For all the experience he's gained in his long rise from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been through to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never truly be, Valeri remains only one man. As he's come to be emblematic of the larger working class struggle, Valeri is still limited in his view, depending on the larger, collaborative nature of their small example of the revolutionary work to see through to the future. In this, he depends on Lynn, among others. The next time she and he have the chance to survey the forward positions together, Valeri says very little, preferring instead to let her guide him through the difficult moment by way of her still-developing psionic talents. What Valeri and the others don't know, what even Sister Simpson doesn't know is that their having taken and held this particular estate at the top of this particular hill has been but a deliberate part of a larger strategy to deceive the enemy into wasting their strength on so many defensive preparations. Even as the whole of the country has been in the grips of a months-long uprising, still the larger strategy has been to persist in finding victory. Finally, in the city of Chatham, almost directly south of Chelmsford, the Popular Front forces don't prepare for the defensive but to take up the attack. A young woman named Shelley Wilkerson witnesses the course of the war here in Chatham, and decides neither to join in nor flee from the fighting. "I want to live in peace," she says, speaking with her husband. "We all want peace," says her husband. "Then don't go," she says. They're talking about his deciding to answer the call for volunteers into the local arm of the Popular Front, an amalgam of an affiliated church and a university. The call for volunteers went out when a group of fighters had defected as part of the great schism, a schism still in its infancy. "I've got to," he says, then turns to her and says, "goodbye."

When they receive word from Sister Simpson that the attack is imminent, Valeri and the others in his faction prepare for Lynn's to make the first move. Although Valeri thinks himself totally and irrevocably committed to doing whatever must be done, still he's hesitant to order the first move on Lynn's faction of fighters. It seems so absurd, so improbable that they should be reduced to this, to plotting and scheming against one another even as the common struggle plays itself out before them. Even he doesn't know the larger point, that the uprisings which'd taken place on both sides of the front line were not only the spontaneous action of so many hundreds of thousands of working men and women, but were also the deliberate planning and execution of the Popular Front's leadership. Some of these uprisings continue, with forces loyal to one flag or another engaged in pitched battles with bands of Popular Front fighters, others consisting of workers purging their governing councils, electing new members, only to purge their governing councils again. As the Popular Front's fighters gear up for another offensive against the National Forces, all that Valeri and the others in his faction of fighters can do is prepare themselves for the inevitable confrontation with their rivals in their midst. As events continue to mount here in Britain, across Europe, and around the world, all men like Valeri can do is all they've ever truly known to do. All any of them have ever known is the hardship of war, yet still they yearn for a peace they've never known.

30. Heart and Soul

After successfully repelling this latest enemy attack, the men of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury have a tenuous hold on the city of Milton Keynes. It's only the following morning that sees Valeri and a few of the others combing the residential areas for new recruits, finding some volunteers, usually in the younger among the men who've managed to avoid being taken off to war. Although the Popular Front has now taken control of this city, it seems an entirely plausible notion to Valeri that they could find themselves expelled, if ever the enemy should mount a concerted attack on their positions. Among the battalion, it's only Valeri's platoon-sized band of fighters that occupies this estate house and the property on which it sits, with the others largely dispersed to positions around the perimeter of the city to the north and east. In some of her communications Sister Simpson advises Valeri that she's attempting to raise and equip fighters. In her most recent communications, Sister Simpson advises Valeri and the other leaders that this task is nearly complete. But now, with reinforcements having bolstered their ranks, Valeri now believes himself having been saved. He's beginning to come to an understanding of the larger picture, something he's been trying at all along. "Are you ready?" asks Lynn. After all they've been through, Valeri can't help but sense a hidden meaning in her question. With the arrival of so many new men and women into their band of fighters, the numerical advantage enjoyed by Lynn's faction over Valeri's has eroded significantly. But Lynn seizes upon this moment to make use of her still-developing talents, and Valeri can feel her reaching into his mind and drawing out the barest of his sensibilities. He doesn't feel angry at this, but draws from it a kind of strange kind of strength, as if to become something more than he is, to make something out of himself that he knows he can never be. By the time Valeri and the others under his charge have bridged the divide among them, one way or another, events will have overtaken them.

But the stores of food that've sustained the population through this unusually harsh winter are almost fully depleted, in nearby Milton Keynes and throughout most cities in Britain. Rumours persist of hoarded food and various supplies, which the Popular Front charges its apparatchiks with investigating. It's a difficult feat for them to be investigating these rumours in the middle of a war zone, but it falls to them regardless. For his part, Valeri looks forward to the next battle, even as he's come to fear it. This dichotomy, this discrepancy between the wick of fear he feels curling up from the pit of his stomach and the relentless adrenaline coursing through his veins is creating a tension within him that he's acutely aware of, that he's come to crave as an "This is no good," says Valeri, as he looks over the guns they've hauled into position. He doesn't know exactly what he's looking for, but then neither do any of the others under his charge. None of them are properly trained in the operation of these weapons. A few of them have gained enough knowledge through trial and error simply to make the gun work. "At least we've got the guns," says one of Valeri's young troops, woman named Thelma Briggs. "What use are they if we can't even fire them straight?" asks Valeri. He's conspicuously brought the guns over to new positions, within sight of the place where he sets down for the night, and arranged for the guns to be manned only by men and women he can reliably consider to be among his camp and not Lynn's. "The enemy will attack again soon," says another soldier, a young man named Kenneth Swanson, "we won't be ready." Valeri doesn't know where some of the men and women acquired such a fatalistic attitude, but as he tries at reining it in. "We'll be as ready as we must," he says, "and I won't let the enemy break through here, not so long as I've got air in my lungs and blood in my veins." Soon, he's whipped the men and women into a frenzy, as if to reach inside them and activate some primitive instinct. But with their taking to the offensive imminent, all they can do is keep on fighting until there's no more fight left in them. Summer's imminent arrival earlier than ever will see them all discard the clothing they'd acquired over the past few months. "One way or another," says Valeri, "we've all got to push through the tests we face." The others acknowledge this, the whole lot of them having accomplished much in their study over the past several months.

It's this state of deprivation that induces a momentary pause in the revolutionary war, both the Popular Front and the various factions opposing it in the National Forces consumed in the task of finding more food. No one knows how much longer the war can so greatly disrupt Britain's food supplies; with the coming spring about to witness a great intensification of the fighting, it'll prove impossible for the country's many farms to sow what crops they can. All Valeri can feel whenever he wakes is the empty pain of his stomach turning on itself, churching about. But he persists through the pain, training himself as he does to not only persevere through it but to draw strength from it, as if to turn the pain into a hitherto unknown reserve he can turn to, as if creating something from nothing. In the darkness of the night, one night, he spots one young woman sheltering her children, among the many civilians who've taken refuge in the little nooks and crannies left by the devastation of the war. The next step, after they successfully take to the offensive, will be to seize a city of some strategic importance. At the next study session which he leads, Valeri reiterates the importance of victory. "Every step we take forward," he says, "puts us closer to victory." There wasn't any one moment when Valeri had learned to be the soldier he's become, rather an unlikely sequence of events which've yet to culminate in a single event. "I used to believe in such things as love," says Valeri, "it wasn't all that long ago, I suppose. But it seems like it's been much longer since I would've been given to that sort of thing." But Aretha says, "are you saying you don't mourn for her loss?" This causes Valeri a momentary loss of presence, for a moment the thought overpowering him and giving him clarity. "Not at all," says Valeri, "I mourn for her. If we had found each other a few years earlier or later then we wouldn't have been limited to a few trysts here or there." Aretha asks, "so you do mourn for her?" But Valeri pauses for a moment to consider his thoughts before he answers, saying, "of course I do." But it immediately strikes him as a sign of how much he's changed that he has to take a moment to consider his thoughts before answering so assuredly. He doesn't know what to say, exactly. He feels the wind tugging at his collar, and he can sense the onset of an early and hot summer by the slightest hint of heat that the wind wicks onto the back of his neck.

"Now we can stand here," says Valeri, "and the enemy won't be able to dislodge us." Lynn says, "I hope you're right, or we're all dead." But Valeri says, "they can kill us if they want, we'll win." And Lynn says, "you may be right about that, but all things considered I'd rather live through our victory." All Valeri can think to do is nod slightly. Soon, they're on the move again, this time a lorry having been supplied by Sister Simpson for them to move their artillery piece with. They've been a light infantry unit for as long as they've been a unit, although Valeri's small, platoon-sized band of fighters has never formally received any such designation. Finally, it happens. A message comes in from Sister Simpson. The message contains a simple statement that they should prepare to undertake the offensive. "At last," says Valeri, not even trying to conceal the excitement in his voice. The attack is imminent, with only days left until they're to abandon this position and move against the city of Northampton, not far away. They have only that long to get their guns into working order, a feat which must be accomplished while they haul these very guns through the countryside, along the roads. "We'll get these guns into position," says Valeri, "and then we'll be able to direct fire onto the enemy's positions at will. We can force them to withdraw by the use of indirect fire, without having to perform a costly direct assault." He's looking over some maps of the area. "We'll have to submit it to Sister Simpson first," says Valeri, before directing his operator, the younger Aretha Cordoba, to send for permission to make this modification in the master plan. It's so unlike Valeri to seek permission, rather than to simply take charge himself, but with a combined arms assault on the city of Northampton imminent he knows this time the plan must be adhered to. "In the meantime," he says, "we'll have to hope for everything we can." After having taken matters into his own hands so many times, at least now Valeri's learned to subdue the intemperate youth in favour of the discipline of his advancing experience.

Much will happen in those days. Their new reinforcements have come from the local population. Valeri recognises, or at least imagines he recognises a face here or there from their initial push into the city all those months ago. Over the next several days, Valeri and the younger Aretha Cordoba will come up with a plan on how to overcome the division between their faction and Lynn's, a plan that take into account the great number of new men and women recently arrived. The night after they first receive word of these reinforcements Valeri and Aretha meet to discuss the situation, a meeting attended by several others who've counted themselves among his faction. They realise that the new reinforcements will give them enough of a force to be able to mount an assault against Lynn's men and women, if only they achieve complete surprise and manage a precision strike. "I can't believe it's come to this," says Aretha, "I can't believe we're talking about taking on some of our own." But Valeri says, "whether you believe it or not, it's happening." A few of the others sound their agreement with nods, each of them grim but sure. Although Valeri, Aretha, and the others assembled are planning an action that has yet to be, elsewhere throughout the country, there're many bands of Popular Front fighters still under assault, still threatened with imminent destruction at the hands of the enemy. It seems almost an absurdity that their leaders, beyond even Sister Simpson's level should be planning a new series of offensive actions while their Popular Front is so riven with internal divisions. But then the larger struggle has always been beyond the conception of men like Valeri, given as they are to fighting through whatever pain they must endure. After having repelled repeated enemy attacks on their positions over the course of some months, then been subjected to the harshest winter weather seen in Western Europe in over a hundred years, now Valeri and those under his charge must overcome the gravest threat of all: the threat of division from within. Although Valeri is becoming more attuned to the flow of the events surrounding them, still he has much to learn.

After the series of minor injuries Valeri's sustained over the last two years, he's begun to show his wear. Even as he leads the men and women in discussion, he begins to feel the trickling of blood down the side of his neck. But he ignores this feeling as he keeps on talking. "I don't know about any of you," says Valeri, "but I won't let them take away everything we've fought so hard to achieve, nor everything we've still got to achieve." He feels the trickle of blood sliding down the curve of his shoulder, seeming to draw the attention of the fighters assembled. "If they should try and stop us," he says, "then I won't let them succeed." He nods knowingly at one of the others, a young man named Adrian Norton, who takes up talking. Quickly, quietly, Valeri turns away, dabbing at the spot behind his ear where he's bleeding from. The significance of this development isn't lost on Valeri, who fears not for his own life but for his ability to inspire the men and women. "We're all with you," says Aretha, speaking from the back of the room, "we won't give up." All the men and women assembled conveniently ignore Valeri's highly visible injuries, even as some of them are more visible than others. After their session is over, they've finally agreed on a plan. But this plan, it doesn't strike very well with Valeri. The city of Northampton is their prize. All they can do now is wait for the attack to commence, a task which'll leave time, too much time for the differences between Valeri's and Lynn's factions to come to a head. "Then start preparing to march," says Valeri, "we move out tomorrow." When he personally delivers news of the order to Lynn, he intends to gauge her reaction and use that to inform his plans against her and the rest of her faction. But Lynn says very little, seeming to be almost downcast at receiving the news. As he walks away, Valeri begins to feel almost sorry for her.

For however long it takes, Valeri and the others under his charge will remain at their own posts. It's been one arduous night after the other, with the hunger that's always been there seemingly amplified by the imminent onset of an unexpectedly harsh and early summer. The death that they've had to endure over and over, like some perverted dance they've been made to dance by forces they can't understand. Valeri recalls the first time he'd smelled the stench of death, in that little apartment block called Dominion Courts deep in the heart of one of Greater London's many working class districts. At first it was faint, and a smell he didn't immediately recognise. As the stench grew sharper and stronger, he'd assumed a mouse or rat had died in the walls, its rotting carcass giving off the increasingly noxious smell. Finally, a few days after he'd complained to the manager, that grumpy old man named Graham, the cause was revealed. An elderly tenant had died in his suite, in his sitting room's rocking chair, and no one had come to see him in the several days it took for Valeri to complain about the smell. It's that single moment that remains with Valeri over all others. What Valeri will remember along with the stench of death from that moment is how sad it struck him that such an old man had died and no one had noticed his absence until his carcass had begun to rot. Now, in the night before Valeri and those under his charge prepare to attack for the first time in months, the strengthening stench of death wafting in from the countryside reminds him of this. "The greatest trial is yet to come," says Lynn, having come to Valeri to speak with him again. "How can you say that?" asks Valeri. "Look inside yourself," says Lynn, "you know it to be true. I don't think any of us will have much to fear when all is said and done." Lynn says this as they're in the middle of going over some miscellaneous charts and maps, as the task of concerning themselves with the coming assault on enemy positions outside the city of Northampton "We don't have much planning to do anyways," says Lynn, "when the order comes in we move, that's all there is to it." Valeri agrees, although he doesn't say it. He knows all this talk is only the beginning, only for themselves, while the larger event continues to gather.

All Valeri and the others under his charge will have to do is overcome their differences, a task which must be accomplished even before they begin their assault on the city of Northampton. There isn't to be an uprising in the city, as the Popular Front's apparatchiks in the urban area have had their efforts at organising an uprising frustrated in recent months by repeated attempts by the enemy in seeking them out an having them executed. There'll be something resembling a strike, with workers at various factories, mills, and the city's power stations to walk out the day before their attack begins, but no one knows how it'll turn out. After all that's happened, after all they've been through together, the larger point has to be overcome, and the differences between them bridged the only way any of them could know how. As the night dawns on them, Valeri can't help but wonder how much longer it's going to be before any of them dies. If Valeri can recall the little moments that'd characterised life under the old way of life, then that's only the limitations imposed on him by his upbringing, by his lot in life. As he reaches through this difficult and confusion early period, he stands on the precipice of becoming the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never truly be.

For Christopher Jenkins, these past few weeks have produced change. In battle with nationalist militia, he'd been injured, hurt by the falling of debris in turn loosened by a cannonade of enemy fire. His service in the armed wing of the Popular Front's forces had been brief, but these injuries will linger for the rest of his life. At a hospital in Birmingham, Chris lies not in a bed but in a hall outside one of the medical wards. "How long will you be here?" asks another patient, a younger woman who's been there only a couple of days. "I don't know," says Chris, "not much longer, I think." In the weeks he's been in this particular hospital, Chris hasn't been receiving much relief, with bed rest in the hall all that he's gotten. The hospital here is filled with the screams and moans of people in pain, interspersed with the shouting of the few doctors and nurses still left. Sometimes people die in their ad hoc beds, whether in the halls or on the floors of cafeterias and such, and their bodies go undiscovered for days or weeks. The stench, the thick, noxious stench of death seems to fill every part of the hospital's vast and cavernous interior. Bullet holes, spent cartridges, and chunks of loose concrete remain from the uprising which'd established Popular Front control of the area over a year earlier. Parts of the hospital have been condemned due to structural damage sustained in the fighting, but remain populated with patients anyways. "I'm not going to die here," says Chris, before forcing himself to his feet. He staggers towards the door at the end of the hall. He makes it outside, and begins towards a bus that'll take him across town towards his old flat. He doesn't know what he'll do when he gets there, or even if the building still stands. He thinks not on the future but on the past, on his recent, brief service in the Popular Front.

But Valeri and the others outside Milton Keynes keep themselves working as small, functional, highly flexible units, the differences among them threaten to consume them all. A new night dawns, with Valeri consigned to inaction in the face of the coming attack. After having fought so hard to defend this position, this small patch of land centred on a modest house, it seems to him strangely sad to now move on as though nothing had happened here. But then Valeri stops himself, reminding himself not to take an attachment to things like land, to things like a miscellaneous assortment of dirt. This night is to be the last cold night, the last when Valeri can see his breath whenever he exhales into the sky. They've all managed to survive this long, only to face new threats more dire than ever. Everything they've fought and died for, everything they've accomplished both individually and as a group could all be undone at any moment by a nuclear firestorm unleashed from thousands of kilometres away. In his spare moments, moments which've become all too common over the winter, Valeri's sometimes wondered whether they'd receive any warning if a volley of nuclear warheads were bearing down on them; he supposes the higher ups in the Popular Front would know there'd be little anyone could do to protect themselves from such an attack, and that they might think it better to let people like him meet their fate. As the last of the snow and ice from an unusually cold and harsh winter have melted, it seems summer is in full swing. As the rapidly turning climate has produced characteristically rapid and dramatic changes in the season, it's only to be a few weeks from the last of the winter's snowfall to the onset of thirty-plus degree days, every day. In the city of Milton Keynes, as in other cities across Britain, a new round of executions is announced. After having arrested, charged, and tried many of the criminals from the old regime, there're few left in Milton Keynes who haven't yet gone into hiding. One of the key objectives of the Popular Front in arranging the earlier rounds of arrests, trials, and executions by hanging was to demonstrate their intentions to the world. It wasn't enough simply to take power, not when so much of their own fate remains in the hands of its enemies both in Britain and abroad. Now, as the current expression of the desire of the working class for vengeance is realised, the moment for justice is almost at hand.

Still elsewhere, just outside the city of Nottingham the young woman Julia Roberts continues her work at the railyard, despite the hardships of war their railyard managing a surge in traffic. She and the other workers continue to work twelve hour days, six day weeks to handle the traffic. As one particular train comes in, Julia looks over its manifest, seeing only supplies and general fuel. They see bombers flying overhead, in formation. "Should we hide?" asks her fellow worker. "There's nowhere for us to hide," says Julia, "let's keep on working." Later, a little while after the bombers have flown on, an unexpected explosion rips across the yard, followed by more explosions and the chattering of rifle fire. Julia realises immediately the enemy has attacked, the enemy having penetrated into the city. By the time the attack lifts, Popular Front forces beating back this furthest offensive, Julia will have lost someone dear to her.

Elsewhere, in the city of Sunderland Joe Hill and the others at the factory they'd seized continue to face an uncertain fate. The nationalist militia have arrived, and have begun to lay siege to the factory. Joe and the others wonder on the militia's holding position outside the factory, expecting them to simply attack at any moment, left wondering why no attack has yet transpired. At a meeting of the factory's ad hoc governing council, this topic is discussed. "They've got plans," says one man on the council. "They're coming for us," says a young women. "But when will they attack?" asks a second young man. "We'd expected them to attack immediately," says another young woman. But Joe interjects, saying, "let's send for some supplies, and see what they do." In the end it's agreed, with runners sent out to gather as much food as they can from the surrounding area. About half the runners are arrested by the militia, but half make it out. By the time they come back, the enemy will be no closer to staging an assault on the factory, for reasons neither Joe nor any of the other workers can fathom. But Joe continues to mourn the recent death of his friend, Nina Schultz; he's determined not to die the same way she did. He promises himself to honour her memory by fighting to the end.

Although it may seem strange that some might refuse the rebel Elijah's offer of clemency even as their refusal should earn them only a short journey to the gallows, this was expected by Elijah even when he'd first made this offer. Some men will give themselves over to the cause of the Popular Front naturally and irrevocably, while others will turn away from it as every other opportunity. This is foretold by the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front, and it's this that continues to be borne out by the fighting in Britain. In this war as in every other, there must be one force which fights for its own ideals, and in so fighting this force necessarily provokes the rise of another force so committed to fighting for another set of ideals. These other ideals, they are the inverse, the opposite of the first's, defined largely by their opposition to the first's, lacking in any other essential characteristics. As Valeri and the others in his faction consider their position and prepare for the coming attack, whether the attack is by their faction or Lynn's, they must learn to overcome their distrust for one another. But everything that they consider so must they consider the inverse, although men and women as simple as Valeri and Lynn can't yet do so. For all their personal growth, both Valeri's and Lynn's, they still can't but resolve to bridge the divide between them and arrive at some new understanding. Although their small band of fighters has swelled with the arrival of new recruits taken from among the population of Milton Keynes, still they remain badly undermanned. Valeri supposes they'll receive a new batch of recruits from the city of Northampton after seizing it, although the exact timeframe for this is unknown to him.

Still elsewhere, in the country beyond the city of Norwich Marilyn Carter continues to live at the little church where she'd taken refuge. In the weeks since she'd taken refuge here, she's seen many people come and go, the flow of refugees in both directions leaving many homeless seeking one kind of respite or another from the fighting. Marilyn fears the militia will come and take her back into slavery for the local authority, but she has nowhere else to go. She doubts she can make it to rebel territory, making this her last stop. Without family to take care of, she doesn't know whether there's much point in trying to keep on living and working, consumed as she is by an evil depression which seems never to lift. The pastor comes around, sensing her mounting depression, and offers a hand on her back. "What's the point in going on?" asks Marilyn, her voice calm and steady, absent any feeling. "You have struggled greatly throughout your life," says the pastor, "and you'll continue to struggle for the rest of your life, whether a day or decades." Marilyn asks, "but why?" The pastor says, "sometimes the struggle is not the means to an end but an end unto itself." While they talk, unknown to them militiamen draw closer, soon to happen on the church, when they happen on the church a new standoff giving Marilyn and many others like her a new reason to carry on. But it won't end there.

Finally, Roy Cook finds himself like many others fighting for his life. A new nationalist offensive has pushed their backs right up to the outer edges of Greater London, only seemingly pause at exactly the wrong moment. He'd fought until his rifle had run out of ammunition, with none to spare. But now that the enemy has paused, he's confused, without much of a clue as to what to do. He looks down the road, searching for something that isn't there. "What do we do now?" he asks his lead hand. "Wait," says his lead hand, "they'll come." In the meanwhile Roy continues to think on the fate of his young wife, he having been given a dog-eared copy of the Bible, his readings prompting a quiet edification. He wonders if she'd been saved; but they'll see each other again, whether his time is to come today or tomorrow, or thirty or forty years from now. Soon, they're under attack again, this attack killing many of Roy's fellow fighters and many more civilians caught in the crossfire, all the while Roy keeping the memory of his dead wife in the back of his mind.

Around this time, a new breakthrough is won, not on the battlefield with armaments but in meetings with the fountain pen. A new round of treaties are signed between the apparatchiks of the Popular Front and some of the dissident factions, here in London and across the country to incorporate these factions into the ranks of the Popular Front. These factions are a cross-section of groups, including churches, trade unions, and erstwhile political parties; all agree to subordinate themselves to the leadership of the Worker's Party and the People's Party. As a particular example, a group of students who'd taken over their university in the city of York vote unanimously to join the Popular Front. They know that so voting guarantees future attack on their university by the nationalists in the area; they believe the Popular Front's forces will soon relieve them. But the overwhelming majority of citizens remain uncommitted, In the night, it always happens in the night, new events must transpire that could lead them all to become something other than what they've been, both individually and as a group. The rapidly turning season has produced a fresh rotting of so many dead bodies throughout the countryside, the stench emanating from the ditches alongside country roads and from the wooded areas where innocent people had been marched out to their deaths. Ordinary men like Valeri hadn't, couldn't have ever anticipated this turn of events when they'd set out to take part in an impassionate uprising so long ago. So many years have passed since these events began, and many more have yet to pass before they end. But as the revolution here in Britain and around the world continues to escalate, the forces that continue to align against it must escalate their own counter-revolution as well.

31. Fine Arts

Now that the war has been on for quite some time, the imports have finally tapered off, leaving British cities without access to enough supplies to replace the large agricultural firms whose production has long ago ceased. The Popular Front must strive to restore the self-sufficiency in food production that Britain had once enjoyed, before even the old United Kingdom had fallen, a time before the revolution that preceded this one by more than fifteen years. Although Valeri has long ago stopped visiting his mother's and father's grave, this is strictly because the war has made it impossible for him to do so. As they march along the road leading into the city of Northampton, Valeri is too consumed by the task of leading this band of fighters to ponder the finer points of their legacy. The light artillery piece they've brought with them can be pulled by human effort, although it takes a dozen men and women at a time to make good progress. Still, even as Valeri marches along the English countryside with all the others, he finds himself avoiding conversation by shouting encouragement at the men and women. "Put your backs into it," he says, throwing his voice as loud and far as he can. It's the younger, newer arrivals he's speaking to in particular, having singled them out for exhortation. "Every kilometre we cover brings us closer to victory," says Lynn, marching a few metres ahead of him. After having grown so far apart over the last few months, it'd seem to Valeri such an absurdity that they should be marching so close. After all he'd learned about Lynn, after all he'd come to sympathise with in her, now they could be at each other's throats, staring down the barrels of one another's guns if only for the exact move of either of them, one way or the other. The delay between what happens and what ought to happen is something that Valeri and the others under his charge are beginning to appreciate, whether they want to or not. The divisions between them, however petty, are about to escalate into open warfare, if only anything could be done to unite them to their common cause. As the leader of this small band of rebel fighters, Valeri considers it incumbent upon him to lead by example. Still, even in the midst of all this, Valeri can't help but devote his thoughts to his recently deceased lover, the young woman he'd never known by any name other than Tabitha. She was only in his life for a short time, shorter than almost any other woman he'd ever so known. After her death, Valeri has come to the determination that he should never allow himself to have such feelings for another woman again. This is not because he believes himself incapable of such an act, nor because he's decided to dedicate himself exclusively to the work before him; rather, he believes it necessary to accomplish what he must, to walk the path laid out before him.

Actually, Britain could be self-sufficient in food production, as it'd been many years ago. A key fact that becomes lost in the propaganda disseminated by both sides is the disruption caused by the war itself, even as British farms must struggle to begin another growing season. The early onset of spring has meant the rapid thawing of so much ice and snow, turning the countryside into an impassable morass of mud. But whenever they pause for a period of rest, Valeri doesn't take to leading the men and women in study. Rather, he sits in on their discussions, listening as the others talk in turn. These have become rather urgent, as the constraints imposed on them by the imminent rebel advances across the country have greatly limited their ability to dedicate themselves to study. "I don't know what's going to happen next," says Valeri, "and I don't make any apologies for that. No one can know the future. No one can know when he'll die and be called to account for all they've done. That's why we've got to make use of every moment we have to fight for what's right." As he works with the others in hauling their small artillery pieces down the road towards their next objective, still he thinks of his former lover, the young woman Tabitha. She'd only been in his life, and he in hers, for a short time, the months in which the unusual harshness of this past winter precluded enemy action against their positions. He supposes there must've been others, then and earlier, who'd indulged in such simple pleasures. But as they put down for the night after having made several kilometres towards the city of Northampton, Valeri's first thought is to make an overture towards Lynn, as if to bridge the divide between them with little more than simple words. "There are few enemy positions outside the city," he says, seeking instead to distract himself with the minutiae of the coming attack. "That's a good thing," says one of the young men who've put down for the night next to him, "right?" Valeri's been looking through a pair of binoculars, and now he lets them down, choosing to look through the twilight with unaided eyes. "I hope no one has to die," he says, "but I don't think it's up to me." He casts a glance over at Lynn, who's with some of the men at a defensive position established a little further down the road. "It's not too late," says Lynn, although Valeri doesn't know exactly what she's referring to. For some reason that's altogether beyond Valeri, she's decided to stop using her still-developing talents, and instead communicate entirely through speaking. "Have you got anything to say?" asks Valeri. Lynn shrugs. She says, "we're going to attack soon. I thought you might be looking for some last-minute reassurance." Actually, despite all the growth he's experienced in going from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be, he still wishes he could have so simple a thing as the love of a woman. But this, this revolution demands sacrifice, and Valeri is prepared to sacrifice life, whether his own or those of others. At times, as he marches down the road with the others, Valeri's thoughts of his now-dead lover, Tabitha, take him unexpectedly further into the past than even the first time they'd met. It's not like Valeri, not at all like Valeri to be so given to introspection, not anymore. He believes himself a changed man, so changed from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been only a few years ago. It's around this time that Valeri reaches thirty years of age, making him an old man in an army of men and women mostly much, much younger. The day passes without anyone, least of all him marking the occasion; he'd never been asked nor had he ever volunteered his birthdate to anyone in the Popular Front. Gunfire could erupt at any moment, whether from enemy forces hidden in the countryside or from within their own formations. After they've advanced as far as they have, their men and women continue to mix without respect to ideological divisions. After having taken so many new men and women into their ranks, the smaller bands which make up Valeri's now-larger platoon-sized force don't always keep proper order, something Valeri's only beginning to notice as he gains more experience in a leadership role.

Whether their final confrontation with Lynn's faction takes place before or after their next attack on the city of Northampton, Valeri knows their ranks will be thinned, that many will be killed in the coming weeks. As he marches alongside the others, he's acutely aware of the growing pain in his body, seeming to intensify with each step he takes forward. He doesn't understand the injuries he's been afflicted with, doesn't know where they could've come from, as he hasn't been shot and he's suffered only minimal injury from falling debris or from trips and spills. "It's not too late," says Valeri, "I can't accept that." But he says this even as others carry on with their lives all around him. "I've never been to Northampton," says Valeri. "Before the war started," says Aretha, "I'd never been further from London than Oxford. My father worked at the university there for a time. He cleaned the floors for all the scientists and academics." As they set down for the night, one night, the sound of the men and women chattering jovially can be heard until Lynn shouts at them to quiet down.

For however long it takes, Valeri will continue to sacrifice whatever he must to see their struggle through to victory. Even if he can never be a disciplined soldier of the revolution, he'll always be reaching for that goal, struggling to be that which he can never be. This makes Valeri a tragic figure of sorts, in that he must aspire to achieve something that he can never achieve. After having failed to take advantage of this last opportunity to bridge the divide among the brothers and sisters under his command, Valeri can't help but feel resigned to his fate. But this, this is so unlike him, to be so given to feeling helpless in the face of an overwhelming threat. As they set down for the night, one night, on their long march from the outskirts of Aylesbury to the city of Northampton, Valeri and some of the others take to talking. "I've never been to Northampton," says Valeri, "I'd never been to Milton Keynes, never been to Aylesbury before the war. I'd spent my whole life in London." He means this in a regretful way. Although Valeri doesn't consider himself given to self-pitying introspection—in fact, he reviles it, or at least believes he does—he also believes it could be of some use in helping others to understand themselves and each other better. A critical error must first be rectified, or so Valeri believes. "I know that running away isn't the answer," says Valeri, "but standing to fight might not be either." But Lynn says, "I think you're too obsessed with the past, whether you realise it or not." "Let's say you're right," says Valeri, "and they did put something in my head. What difference would it make where it came from?" "I believe your prejudice towards the past is obscuring your view of the future," says Lynn, "you can't see that where we come from determines where we'll go." This, this Valeri considers even as he walks away, leaving his lead hand to wonder. He doesn't know exactly what he's going to do, even as the moment when action can't be delayed any longer draws near, which means all he can think to do is try to confuse his would-be rival. All this plotting, it strikes Valeri as entirely unlike the war he should be fighting, the war he wants to be fight. He's communicated his situation to Sister Simpson, whose headquarters remains in the city of Milton Keynes, but her replies haven't been very helpful. Valeri turns to his readings.

Actually, the foundational text of the new People's Republic, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components,' has been revised numerous times since its initial publication, with all now-obsolete editions preserved for posterity on the express order of Elijah. As meetings have been taking place between various factions of the Popular Front, the trade unions, the rogue churches, and the student associations, as well as the two parties co-equal in leadership of the Popular Front, revisions must be made to reflect the changing conditions and challenges faced by the revolution and those who prosecute it. "I didn't join the Popular Front to take up arms against our own," says Valeri, "we have a common enemy." He's speaking with a group of men and women. His recent confidante, the younger Aretha Cordoba, isn't among them, having set up her temporary operator's position a hundred metres behind. "I agree with you," says one fighter, a young woman named Norah Griffith. She'd come up recently, like so many of the others, after having been raised by Sister Baldwin from among those who'd volunteered following their seizure of Milton Keynes. "I'm glad you agree," says one young man, "but—." Valeri interrupts him to say, "agreement is irrelevant when the undeniable facts of nature are staring us right in the face. Can you agree with the wind or the rain?" All this debate and discussion will ultimately prove to have been fruitless by the time they're called into action once more, soon the confusing and disjointed array of events must overtake them and force them into a new beginning. Now, with the onset of spring in full swing, Valeri looks forward to the melting of the last snow and ice, even as he knows this will only mark the early onset of a much hotter and more humid summer than the last.

Already Valeri has decided that his recent relationship with the young woman Tabitha will be a decisive moment—that her death and his subsequent mourning for her should mark the moment in his life when he became something more than he is, when he became capable of reaching for that which he aspires to be, that which he can never truly be. In this Valeri is realising his destiny as an avatar of the larger working class struggle, as if this is something he could ever achieve. The tension between that which he has always been and that which he can never be But first, first Valeri must overcome the schism that seems imminent among his band of fighters, whether he's capable of such an overcoming or not. "Even for one week we've got to be prepared for an end to all this," says Valeri, speaking to some of the men and women whose loyalties remain in question. He hopes to sway some of them to his side, so that the number of men and women on his side will grow and thus dissuade Lynn's faction from taking action. After a hard day's march, they're a little closer to their objective, the city of Northampton. When Aretha gives word that Sister Simpson has said they should put down for the night, Valeri gives the order, something which causes him visible discomfort but which he does anyways. "Don't worry too much about it," says Lynn, approaching Valeri after they'd put down for the night, "I don't think there's anything you can do about it."

As the last of Britain's food runs out, it's nearly summer, the season having fallen almost as abruptly as the last. If the last winter had proven to be unusually harsh, then the summer that's about to have fallen will prove to be unusually harsher still, with untold suffering in wait for every man, woman, and child in the country. But the diabolical forces which have unleashed themselves against the new People's Republic won't content themselves to make life increasingly difficult for men like Valeri. For now, though, Valeri and the others must continue to work through their petty differences, whether through the airing of petty grievances or in agreeing to move past them. The changing season has meant increasingly hot and humid nights, with Valeri spending most shirtless, using his tunic to mop sweat from his brow. He knows this is only a preview of what to expect out of the coming summer, even as it's only early April. Although Britain, all Western Europe has become accustomed to hotter and more humid summers than had been commonplace as little as a century ago, still Valeri hasn't become accustomed to the heat and the humidity that seem to be worse every year. He drinks from a small bottle of water, refilled several times over the course of a few hours from a nearby stream.

Elsewhere, in the town of Whitchurch not far from the Welsh border the revolution has taken a decidedly different turn. Repeated rebel attacks have failed to dislodge nationalist militia from the city, while repeated uprisings have been brutally repressed by the same force. A young man named Bradley Howell has taken part in the last uprising, and was among those who'd escaped the scene of the factory they'd seized. He now lives in hiding with a group of other workers, in a housing estate around the centre of town. "When will the rebels take this town?" asks another young man. "Not soon enough," says Bradley. "This is the third time they've tried," says a young woman, "one more time and the enemy will kill us all." But Bradley says, "I don't think there's going to be another try." By the time the night is through, the workers here and elsewhere will have scattered, some returning to their homes, others fleeing the town altogether. When the nationalist mayor and de facto commander of forces in the area offers them all clemency, conditional on their non-participation in any future uprising or spying, Bradley is among those who reluctantly accept it. There's to be no more rebellion in the town of Whitchurch, along with many more small cities and towns throughout Britain.

In truth, Valeri wants the same things for himself that every other man might want, even if he doesn't ever talk about such things with anyone. It's quite the trick to work to deny himself these things, and instead sacrifice not only everything he has but also the promise of everything he'll ever have. Whatever Valeri's original motives for joining in that impassionate uprising more than two years ago, his motives for continuing to fight in the ongoing but still-young revolution are becoming more selfless with each passing day. The Popular Front's forces are concurrently advancing on Northampton from the northwest, moving along the highways and railways from Coventry. When the time is right, they'll stage a two-pronged assault, along with the others coming in from Milton Keynes to the south. As well, the Popular Front is preparing aerial forces who've defected recently to conduct bombing attacks on enemy positions throughout the area, making this one of the first combined-arms operations conducted by the Popular Front's forces. In Northampton itself, the many workers who're sympathetic to the cause of the Popular Front have been forced into hiding by the brutal, repressive hand of the nationalists. A young woman named Brooke Lamb works in the large industrial estate occupying the southeastern quarter of the city. With rumours abounding of imminent air raids, Brooke and her friends have been reluctant to express open support for the rebels. A few have even volunteered for service in the local militia. Brooke herself continues to work a factory in the industrial quarter. "I want the war to be over," she says. She's on the line at the factory with a few dozen others, watched over by management, the militia only a short distance away. "This war should've never began," says another worker, a young man whose name she doesn't know. "My family's all escaped," says still another young man, "I should've gone with them." But Brooke says, "be careful who you let hear that. If they think you're going to flee then they'll capture you and force you to stay." She says this after having heard the rumours of enslavement from other parts of the country. In the end, all these men and women will stay at their posts, choosing neither to strike nor leave.

It wasn't all that long ago that they were overwhelmingly a paramilitary force, effectively, and most of their fighters remain a paramilitary force. However, with Valeri and the others in the area about to open a new chapter in the revolution, this is soon to change. After they put down for the night, again, they receive word from Sister Simpson that another of Elijah's characteristic addresses to assemblies of workers is being broadcast, this time from the former Edmund University, now governed by a committee self-selected equally from among the students and professors. Although Edmund University had long ago officially cancelled classes, like nearly all other universities and colleges throughout Britain, this new administration continues to operate the university as a community writ large. With many of the former students now controlling the university's affairs alongside their professors, it'd seem that here there should form a particular kind of consciousness along with this new awakening. The new administrators of Edmund University have not yet become a part of the Popular Front, as they've yet to send a delegation to any of the area congresses that hold sessions according to an erratic schedule. They're close, though, very close to reaching for that ideal, with only a few more sessions needed to accomplish this task. Among those who've taken to the crowd at the old Edmund University is a young woman named Sophie Palmer. She'd come here after having heard that the rebel Elijah had become a professor at the university, something she hadn't believed at the time but which she'd taken to mean he was there nevertheless. "Where is he?" asks Sophie. "He's there," says one woman, pointing at the side of a building, three stories up. "I've come far to see him," says Sophie, "I have nowhere else to go." But another would-be student, a young man, says, "then join the crowd." Sophie presses forward, managing to get as close as thirty metres to the building before she can press no further for the huge crowd surging along with her. Sophie's come from a long line of ordinary workers, men and women exceptional in their ordinary character. When she's heard Elijah speak, she'll return to her home in a block of flats, return to work at a warehouse forwarding essential supplies to the forces of the Popular Front, she among the vast bulk of the population mustered in one way or another by one side or another in service of the war effort. The total militarisation of Britain is at hand, and this speech, whether Sophie realises it or not, represents a new step towards a necessity for Elijah's revolution to be won.

At Edmund University, the new administration around a year ago began conducting classes as one would expect at any university, before the revolution began or since. Although the central educational ministry responsible for conferring credentials on students has long ago ceased to function, the new administration at Edmund University doesn't seek to confer certificates or titles on those who attend classes, but rather to host discussion and lectures on topics relating to the revolution, to the history of all manner of revolutionary topics both theoretical and practical. A makeshift memorial has been erected to the students and others who'd lost their lives in seizing the university's grounds. The flag of the new People's Republic, or a suitable alternative, adorns every building on campus. The Popular Front has no representative on the governing council of the university's new administration, although the local apparatchik retains a good working relationship with them. "We are all soldiers, whether we realise it or not," says Elijah, "as we have all been fighting for and against something all our lives. As we seek justice, there are those who would necessarily seek injustice, just as surely as the light of day here must necessarily involve the darkness of night elsewhere. For every action there is an equal counter-action, the coming together of both to produce a new beginning for all. Finally, also in the crowd at the old Edmund University is a young man named Guy Carter. He's also come to see the rebel Elijah speak, only he's not able to enter the university's main yard where so many working men and women have already filled.

"What is he saying?" asks Guy. "He's talking about the war," says another young man. "Is he saying he'll end the war?" asks Guy. "Hear for yourself," says still another young man, inviting Guy to crowd around one screen mounted high above the wall, one of the few left working. Guy turns and looks at the screen, while a wave of cheers sweeps across the crowd. Like many others, Guy's come here hearing that Elijah had taken up the university and made it into a new headquarters, one of many rumours sweeping around the area with no basis in fact. Like many others, Guy has come from a long line of ordinary workers, of ditch diggers and street sweepers, exactly the sort of ordinary man for whom the rebel Elijah's revolution was meant. After having been made to confront a lifetime of impoverishment, unemployment, and despair, Guy has come to find in Elijah's new beginning something that he's never found anywhere else: hope. "When you have him in your grips, a wealthy man will offer you his wife and his child in exchange for sparing his life," says Elijah, "but I tell you this. Take his wife, take his child, and then take his life anyways. He who has refused to enslave himself to the cause of the Popular Front and to the advancement of the working class has invited upon himself this dire fate. We brook no interference and we tolerate no compromise with evil in our struggle to win through this war. I offer you liberation where others offer you enslavement. But you must reach out and seize it with both hands. You must realise that although I offer you liberation, this liberation is truly not mine to offer. This liberation which you must seek is but the inheritance of so many generations of oppressed and exploited working class men and women, offered to you, so that you might choose to take it and achieve what all working class men and women throughout history have sought. I ask you only to submit to the authority of the Popular Front, and that anyone who so submits shall not be condemned by his own hand but will be guaranteed a place in the future the Popular Front should seek to build." Elijah pauses for a moment, to catch his breath and to allow the crowd to roar their approval. "How many people have been killed since this war began?" asks Elijah. His question is rhetorical, and he goes on to say, "perhaps one hundred thousand here in Britain, and many times that number in other countries. But I tell you this: many more will die before the aims of the revolution are met, here in Britain and across Europe. For every advance we take, there must be a corresponding counter-advance, the resulting collision more violent than any war in human history. We do not seek war, but never should we turn away from it lest we surrender to our implacable enemy."

After Elijah has finished speaking here, he'll head to another assembly of workers elsewhere in Greater London. He's to address many assemblies of workers, throughout Greater London and elsewhere in the country, encouraging their new wave of revolutionary fervour as the means to an end. The People's Republic which he has guided through its infancy has yet to reach its ascendancy. Most shops sit empty, their shelves bare, while the few that remain occupied are only so occupied because they've been taken over and repurposed into ramshackle housing by throngs of workers dispossessed by the war. But whenever Elijah comes to address them, these workers line the streets in order to catch a glimpse of him, just as they'd once lined the streets to take in his teachings during the failed uprising that preceded this by more than fifteen years. This time, this revolution cannot fail. Everything that has been lost will be made whole. Everything that has been sacrificed will be restored, if not by this generation then by the next. This is the promise of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front, in all those who would count themselves among his disciples. In this, in this the rebel Elijah and his disciples will realise their destiny.
32. A Poignant Study

After the edge has worn off, Valeri turns inward, never one given to the idle chattering of self-introspection but seeking fit to indulge in it nevertheless. Sister Simpson has moved her field headquarters for 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury in Milton Keynes to the sprawling complex formerly used as the headquarters of the Open University. As this was a distance learning school, there have been no student committees formed to take over administration as has happened in most universities throughout Britain. Left deserted, it makes a perfect headquarters for Sister Simpson to direct the men under her command, and soon the Popular Front's banners fly from the university's flagpoles. Valeri isn't there, he and the others in his unit dug in at the motorway running north from the city. There's little to be done, nearly all fighting having ground to a halt, leaving Valeri and the others to man their positions in anticipation of an attack that may never come. But when his lead hand, Lynn, asks for him to address some of the men and women, he begins to consider that this may be his time. They've put down for the night, after a day of continuous marching. Although Valeri knows what must be done, still he finds himself unable to bring himself to do it. "If you're going to give the order, it's got to be soon," says Aretha, at Valeri's side. He nods. A fire burns for warmth nearby; tonight is the night on which the season will turn, the knife's edge on which the ice and snow of a brutal winter and the heat and humidity of an early summer are balanced. "It's one thing to realise what must be done," says Valeri, "but it's something else to do it." Aretha nods. The others, the new recruits having joined their band before leaving Milton Keynes, they look to Valeri for leadership. This is his moment to take action.

This is his moment to be the leader he never would've thought himself to be, but for the improbably sequence of events that've brought him here. "You're right about that," says Valeri, "and I think we've all got to do what's right." They've been talking about each other's history, her Jewish mother and his Slavic family's having come from Russia even before he was born. Their simple beginnings have made them both emblematic of the larger working class struggle, each of them emblematic in unique ways. But this is a moment that Valeri can't quite understand, even if he ought to be able to. The wind whips lightly at his tunic, and the setting sun casts a sickly orange glow on the ground. The patches of snow and ice left here and there from an unusually cold and stormy winter remain in the shadows, the parts of the ground that never see direct sunlight even at high noon. The distant rattling of gunfire and bursting of bombs have returned, but now seem lacking in the same vigour, the same energy as before. They're just off the road, the men and women of his band of fighters having taken up encampments for the night on either side of the road that leads into the city of Northampton. It just so happens that the two encampments are neatly divided into Valeri's faction and Lynn's. A gun battle between the two could erupt at any moment. At this time, Valeri delays, preferring instead to allow the moment to pass, as if the next moment could so pass, then the next, then the next, until so many moments have passed that the matter has been superseded. But then Valeri realises himself, straightens his shirt, and makes for Lynn's encampment across the road. He could order a volley of gunfire at any time, but the ordinary man, the worker in him prefers to simply and quickly "You don't have to do this alone," says Aretha, approaching him from behind. He says nothing, preferring instead to allow the sounds of the night to carry, whether the distant rattling of gunfire and bursting of bombs or the rustling of the leaves of nearby trees. "There's nothing here for you to do that you have to do by yourself," says Aretha, "if we're on the brink of this then we're all on the brink together."

Still Valeri says nothing, intending to allow the sounds of the night to carry again. But now there's only a disturbing quiet, an almost-silence that vaguely reminds him of the steady thrum of urban noise that used to fade in through the open window of that little flat he'd shared with his old friend, Hannah. "I don't care about that," says Valeri, "all that matters to me is that we kill the enemy and succeed in our aims." Although he can tell Aretha and the others aren't entirely convinced by this sudden about face of his, from the almost-quizzical looks some of them seem to be giving him which are only barely apparent in the dimming twilight of this early-spring's night, he chooses to believe that they are convinced, and entirely so. All he can do to tame the suddenly emergent division among the men, suddenly emergent from within a place more profound. Valeri realises, now, that his mistake has been to allow himself to fall in love. This is a mistake he intends not to make again. After all they've been through, Valeri can't stand to allow it all to fall apart now. A fighter named Melinda Turner approaches, rifle slung over her back, hair cut short. Valeri recalls her as having been among the fighters they'd taken in during their march from the smaller city of Aylesbury to the small city of Milton Keynes. Along the way, they've picked up many fighters like her, only to lose just as many, whether to enemy action or to a slow death by starvation, exposure, or a combination of both. She says, "we're all with you, Brother Kovalenko." Valeri nods his acknowledgement, but asks her to return to her position. She persists, saying, "every one of us would stand beside you if you ask us to." But Valeri only thanks her for her support, and sends her back to her position a little ways down the road. It's sunset, with the sun a burning disc on the horizon to the west. The day's last light casts a bright golden glow on the undersides of the few clouds in the sky. The sky itself has turned an unusually vivid pink and purple. At this moment, it seems to Valeri as though the war has ceased, with the sounds of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting having receded into the twilight.

Although Valeri and those under his charge have set down for the night, they remain under orders to be ready to move again at a moment's notice. The first time Valeri and the others had been put together as a unit, then under his provisional charge back in the small city of Aylesbury, he'd been unsure of his ability to lead even a small band of fighters. The last few months in which they've fragmented into factions have proven to be particularly taxing not only on Valeri but on every one of the men and women under his charge. Some have paid for their service with their lives, and Valeri considers it no small tragedy that these brothers and sisters should've given their lives without having first seen the rest of them bridge their petty divides in union against a common enemy. Although he wouldn't take back anything that he's done, anything that he's accomplished over the past few years, he still considers himself as having failed in reaching the goal laid out for him by the path he's chosen to walk. Another fighter, this one a young man named Isaac James, approaches Valeri and says to him, "I believed you when you said we all survive on borrowed time." Some of the things Valeri has been saying in leading some of the fighters in study have resonated among them, but not all the most obvious statements. Valeri has read that there are many people in the world who would willingly choose to endure a path of hardship and suffering, who would not be driven away but drawn towards the path of hardship and suffering. Valeri acknowledges the young man's statement by nodding knowingly and giving a cursory greeting. "I know who our time is borrowed from," says Isaac. It's only now that Valeri notices a small cross hanging from the young man's neck, its golden metallic surface catching the sun's last rays just right to give off a sharp glint. He says to the young man, "you're a much wiser man than I."

But then he sends the young man off, and turns to steel himself against the moment at hand. He approaches Lynn, who sees him coming and turns to approach him. Together they walk a little ways down the road, by now the darkness of the night having fully enveloped their position, leaving only a faint band of light blue and purple on the horizon to the west. Enough time has passed since they'd all begun fighting together, and so few of the fighters from the period before the declaration of the People's Republic's founding are still with them. Although many survive, most of the rest have been scattered by the course of the revolution, having wound up in composite bands of fighters hastily assembled and then re-assembled many times over. Finally, the moment is had. If Valeri or Lynn are to take action against one another, now is the time. After so much wasted light, Valeri turns to Lynn, as if to set it all right. Even as Valeri and Lynn find their differences coming to a head, elsewhere there're many who don't arrive at their moment of reckoning so easily. Although many bands of Popular Front fighters have already engaged in open warfare with one another, fighting over various and sundry ideological differences, there are many more who've become committed to one path or another after having resolved their differences by unity or by fragmentation into complete parts.

In the underground beneath Greater London, the young man Lochan and the young woman Maya have little time to spare for one another, the demands of the wartime economy placing great strain on both of them. They work long hours and retire to their accommodations—cots in an open tunnel connecting the platforms at a station with an open area that'd once housed small shops. There's no privacy down here, with their work demanding they share close quarters at all times. Originally, these small underground cities had constituted workshops of sorts, but now they make up de facto bomb shelters with many residents fleeing the threat of nuclear annihilation. Of course, however many thousands of people have taken to each of these shelters, there are many more, the vast bulk still residing above ground. Although they all push their bodies and their minds to the limit every day they work, whenever they spare a moment in their constantly changing work days they come to meet in the various public spaces. Around this time, Lochan and Maya find themselves working different shifts, shifts that leave him sleeping while she works and her sleeping while he works. Sometimes, they pass each while one is headed for sleep and the other for work, the limited time permitting only the exchanging of glances from across a crowded passageway. Even as young as they are, both Lochan and Maya realise this is no way to carry on any kind of affair, and both agree they must find a way to be nearer to one another.

But Lynn only says, "let it be." And so it is that the divide between factions is bridged, in their small, platoon-sized band of fighters at least. Later in the night, Valeri and Lynn each address their respective factions, announcing there's to be no division among themselves any longer. Although a few of the men and women seem disappointed, the great bulk are elated. This, however, is only a small part of the larger struggle, which carries on in every band of rebel fighters, in every workplace, in every home and in every church across the country. As simple a task as it's been for Valeri and Lynn to set aside their differences in favour of a new beginning, not everywhere will it be so simple. A great disunion is underway, with many of the dissident factions to leave the Popular Front willingly or to be cast out by the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the Front's highest levels. There are many variations of the clenched-fist salute, some using the left fist but most using the right, some holding the arm straight but most with the forearm at a right angle. It seems to Valeri as though their having brought together two disunited factions has provoked a new beginning among the men and women, who all learn of the bridging of divisions within a half hour or so. All that had been lost has now been made whole, in the night. But not all is as it seems. When Valeri rises in the morning to begin the day's march, he finds the men and women under his charge freely mixing once again, without regard for which faction they'd been a part of during these fractious winter months. Without asking, Valeri takes up a position at the head of the line used to haul one of the guns, and before any of them have had time to eat breakfast they're on the move once again. He wonders why Lynn hasn't chosen to make use of her talents for reaching into the thoughts of others and drawing from them all that she needs, but then this is the reason for her reluctance; she cannot choose when to use and not to use, but neither can she openly admit her inability to control her own still-developing psionic talents. These are controlled by the dark essence which guides the revolution, the very same dark essence which Elijah himself seeks consultation with at every step in determining the revolution's course.

As they march towards the sounds of distant gunfire, Valeri and the others begin to question their own way of thinking. "I'm glad you weren't killed," he says, speaking with some of the others after they'd put down for a brief break. They don't march continuously from dawn to dusk, their routine permitting them these breaks to rest. "The feeling's mutual," says Lynn, before turning away to tend to some of the men and women. "Should you have let her off the hook so easily?" asks the younger Aretha Cordoba. "Should she have let me?" asks Valeri. To this Aretha says nothing, instead turning back to her screen, monitoring incoming transmissions for any new orders from Sister Simpson, the latter still at her field headquarters in the city of Milton Keynes.

But for the young man Christopher Jenkins the great fragmentation will prove considerably more difficult. After having been injured only a few months into his service in the Popular Front, he's returned home to find his old flat occupied by a family. He finds refuge in the home of an old friend nearby. He soon finds himself immersed in a crowd of workers, the whole lot of them surging towards a barricade in the street ahead. "What are we doing here?" asks Chris. "There's enemies up ahead," says another worker. "But I know one of the gunmen," says Chris, as he can see his old friend Helen Reed manning the barricade. "She's defected from the rebels," says another worker, a young woman. "Impossible," says Chris, "let me to the front of the crowd." But the whole mass of people seems to have a mind of its own, guided by some invisible hand. There's the crack of gunfire, as the gunmen up ahead open fire, shooting through the crowd, killing many of the men and women. But not all is as it seems. The woman who Chris had identified as his old friend Helen is in fact someone else altogether, his old friend instead on the battlefield more than a hundred kilometres away. This massacre which Chris survives by the slimmest of margins, after the enemy's bullets had passed within inches of his body, is perpetrated by one of the new rival factions who've emerged from the great fragmentation. Still, Chris believes his old friend a murderer, and its this mistaken belief that'll dictate his actions when next he must fight for his life, sooner than he could've possibly imagined. The overwhelming bulk of the working class men and women in Britain continue to give themselves over to the cause of the Popular Front, but still there remains that portion larger still committed to one flag or another.

Although many bands of Popular Front fighters have already engaged in open warfare with one another, fighting over spots on the map previously well within friendly territory. The uprisings which'd come to characterise life throughout the country, both under the new People's Republic to transfer all power to the Popular Front and in areas under the National Forces to establish rule of the People's Republic, have now ended. What remains is a military campaign. In the underground beneath Greater London, the hardship of life continues,. Not infrequently, the power fails, which means all work must stop. So far underground, over the past winter they'd been largely shielded from the extreme and unseasonably low temperatures of the worst winter in over two hundred years, but this early and still hotter summer affords those working underground some greater measure of protection from the heat. It's not the heat but the stuffiness, the staleness of the air that affects those working and living in the underground the most. Maya and Lochan have become more distant since agreeing to be closer, not by choice but by happenstance having conspired to keep them apart.

Still elsewhere, the young woman Julia Roberts has witnessed a battle between Popular Front forces and those of its enemies. In the aftermath, she'd emerged from their makeshift shelter along with the other workers, looking to resume their work as soon as possible. But at that moment it'd dawned on Julia that the attack had been part of a larger campaign, the rebels divided among themselves again. "What's all the shooting?" she'd asked, leaving the safety of her shelter in order to speak to one of the nearby gunmen. "You should take cover," said the nearby gunman, on seeing her. "The networks are all down," she'd said. "They've taken out the nearest node," said the gunman, "please get inside before—" But the gunman was cut off by a hail of bullets which struck him down. This was the furthest the opposing gunmen, those loyal to one of the Popular Front's newly dissident factions, had advanced. Now, as she works with the others to get the railyard running again, she can only remember the sight of that young man cut down in a hail of bullets. It'd turned out that the young man she'd seen killed wasn't a dissident but a Popular Front loyalist, killed in defence of her life and the lives of everyone else around her. The railyard had been so heavily damaged that much repair work must be done, in the meantime most of the yard inoperative. It's while this repair work is underway that she sees her family again, for the first time in nearly a year. This meeting will bring with it terrible news, news that'll change her life.

But the men are unaware of the larger war that's in store for them. Although the world has been at war since even before the downfall of the old United Kingdom, it's only now that larger forces are beginning to align against this new beginning. The whole world is in the midst of a catastrophic discontinuance, with the struggles of the Popular Front here in Britain but a small sample of what's currently ongoing throughout all industrial countries throughout the world. This great schism has been many years in the making, with discord among and within working class parties as old as the working class itself. As Valeri and the others resume their march in the morning towards the city of Northampton, they feel a renewed sense of purpose after having bridged the divide among them. Valeri and Lynn march together, hauling one of their guns along the road reaching for the city. They don't know whether any of their guns will fire when they get into position, but that matters little against the fight ahead. They've taken to discussing whether they're to become a dedicated artillery unit, something which Valeri hopes isn't the case; he looks forward to storming the enemy's lines and killing those he can see.

Still elsewhere, the young man Joe Hill continues to occupy the factory they'd seized, watching as a few of the runners they'd sent out return with news on outside events. (The networks have gone down in the area after the local authority had ordered them taken offline for good). One young man returns with news that the Popular Front's gunmen can't relieve them, although this news seems odd. It later emerges that this particular runner had been sent in by the militia with a forged message; this revelation only causes more confusion among the workers who don't know what to do. "I remember a time when the revolution seemed so simple," says Joe, "we could hate the government and the police, and that was it." But of course even Joe knows it was never so simple. "I have a family," he says, "I had a family." He's speaking with some of the other occupiers during a moment in one of the factory's communal areas. "I had a mother and father," he says, "and now I don't know where they are. I wish I'd gotten a family. I wish I'd gotten married." But even this is a fraud. When word comes that an attack is underway, Joe and the others rush to the defences, only to find it a false alarm, the first of many they'll receive over the next several weeks. In the meanwhile, they continue to hear the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs in the distance, very faint, but definitely there. "Well," says one of Joe's fellow workers, "I think we're going to find out."

Although many bands of Popular Front fighters have already engaged in open warfare with one another, fighting over strategic locations, whether roads and intersections or industrial sites and power plants. In the underground beneath Greater London, there's no fighting, with all the residents and here remaining loyal to the cause of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. A particular room once reserved for storage use by merchants has been repurposed by the residents of the underground as a church. So small is this church relative to the number of people living in this underground station and on the tracks up and down the way that it's constantly filled with worshippers, with the sounds of worship emanating from the door to the room. At the far end of the room, the workers have erected a cross out of pieces of old, broken-down cleaning machinery. Lochan and Maya come here frequently to pray, although most of the time they can only get in for a few minutes before they must leave to allow others their chance.

Still elsewhere, the young woman Marilyn Carter continues to sink deeper into her own personal depression with each passing day. At the church in the countryside where she's found refuge, it becomes increasingly certain that she'll die here, with the country outside occupied by nationalist militia who see the rogue ministries here and in other churches across the country as a threat. "I'm thinking of leaving," says Marilyn, "there's no rest here either." The pastor has come to take a particular affinity for Marilyn, sympathetic as he is to her deepening depression. "What brought you here?" the pastor asks. Marilyn begins, "I was seeking—" "No," says the pastor, "I mean what brought you to this particular church?" But Marilyn replies, "I don't understand." "Why stop at this church instead of continuing?" asks the pastor. "I don't know," says Marilyn, "it's a place of refuge." The pastor sits next to her, and they while away an entire afternoon in a free-ranging talk. When next Marilyn faces the day, she's confronted with her own future. As the walls rattle and as the windows shatter, Marilyn realises what must be done.

Although Valeri has achieved the reconciliation among his band of fighters, there remains much for the whole lot of them to accomplish. It's been several months since Valeri'd last gotten a full night's sleep; in fact, he prefers to be up at night, if ever he'd had any choice in the matter. He's learned many new skills in having gone from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never truly be, but no skill could ever prepare him for the atrocities he's seen. It recalls a moment earlier in the war, when Valeri had been among the men and women to survive the attack on their liberated zones by the now-defunct Home Guard. They'd escaped in the sewers, and Valeri had wanted to return to the surface to directly attack the nearest Home Guard patrol. He'd argued against returning to the surface. But in the back of his mind he'd thought of launching a hopeless attack, just as surely as he'd wanted to stay in the liberated zone and fight to the death. He'd always been dependent on the counsel of others to avoid losing his life in a blaze of glory, and he considers it no small feat to have grown past the ill-mannered malcontent, the intemperate youth who would've wanted such things for himself. He regards his having arrived at so simple and bloodless a reconciliation with his lead hand, Lynn, as he has as a sign of his own personal growth in reaching for the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be. "Let it be," Lynn had said. Valeri had only nodded and replied by saying, "let it be," in agreement. As he'd said it, the sun had gone down, immersing the countryside all around them in a sea of boundless night. Finally, the fighting unit Roy Cook has found himself in has seen almost continuous action over the past several weeks, first on the defensive then ordered immediately on the attack. As he marches with the others in his band of fighters, he considers himself resigned to his fate, with little left for him in the life he'd left behind. His dead wife, now she seems so distant it's as though they'd never been together at all. But this is the trick of memories, his own personal depression reaching into his memories to reconfigure them until they only vaguely resemble real events, turned as they are into caricatures of themselves. "Finally," he says, after they've put down for the night, "I feel like I'm free." He's speaking with a group of the others, each of them bringing their own personal histories. "The war will end one day," says his lead hand, speaking to the group, "and when it does, will you have done all that you could?" It's at this very moment that Roy feels the influence of the dark essence which guides the revolution, sharpening his focus, at exactly the right moment before Roy and the others should be forced into action again.

Although many bands of Popular Front fighters have already engaged in open warfare with one another, fighting over stores of food and ammunition as well as airports and seaports. In the underground beneath Greater London, the work continues. But no matter the hardships endured by the men and women living in the underground, life always finds a way. Even while living in communal spaces, Lochan and Maya have found the time to have sex, fulfilling themselves as any other couple might. As they work twelve hours a day, six days a week to advance the cause of the revolution, they have twelve hours a day, six days a week to occupy themselves otherwise. As there's no privacy, nor any expectation of privacy at any moment. Lochan and Maya both work a particular shift, and their off time sees them in the communal sleeping areas most of the time. When they're absolutely positive no one notices, no one could be looking, they pick a spot right up against a far wall and allow themselves a few moments. After a particularly taxing day working on the lines, one day, it's around this time that she takes him and sits him next to her on a cot. But she doesn't take him beneath the covers, rather keeping him upright as she speaks quietly but firmly. "I'm pregnant," says Maya. Although she expresses worry about having become pregnant, Lochan assures her that this is a happy moment between them. They don't have sex that night, but instead simply lie together. While the revolution must continue to place great demands on the working class, the miracle of life will always find a way to use the circumstances at hand to grant itself expression.

Valeri hadn't always been given to rebellion, even when he was a boy the temptation in him too tepid to amount to much. He recalls having grown up in one of Greater London's many working class districts, in one flat after another, each flat seemingly smaller and more ramshackle yet costing more than the last. His father worked a variety of labour jobs throughout his youth, and was put to work more than once dismantling the factories he'd worked in, those factories then sent to countries in Asia where the work could be done by children paid a fraction of the wages due to Britons. This had been a recurring experience for many years: the very people displaced by the instruments of their oppression and impoverishment were put to work in building the very same instruments, paid a pittance along the way. Although Valeri's father had been a good worker, strong and stout, he'd never seen the man given more than the bare minimum needed to survive. Like most working class men, Valeri can't trace his family back more than a generation or two, certain as he is who his mother and father were along with a handful of others they'd spoken of during his upbringing, but none others. Even as the revolution in Britain continues to spiral out of control, to men like Valeri the moment of their vengeance for generations of impoverishment and despair is almost at hand.

33. Crossing Lines

Finally, it happens. In the night, it always happens in the night, a deal is struck by the master manipulator Lucius and many of the remaining powers in the world to stage an intervention against the working class revolution, not only against the nascent People's Republic in Britain but also against the many factions across Europe who seek the path of the revolution as well. According to Lucius' plan, which he has been concocting for many months, the Americans will take the lead in deploying their forces to Europe, with their army to account for over eighty percent of all troops sent under the auspices of the planned United Nations resolution. All this is lost on Valeri Kovalenko and the other men on the ground, the whole lot of them concerned with fighting the foot soldier's war, with the political struggle left to the Elijah's disciples at the higher levels of the Popular Front. After having made his peace with his lead hand, Lynn, and buried the hatchet with the number of fighters under his leadership who were sympathetic to her point of view, Valeri's thoughts at night remain half-fixated on his recently deceased lover, Tabitha. If she'd lived to see this day, then she might've been firmly in his faction of fighters, or so Valeri imagines. After having reconciled his faction of fighters with Lynn's, Valeri might be forgiven for thinking it could be so easy for every band of rebel fighters to reconcile the differences that should inevitably rise within their own ranks. "If we seize our next objective rapidly," says Lynn, going over their targets, "then we could lay open the road to the city." Valeri nods. "What are you thinking, Brother?" asks Lynn. Valeri finds it strange that she should use her voice to speak in lieu of her still-developing talents. But what Valeri doesn't know, can't know, is that her talents have disappeared. Even she doesn't understand why or how, although she's reluctant to tell this to Valeri. "I just want to bring the real criminals to justice," says Valeri. "We all do," says Lynn, "that's why we're all on the same side." Valeri nods. In the night, there's the sound of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting distantly, reminding Valeri, Lynn, and all the others of the eruption of the Popular Front's offensive. But these sound, they seem to be coming from every direction at once, on both sides of the constantly shifting front lines. "Have the men and women get as much rest as they can," Valeri says, "tomorrow's going to be a difficult day for us all." With the bulk of the army's equipment still on the continent, they must continue to march most everywhere they go, no matter the pain and stiffness in their legs, no matter the empty gnawing in their stomachs. Even two or three years ago, Valeri and most of the men and women under his charge would've never thought themselves the kind of soldiers they're becoming. Now, as they prepare to begin the next battle in the revolution's long struggle, they see in themselves something radically different than anything they could've imagined, either individually or as a group.

However easy and bloodless it was for Valeri and Lynn to bring their opposing factions together, it isn't so easy and bloodless in bands of rebel fighters so similarly divided across Britain. Nothing could've prepared any of them for the great divide that's now taking place, with the Popular Front's fighters turned against themselves. The National Forces, that loose and disorganised coalition in opposition to the forces of the Popular Front, is too inept and too poorly led to take real advantage of the fragmentation of the Popular Front's armed forces. Although Lynn and Valeri have bridged their divide and settled their differences through words, there are many other bands of rebel fighters throughout the country who are not so similarly able. Some of the bursts of gunfire they can hear in the distance are not from enemy forces but from bands of Popular Front fighters turned against one another. Every time Valeri sends for new instructions from Sister Simpson, he receives only simple replies directing them to continue as planned. "They don't know what to do," says Lynn, "they're going to send us in and just see what happens." But she says this in such a way that it strikes Valeri as a simple observation, absent any implications, intended to be taken plainly. Inwardly he continues to marvel at the seemingly sudden disappearance of her unique talents, and he wonders if their recent reconciliation may have been due, in part at least, to her apparent inability to reach into his mind and draw out his thoughts. "When the assault takes place," says Valeri, "we'll need everyone at their best. Everyone needs to get as much rest as possible." At the exact moment when the division among the forces of the Popular Front is reaching its crescendo, men like Valeri will achieve new victories. "When the assault takes place," says Lynn, "we'll lose many men and women." But this is regarded by all present as an inevitable sacrifice, not to be sought out but neither to be turned away from. The attack is on.

As Valeri must continue to wait until given the all clear to begin their next attack, he's given time to consider the full implications of recent events. Neither are they driven by hate nor consumed by fear. "You don't have to hide your injuries from us," says Lynn, "you should call in one of the doctors and have them treat you as best they can." But Valeri says, "a doctor would just send me to rot with all the other living dead." Across the way the sounds of battle can be heard, the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs sounding out through the night. The men and women under Valeri's charge have to wait several more days, perhaps a week or more to begin their assault on the city of Northampton, as they're the first band of Popular Front fighters to reach their assigned starting positions outside the city. "It's fortunate the enemy is too consumed in their own fighting to attack us pre-emptively," says Valeri. "There's no way they can see the trap we're preparing for them," says Lynn, the thin beginnings of a wry grin on her face as she agrees with him. "There are only a few hundred Jews in Northampton," says Valeri. "There were only a few hundred Jews in Northampton," says Lynn, correcting him. "Right," says Valeri, "but who knows how many are left of those few hundred? How many have been driven out or murdered by the enemy?" To this Lynn says nothing, only nodding her agreement with Valeri's pointed questions. "However many there are," says Valeri, continuing, "it's our objective to rescue as many as we can. If there's only one Jewish woman or child left in the city, then we'll save them." He believes Lynn doesn't know of Aretha's Jewish parentage, and he supposes that her commitment to protect the Jewish refugees and victims of pogroms derives only from her sympathy to all the oppressed peoples of the old way of life. He doesn't tell her of Aretha's Jewish parentage, believing that Aretha's Jewish parentage carries no implications on the young operator's ability or desire to fight, and that such a thing ought to be up to Aretha to disclose. He has more than one Jew serving in the band of fighters under his leadership, although Aretha is the only one Valeri knows in any deeply personal way.

But in Milton Keynes, as in most other cities throughout Britain, the real work has yet to begin. Here in Milton Keynes, a few officials from the old regime are captured, by happenstance the lot of them winding up in the city when the revolution had closed in on them and made escape impossible. These were men and women who'd owed their loyalties to the old United Kingdom, not to the Provisional Government which displaced it. After Sister Simpson had moved on from the city, her command post following the flow of battle across the countryside towards Northampton, her contemporary in Sister Baldwin remained in the city of Milton Keynes, the latter's work not yet complete. Although she'd proved instrumental in raising troops from the population of the city, her work involves so much more. The arrests she'd made in the city are not the last, as the great division underway among the various fighters of the Popular Front are replicated here. For Valeri, though, the personal growth he's accomplished through this difficult time in learning to become a disciplined soldier of the revolution can only continue. Still, in the night, the men and women under Valeri's charge seem almost jovial in their spirits. "It seems there's nothing left," says Valeri, "the city is open to us." But Lynn says, "we shouldn't try to take it on our own, no matter how open the city seems from this vantage point." Valeri thinks about it for a moment more, then says, "I'd missed your counsel." Lynn says, "you never lost it. All you ever had to do was come over and talk. We have that advantage, we can talk with one another because we speak the same language." Of course, Lynn doesn't mean to say that they both speak English, rather that they both share the same point of view as soldiers of the revolution. In the time they'd been apart in spirit if not in form Lynn had been exhausting her talents not in pursuit of the thoughts and feelings of others but in assessing the ebb and flow of the larger course of events. The dark essence which guides the revolution has grander designs on her, on men and women like her, few as there are still the whole lot of them numbering into the thousands across Britain.

Across Britain, the worker's committees who've pledged loyalty to the new People's Republic and the Popular Front which controls it now face the prospect of a war between factions, each committee in turn comprised of at least two factions, each faction made from the intricacies of the personalities of those who sit. Self-selected from among their own, the committees are all wholeheartedly committed to the cause of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front, but each of them must continue to choose the right path forward. Many bands of fighters who'd counted themselves loyal to one faction or another of the Popular Front now follow another banner, as some of the factions who'd counted themselves members of the Popular Front now fragment. Many more had already fragmented, fighting among themselves. Their great fragmentation poses a lethal threat to the survival of the Popular Front and to the new beginning it seeks to lead a threat which could topple the People's Republic, the latter still in its infancy. But news of this secret protocol among powers of the world won't become known to the men and women of the world. Rather, the Americans will be seen to simply deploy their forces against the revolution here in Britain and against the other budding revolutions in Europe, against the restive French and against the chaos gripping the streets of many parts of Germany. But the uprisings which began during the last summer have begun anew, with only a brief delay allowing for the thawing of dirt and the washing away of the winter's freeze. "Do you see that?" asks Valeri, pointing down range at the cityscape. He points at one of the columns of smoke rising from the city. "It's an old synagogue," says Lynn, after double-checking the apparent location on a map. "If there are any Jews left in the city," says Valeri, "there won't be for very long." Both implicitly understand they can't make for the attack before the rest of the Popular Front's men get into position, and they reluctantly agree that the best course of action for them is to continue to hold fast. By the time their bands of fighters are ready, the mass murder taking place in the city will be nearly complete, and their responsibility with respect to these murders will be to exact vengeance against the murderers. But the dark essence which guides the revolution will have its justice, and has even begun already the task of exacting this very justice through the use of men like Valeri as instruments of divine retribution. It's been a while, several months since Valeri had personally laid his hands to the dispensing of justice, and feels a surge of adrenaline through his veins as he realises that moment is at hand.

Somewhere in the post-industrial wastelands of the north of England, still the heart of the Popular Front's strength, a critical meeting is held between governing committees at the highest levels of both the Worker's Party and the People's Party. The purpose of this meeting is to negotiate a protocol for the governance on the People's Republic, now that many of the former worker's committees have been merged and suspended for unitary, wartime rule by the Popular Front. These two parties are co-equal in leadership of the Popular Front, acceptance of their leadership a prerequisite for all factions who would seek to join the Popular Front. As for the rebel Elijah and his closest disciples at the highest level of the Popular Front, they're not at this meeting, instead continuing to govern the revolution from their new headquarters in the ruins of Westminster. Although Valeri and the other fighters under his charge won't be made aware of this secret, critical meeting for some time, nor of the far-reaching consequences it'll have on them all, they'll keep on fighting as they've learned to, as they've been fighting one thing or another all their lives. In mid-twenty-first century Britain, there's little left for anyone to look forward to, little left for the vast majority of Britons to hope for except an end to the war. "The attack is almost on," says Aretha, relaying the news contained in the latest messages on her screen. As Sister Simpson retains her headquarters in the city of Milton Keynes, it's from this location that all her messages come. "Only a few groups have yet to get into position," says Aretha. Lynn and Valeri are united in their agreement that they must hold fast, and it's their unity that demonstrates their having grown as much as their holding fast. It wasn't all that long ago, less than a year that Valeri would've been among those calling for an immediate assault into the city, in some brave but ultimately futile attempt to rescue Northampton's last Jews from the gangs of nationalist youths and sectarian militia of various stripes. Now, as much as he wants to intervene, he knows from bitter experience that they must hold fast. "I still can't stand this blasted waiting," says Valeri, "but I'll wait as long as I have to." Lynn nods and says, "and not a moment more." On this Valeri agrees with his lead hand, the two exchanging one-fist salutes before Lynn turns off to tell some of the men and women to be ready to move at a moment's notice.

When Valeri and the others finally seize the city of Northampton, they'll find evidence of atrocities so shocking as to eclipse anything they've seen yet. As the final bands of rebel fighters move into position in the countryside to the north of the city, Valeri and Lynn count the hours down until they'll finally be ordered on to the attack. A light rain has fallen, unusually light and sparse as the rain has been this season. Valeri and the others don't take cover from the rain but let it fall on them. "The last groups are moving into position," says Aretha. "I can't stand this blasted waiting," says Lynn, "but I'll wait as long as I have to." Valeri nods and says, "and not a moment more." As the last Popular Front fighters reach their assigned position, all having overcome the divisions within them and purged their ranks of those who would refuse to come together, a new beginning has been reached, will have been reached when the assault on the city of Northampton and its outer environs is on. "I'll probably never meet Elijah again," says Valeri, feeling for the source of his pain somewhere in his shoulders, deep beneath his muscles. "You'll see him speak," says Lynn, "you'll see him address the crowds." Valeri nods glumly. He knows it won't be the same. He'd felt the hand of Elijah on his skin, on his back, for only a brief time, but even so brief a time had been enough to heal him then of his minor wounds. He wasn't the only man in that little church to have received the wisdom and the presence of Elijah, although Elijah would've denied having granted them that which is not his to grant.

But not all working men and women have felt the hand of the rebel Elijah. A middle aged woman named Janice Barton in the city of Birmingham had come to fall into a deep depression over the past several years. Like so many working class men and women she'd been consigned to a lifetime of poverty and degradation even before she'd truly come of age. Now, as she's on the cusp of seniority, she's been given a new hope, even a hope meant mostly for the next generation. After the opening of a new plant nearby—actually the reopening of a plant once shuttered—she'd found work again, under the guidance of a new council set up by workers. "It's for a new beginning," says Janice, "I've got a chance." These are the things she'd said to herself, as well as to her husband with whom she lives. Now, from their third-floor flat, she sees the Popular Front's new recruits marched through the street to their nearby barracks. As she watches the newest fighters in the Popular Front march past, she compels herself to shout out to them, exhorting the young men and women to battle. "All power to the Popular Front!" she shouts, drawing the looks of the nearest men and women. "All power to the Popular Front!" she shouts again, feeling unsure of herself and doubtful of the things she shouts, but disregarding her own doubts to shout anyways. A few thrust clenched fists into the air, while others shout their vigorous assent. Up and down the street, others have come to watch, and shout their own praise. "There's a lot more work to be done," says Janice's husband, when she returns to their flat. He's speaking of the work in setting up the new plant where they've both been given jobs, but Janice decides he may as well be speaking of the war. It's at this very moment that her depression lifts; she feels risen to the occasion. She requires not the hand of the rebel Elijah to so feel, but becomes attuned to her own character. Why she'd taken until now to become truly given to the cause of the revolution, even she doesn't know. As the great bulk of the working class has remained uncommitted, more and more men and women are finding their moment of realisation at these strangest of times.

In the morning, Valeri rises after a night of restless sleep. Having slept in his clothes, as has become custom for the fighting men and women of the Popular Front, and lacking in any means to bathe, all he needs to do on waking up is to simply leap to it. He does this, on two feet and reaching for his rifle, then without a hint of fatigue in his body he reaches the centre of their encampment ready to go. It's only seconds later that Lynn sounds the morning with a whistle. The few troopers still asleep are roused by their comrades. Within a few minutes, all are up and ready to go. The appointed time for them to begin their attack on the enemy's positions ahead is imminent. As the men and women present for marching orders, Valeri takes to giving a speech. "We have all become soldiers," says Valeri, "or so we think. Elijah has told us that we are all soldiers, that we've always been soldiers, as we've all been fighting one thing or another all our lives." He pauses to allow each man and woman to consider their own pasts. "You all know of the nuclear firestorm on the continent," says Valeri, "and you all know the world could be about to end. Well, if the world is about to end, then I say we give a good account of ourselves before it does!" A wave of cheers erupts from the men and women, along with the thrusting of clenched fists and the raising of rifles into the air. With that, the attack is on. He turns to Lynn and says, "now, we pray."

Still elsewhere, this fighting spirit doesn't always extend into the ranks of the ordinary working class men and women. A young man named Frank Cunningham has been mustered along with the other workers at the plant where he works to receive a speech from the lead hand. Their plant is in Liverpool, and the lead hand has been installed by the local Popular Front apparatchik to oversee the plant's wartime operation. "...And if you have any doubt," says the apparatchik, "then know that you work to end the war by the only means possible, total victory for the Popular Front!" This speech has the desired effect in rousing the passions of the workers, including Frank who cheers with every carefully scripted pause in the speech. "I want the war to end," says Frank, a little while later. It's now after the speech has ended, and most of the workers have returned to their workstations. "I have a family," says Frank, "and I want them to be safe from all danger." He's speaking with some of the other workers, as they wait for the line to start up again. This plant uses recycled metal to produce machine tools for industrial applications. "I don't know if the only way is for these rebels to win," he says, allowing a moment for his own doubts to express themselves, "but they're the only ones we can trust." This momentary expression of doubts is soon passed, with Frank overcoming them as the line starts up and his work resumes.

But when Valeri and the others under his charge find themselves in a pitched battle once more, all he can do is fight. They're caught at the junction of two country roads, a ditch offering a trench of sorts for protection. "I don't think we can hold them off," says Lynn, "there's too many of them." Valeri looks to one side, then the next, and quickly surmises a course of action. "If we get up high, then we can direct cannon fire on them with impunity," he says. He points to an embankment in the field beyond. "How do we get there?" asks Lynn. "We'll make a run for it," says Valeri, "then we make a stand from the top. They'll be forced to withdraw." But Lynn shakes her head, saying, "they'll kill us all before we're halfway across the field." Valeri says, "we'll make it." Inwardly, he's not sure, but some part of him is learning to trust the dark essence that guides the revolution, even as he's not even consciously aware of the dark essence. It courses through his veins, it fills his every breath, it tastes on the tip of his tongue, choosing as it does this moment to make itself acutely felt, to compel him to overcome his own doubts and take the bold strides forward that he must. In the end, the order is given, transmitted up and down the line by so much shouting and screaming, and they secure the position, the first position forward in advancing on Northampton. The other bands of Popular Front fighters secure their objectives, one by one reaching their goals for the first day of this attack on the city.

But not all working class men and women are reaching their personal epiphanies. In the city of Oxford, a recent Popular Front offensive has seized the urban area after repeated uprisings had failed to dislodge the local government. A middle aged man named Don Underwood had neither welcomed nor rejected the advance of the Popular Front, as he'd participated in none of the uprisings. He recalls the demonstrations which'd once gripped the streets of Oxford, like all other cities across Britain, a time before the revolution when so much seemed possible. In line to receive rations of food at a local warehouse, he harbours little sympathy for one faction or another. "No one can end the war," he says. "If I could afford it I'd get out of here," says the man in front of him. "Where would you go?" asks Don. "Canada maybe," says the man, "there's no war there." But Don says, "maybe there is and they're just not telling us." Soon both men have received their rations, and head back to their respective families. When Don presents their food to his wife and children, they quickly consume it. His wife, after having hers, asks him, "what hope do we have?" But Don doesn't know what to say. He reflects on all he's been through, not only over the past few days but throughout his life, and says to his wife, "the only hope we'd ever had." He puts on a strong face for his family. He can do nothing else, or so he believes.

The churches who minister to the faithful masses are part of the Popular Front, each church having sent a delegation to the central congresses of the Popular Front in London as well as to the various regional and municipal congresses throughout parts of the country under the Popular Front's control. The Popular Front does not require these churches, like the trade unions, universities, and others, to pledge fealty to it, but does require that they accept the Worker's Party and the People's Party as co-equal in leading the revolutionary movement and controlling the new People's Republic. Although Valeri is coming to understand these mechanisms, having been reading the foundational text of the People's Republic, still the larger point remains obscured to him behind a vast wall of darkness risen by the angel of light. Valeri is becoming more attuned to his own personal spiritualism, but remains ignorant of the greater conspiracy of forces aligning against the forces of good. He won't be so ignorant for long. When the attack is finally on, when Valeri and the others under his charge are part of the Popular Front forces tasked with assaulting the enemy's strongest points. This time, a key part of the enemy's defence has already been taken down, not by action of the forces of the Popular Front but by something far more profound, something far more sinister. A wave of unrest invisible to the eye is already underway, sweeping through the city's streets as surely as the river of blood that'd fallen from the sky. Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it, but the moment of this revolution's spiritual ascendancy is almost at hand.

But in those parts of the country outside the control of the Popular Front, the intensifying war provokes still greater hardship. In the city of Hastings on the Channel coast, an older woman named Ethel Bates works by day at a machine tool manufacturing plant, by night sleeping with her family in the one-room flat they've come to occupy. Her wages are pitiful, and are often withheld altogether. After being denied her most recent paycheque, she can no longer afford to buy enough food to last her until the next. She pleads with the managers of the factory where she works, coming before them to ask for something, anything at all. "Where can I get any money but here?" she asks. "We have no ability to pay," says the manager, "but you will be given a full credit for—" "Credit?" asks Ethel, momentarily filled with courage, "what is credit? How can I go to the grocer and ask for a loaf of bread and offer to pay for it with money I don't have? I demand the wages I never received!" But her outrage earns her only a trip to the local prison, where she waits judgement on charges of insurrection. Although there might've been a time when the notion of using debt to pay for the essentials of life, like bread and rent would've been commonplace, banal even, the limits of debt had been surpassed decades ago. It may seem like a small thing now, but the limits of debt had been a critical factor in the death by decay and overthrow of the old way of life. There will be no debt, when all is said and done, in the future which the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front are in the midst of building.

Lastly, there are those in cities on the knife's edge, which could change hands at any moment. In the city of Cambridge, a middle aged man named Clint Welles works by day at an electronics factory on the outskirts, by night taking shelter in his small flat deeper into the city's centre. The most recent wave of uprisings in the city have subsided months ago, leaving the few churches, trade unions, and student groups in the area sympathetic to the Popular Front left disorganised and demoralised. At the electronics factory where Clint works, there's been little work for some time, imports of precious metals having all but ceased. Now, though, he works twelve hour days, seven days a week, bused out to the factory from his flat along with the other workers. "Where are they getting all this stuff from?" asks one of Clint's fellow workers, when they're on the line one day. "This isn't coming from abroad," says Clint, looking at a particular piece of circuitry. "I'm happy to have the work either way," says a third worker. "You may be right," says Clint, "but I don't think there's any hope of ending the war." Clint thinks of his wife and his children, all still alive despite the unrest that's gripped this city and the brutal reprisals that'd followed. They've all heard of the killings and the massacres, and most of them have lost someone or know someone who has to the reprisals. Most are thankful to be working. Although Clint and the others aren't told where the work is coming from, they're breaking down electronics and other machinery taken from Britain's cities for export, the new goal of the National Forces and the local authorities they control being to deprive the revolution of any possible gains. By the time this city is seized by the forces of the Popular Front, this work will have been complete.

Although these and many other working men and women can only try and manage their lives despite the still-escalating violence, there are many others who despair. Across Britain, the worker's committees, rogue priests, and student councils are in the midst of resolving this tension, under the supervision and at the discretion of the Popular Front. At the same time, across the Atlantic in New York City men who consider themselves learned deem the worker's revolutions underway all across Europe as a threat to their monopolies on wealth and power. And it's true. If the ideals of the revolution should reach across the ocean and inspire similar aspirations among the hopelessly impoverished and indebted peoples of the Americas, then these learned men will lose everything they have to lose, their grip on wealth and power. The learned men will thus continue to escalate their own war on the nascent worker's democracy in Britain and elsewhere in Europe, their reaction against the inevitable rise of all that is good and pure merely the provocation of even against good. These men who continue the formation of their conspiracy do so knowing of the rebel Elijah and the mortal threat his movement poses to their grip on wealth and power around the world.

34. Barren

Even as fighting has not slackened but intensified in most parts of Britain, still there remains the arduous task of subsisting through this dark period. The policies instituted by the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front and implemented by the various worker's committees around the country have ensured the survival of the People's Republic and its continued ability to fight, but even Elijah himself knows this can't last. As the National Forces have begun to coalesce around the leadership of the man known as Damian, just Damian, so do the forces under the command of the rebel Elijah begin to fragment along ideological lines. As Elijah has foretold, the fracturing of his own forces and the abandonment of him by some of his disciples does not weaken but strengthens his revolution. But after Valeri has patched things up between himself and his lead hand, Lynn, their way forward is made no easier by their renewed unity. In the countryside beyond the city of Milton Keynes, they march north, continuing to pull their wheeled guns by simple manpower. They advance by night, making camp during the day, at night advancing towards a horizon lit a sickly orange by the distant fires burning. They take shifts pulling the guns, Valeri making sure to pull on the rope by the head, leading by example. "You work so hard," says Lynn, as she takes over for Valeri at the head of the rope. "I only work as hard as anyone should be asked," says Valeri, before handing the rope to her. "I haven't forgotten what you've said to me," she says, taking the rope. They've got only a short break between shifts, during which time all the men take what rest they can. "I will keep on fighting until there's nothing left to fight for," says Valeri, although he winces in pain as soon as he's said it. "Maybe your fight will take on a different form than you imagine," says Lynn, "different from the form it's taken." Valeri doesn't understand what she means by this, not yet. After having secured their position in the outer environs of the city of Northampton, Valeri and the others begin their assault on the city itself.

After three or four weeks have passed following the secret agreement in New York to make war on the nascent People's Republic in London, the time for the conspirators behind their secret agreement to announce their plans draws near. But all this is lost on men like Valeri Kovalenko, still consumed in the task of waging the war that they must. The bridging of the divide between Lynn's and Valeri's faction within their own platoon-sized band of fighters hasn't made their collective struggle any easy, as they come up against a defensive position belonging to an unidentified force the full difficulty of their task imposing itself on them. "Can you see any flag?" asks Valeri, with Lynn at his side. "No flag," says Lynn. She's looking through binoculars, carefully sweeping her gaze across the cityscape beyond. Then, she lowers the binoculars and looks over at Valeri, nodding at him knowingly. "Bring the guns forward," says Valeri, referring to the artillery pieces they'd hauled through the countryside by hand. He any Lynn work out the plotting for the guns, their volleys to be directed against the rows of residential subdivisions on the city's outer rim. Valeri says, "give the order." Lynn turns to the gun crews and says, "fire on the city." There's a momentary pause, then the thunderous boom of their guns unleashing on the city before them. They don't know precisely how to aim their guns, so their first volley is scattered across the urban area ahead. "Another volley," Valeri says, nodding at Lynn. As this is not the first time they'd used their guns, but the first time they'd used the guns on the attack, they achieve very little, besides causing large destruction on the city. But Valeri, Valeri orders the fire kept up, saying to Lynn, "don't stop them shooting, unless the order comes in from Sister Simpson." Lynn looks at him for a moment before turning to relay the instructions to the gun crews and to Aretha Cordoba.

But large-scale destruction still threatens all who would follow the banner of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front. After the men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury begin their second assault, Valeri orders the gun crews to cease fire and to prepare to move forward to their next position. This second assault has as its objective the seizure of the suburban area to the south of the city centre, to take them up to an industrial quarter on their eastern flank and the city centre itself on their western. From a viewpoint atop a three-storey building, Valeri can see through binoculars into the industrial quarter, and he notes that on any other assault the factories, warehouses, and other industrial estates would be occupied by striking workers ready to pledge loyalty to the Popular Front and the banner of Elijah. But as he peers through his binoculars at the industrial estate, all he can see are numerous fires burning, numerous columns of smoke rising. Nearly every industrial estate seems to be burning. He realises the enemy must've devoted considerable resources in manpower and armaments to attacking the industrial quarter of the city, even as the Popular Front's troops advanced from two sides. "Valeri!" comes the voice of Lynn from the street below. She shouts at him, asking, "what do you see?" He takes one more look into the urban area in the distance, then looks down over the edge of the roof and shouts back, saying, "I see death," then pulls back over the roof and says to himself in a quiet voice, "for us as well." But this he no longer sees as something to be avoided or as something to be averted, having come as far as he has in his long journey.

As they advance, they see red in every other building, in every other window, from every other lamppost and from every other rooftop. "They're welcoming us," says Valeri, back in the street leading his men and women in their advance through the urban area. Some of the banners are old flags of the Soviet Union, gathered from museum displays, basement walls, or pulled out of boxes in the backs of closets. "They're laying open the path," says Lynn, although she says this even as they encounter ongoing resistance from enemy fighters. Some of the banners are white towels hastily dipped in red paint. Vanishingly few are the official banners of either the Worker's Party or the People's Party, or the Popular Front which they control. "What path there is to be laid open," says Lynn. They encounter more enemy gunmen, and overcome them, shooting dead some enemy fighters but driving most into abandoning their positions without much of a struggle. Now they must bury their dead. As has become their custom, in the fields outside the city of Northampton various rebel units have already begun burying their fallen brothers and sisters in shallow graves. It wasn't all that long ago in the grand scheme of things that all Britain was caught in the euphoric delusion of breathless growth, that the screens were filled day and night with the voices of talking heads proclaiming theirs to be a land of plenty. At the time it all seemed like a cruel mockery to men like Valeri, that they should be taunted with the trappings of luxury, that they should be chained to a lifetime in service of the sums on some man's ledger. Now, with the last vestiges of the old way of life about to perish in a storm of fire and dust, men like Valeri have no idea what's about to replace the old way. They may believe they know full well what's in store for them, and they may honestly and earnestly hold to these beliefs with all the steadfast determination of an apocalyptic preacher on the cusp of his own personal Armageddon, but they don't.

Too cruel a fate it'd be for them to understand the true character of the struggle to which they've given their lives. Instead, men like Valeri will continue to fight until there's no more fight left in their bodies and souls, and then they'll keep on fighting. Soon, they must advance again. Valeri orders the guns to keep firing on the urban area even as the rest of the men and women are advancing. He advances along with them, pausing to steady his aim and loose rounds from his rifle at anything that moves. Their thrust into the urban area is marked by an unusual savagery, both on their part and on the part of the city's scattered defenders. The latter seem to Valeri to be more interested in continuing their killings; every block cleared reveals new victims, in some cases their bodies still warm, still possessing the colour of a live person's. "No one stop until you've reached the line," says Valeri, referring to a particular line drawn on the map as their objectives for the day's offensive actions. "The guns are going to run low on ammunition soon," says Lynn, "but we've got enough for now." Popular Front forces often fail to make their objectives, whether through enemy action or happenstance, but here in Northampton every band of Popular Front fighters seem certain to achieve their targets. The next day, they'll set out anew, and this Valeri craves like hardened alcoholic craves his drink. "Send for some more," says Valeri, "whatever you can get." Lynn nods, and snaps out the order to Aretha who sends off the messages to Sister Simpson's field headquarters. The line doesn't seem to be very stable, with men and women clutching their rifles as if to point them down the way at any moment. But Valeri reassures them, suddenly confident in himself, his confidence exuding a raw electricity, an energy he's never known before.

Now, with the decisive battles in the revolution yet to occur, a new development transpires. Valeri doesn't hear of it, not right away. He's too concerned with the arduous task of surviving through the day to day hardships of war. They see more fighter-bombers flying overhead on this day, similarly flying low, banking to release their bombs at an area ahead. Valeri watches this through binoculars, from a position atop an upturned civilian lorry. But this time the friendly fighter-bombers don't drop their bombs on the city centre, rather on the roads leading out of the city centre to the north and east. "They're doing it," say Valeri, "they're herding the enemy into the centre." They're allowed momentary pauses as they pursue a breathless advance through the urban area, something which Valeri wishes wasn't so. After having been denied permission by Sister Simpson to engage in this assault, Valeri and the others under his charge to advance further than their objectives, they must content themselves to their advance they've managed into the outer reaches of the city thus far. Finally, they reach the line marking their objectives for this phase of the offensive operation to seize the city. Valeri has the men and women form a line across a roundabout, with a major thoroughfare reaching to the northwest and to the southeast.

Other bands of Popular Front fighters have reached road that connects a series of roundabouts, this road the line set as the southern forces' objective for the day. Other bands of Popular Front fighters have yet to reach that road but'll make it by nightfall, prompting Valeri to anticipate the next move. "Bring the guns into position," says Valeri, "and keep them firing on the city centre." The order is relayed, and soon the thunderous roar of field guns overpowers all other sounds. They've had trouble with the guns, having to haul them by hand. But after acquiring a few civilian lorries from the city along with just enough fuel to run them, along with cables to attach them to, they can now move the guns along with relative ease. As the guns fire volley after volley on the city centre's extensive cluster of three- and four-storey buildings, Valeri takes in the scene before them by looking through a pair of binoculars. He doesn't know much on the use of artillery, but he acts on instructions relayed by Sister Simpson via Aretha's screen. She doesn't give precise coordinates, but simply instructs them to fire on the city centre, and not to stop until they've exhausted their ammunition or received orders to cease fire. "There must be enemy forces in the city centre," he says, consulting with Lynn and a few others just behind the line. "They could be determined to make a last stand," says Lynn, "they're using the city centre as a fortress." But Valeri says, "let them. It'll be their tomb." Although Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it, the Popular Front's strategy is now able to account for the enemy's next move and plan accordingly, with those responsible for planning and executing their strategy for the seizure of the city of Northampton expecting the enemy to consist of a large cadre of nationalist fighters and bands of sectarian youths, armed like the army they never were.

Although Valeri's small, platoon-sized band of fighters aren't to advance any further into the city tonight, they must remain vigilant against the possibility of enemy counter-attacks. The total forces assaulting the city of Northampton from the south and northwest are approximately five thousand men and women, with several battalions involved. As soon as the city is secure they're to be reformed into a single force, roughly the size and composition of a small division in the pre-war army. The total forces defending the city are far greater in number, on paper at least. These forces make the Popular Front's bid to capture the city one of the largest yet in this newer, better organised phase of revolution. This should be one of the final operations before the first American troops land in select British ports, which means the Popular Front must advance as far as possible. "We've got to get as much sleep as we can," says Valeri, although he knows this must be impossible. "We'll come under attack soon," says Lynn, "if the enemy's got any organisation to their defence." Valeri nods.

The full implications of these recent turn of events here in Northampton are not yet obvious to men like Valeri, men who concern themselves with only the practical matters before them. The city's small Jewish congregation has already been largely destroyed, the nationalist militia and sectarian youths having murdered many in the pogroms that've taken place throughout the country, never mind the general decay in cities exactly like Northampton for many decades. The city's surviving Jews have dispersed, with some fleeing the city but a few having gone into hiding here. But elsewhere, the young man Christopher Jenkins himself is part of a daring raid into enemy territory. He's learned much in the months since joining the armed forces of the Popular Front. Now, they attack to the east of the city of Birmingham, seizing the towns of Nuneaton and Hinckley. But in the countryside between the two they find a mass grave, filled with what looks like the bodies of Jews and others. "I wonder if the enemy is still around," says Chris, after they've mustered some civilians in the unenviable task of exhuming these mass graves. "They could be hidden in the civilian population," says another trooper who supervises the exhumation with Chris. "What do you mean?" asks Chris. "They might've dressed in civilian clothes and thrown away their guns to try and hide from what they've done," says the other trooper. As they discuss this, the civilians they've mustered into service come across a few victims who are still alive, barely. These few are quickly rushed to the hospital nearby, where, over the next few days, they'll name names, before dying from their injuries. Chris is one of those who's sent off to bring the murderers to justice.

Part of the mission of the Popular Front is to rescue any Jewish refugees they come across, and to protect the city's remaining Jews from the violence they've suffered at the hands of nationalist militia and sectarian youths. They're so close to that part of the city that they can smell the sewage, the thick and noxious stench wafting over them of refuse mixed with rotting human flesh. These second attacks into the city of Northampton have concluded with Valeri's band of fighters having advanced further than any other, all having achieved their objectives. Their lightning advance, it takes place all over the country, with the forces of the Popular Front extending themselves to cover the greatest possible amount of territory before the American intervention sets in. When Valeri looks to the sky he sees fighter-bombers flying low, low enough that he can spot the splotches of red paint hastily applied only recently to their wings. His gaze follows these fighter-bombers as they bank over the city centre and drop their bombs onto the urban area below. "There's more on the way," says Lynn, having just read a message sent to them from Sister Simpson via the screen of the younger Aretha Cordoba. "They're acting now," says Valeri, "they've defected." A new message arrives from Sister Simpson. They must hold their position and wait, wait just a little while longer before the remaining bands of fighters achieve their positions in the city's environs.

Still elsewhere, the young woman Julia Roberts has seen her family, her husband and their children for the first time in several weeks. Now, in the afterwards, she continues to work at the railyard which has given her so much and which she gives everything she has left. Her marriage has been destroyed, and her young children have been made to grow up without her in their lives. Rebel forces and those loyal to dissident factions continue to fight over the railyard, and the other industrial estates in the area. "Come on," says Julia, speaking to the other workers over the area's radio, "we've got to get these trains through!" If they fail, then there won't be so much weapons and ammunition stockpiled in the city behind them, leaving the Popular Front unable to resist the coming American invasion. "Everyone stay at your posts," she says, even as the gunmen loyal to the dissident factions advance through the yard. The gunmen threaten to kill anyone who doesn't stop the trains, and several workers are killed at their posts. "Give me the radio," says her old lead hand, Fred White. He leans into the speaker and says, "keep the trains running at all costs!" All seems lost. Bu there's another way. Just as it seems the enemy is about to capture the whole railyard, Popular Front gunmen arrive, reinforcing the depleted force that'd been nearly pushed out. All the while, Julia, Fred, and the others work to keep the trains running, forwarding cargo deeper into rebel held territory. The day is almost lost, until it's almost won. Still Julia thinks of all she's lost, of the family that's turned away from her for her commitment to her work, thoughts which only compel her to work harder and longer than ever before.

It's around this time that the leader of men, Lucius, become indwelt by the angel of light that guides the counter-revolution. The indwelling takes place even as the working class revolutions in Britain and across Western Europe reach for a new crescendo. The angel of light which now controls the leader of men will choose to encourage a counterfeit revolution through men like the anti-rebel Damian here in Britain and others throughout Europe. The fracturing which has as recently as some months ago riven the forces of the Popular Front with many different factions has now largely abated, with lines having hardened. In the city centre, some of the forces now fighting against the rapid advance of the Popular Front's men and women once counted themselves among those very men and women, although none of them were in Valeri's band of fighters. "Keep up your fire," Valeri says, speaking with Lynn, speaking of the field guns. After relaying the order, Lynn returns to Valeri and says to him, "they won't be able to keep firing much longer. Their ammunition is running low." But Valeri shakes his head and says, "then they'll run low." Lynn nods her understanding and acknowledgement. As their band of fighters is quickly taking on the characteristics of a field artillery unit, Valeri thinks to keep the fire up on areas known to be held by enemy forces. He believes this should speed their seizure of the city. He's learned much over the past two years, since he'd been among those ordinary men and women who'd taken part in an impassionate uprising against the old way of life. He hardly remembers, now, the man he'd been, then, with only one rifle he barely knew how to fire and only a few rounds to fire.

Still elsewhere, the young man Joe Hill continues to man the ramparts at the factory he and the others have seized in an impassionate uprising, watching as the local militia gathers its forces on the streets outside. The militia continues to broadcast messages demanding the surrender of all those inside. But Joe and the others remain steadfast in their refusal. "The rebels have all been killed or forced out of the area," says Joe's lead hand, referring to the guerrilla forces who were to help them. "What can do we do now?" asks Joe. Without skipping a beat, his lead hand says, "wait until the time comes." Joe asks, "and then?" His lead hand says, "fight." With few firearms they'll make use only of the implements of work, which Joe knows will make for a lopsided battle.

The indwelling of Lucius by the angel of light takes place at almost exactly the same time as the falling of the first of the Popular Front's republics across the country. The first to fall is the People's Democratic Republic in Ireland, under sustained assault by sectarian forces who owe their allegiance to the banner of the Irish nationalists. As the small city of Armagh had been a stronghold of those very nationalists, it's fitting that the new government's headquarters should be taken in an assault by nationalist paramilitaries. At Elijah's urging, the leaders of the People's Democratic Republic in Ireland fight with the rest of the fighters who defend the city until they've expended all their ammunition, then with whatever implements they can find. Some are killed in the final assault on their headquarters. Some survive to be taken prisoner. Those that survive to be taken prisoner are asked to denounce Elijah and the Popular Front, even at gunpoint ordered by their captors to do so. All refuse. Even under torture, all refuse. All are executed, one by one. Although all the Popular Front's apparatchiks have been apprehended and dispatched with ruthless efficiency, there are many in the city who have heeded the call of the Popular Front to turn against sectarianism, in spirit if not in fact. These people, among them a young man named Ryan O'Connor, have the chance to make themselves into something more than they are, to become in death more than they ever were in life. The last words out of any of those executed comes from this Ryan O'Connor, who shouts, "death to sectarians! All power to the Popular Front!" The fanatical devotion which the Popular Front has earned from these men and women even in death will prove prophetic.

Still elsewhere, the young woman Marilyn Carter has survived attack after attack on the area surrounding this little church, along with the pastor and a few others taking shelter here as roving bands of opposing fighters strike this way and that. "When's the war going to end?" asks one young man. "As soon as the fighting stops," says Marilyn, although she immediately regrets having said something. "You should support the rebels," says the pastor, "as I've come to, at least in spirit." But the young man asks, "why?" Marilyn thinks she knows the answer, and she says, they're fighting for people like us." But the pastor says, "it's not quite so simple, I think. No matter who wins the war, life's never going to be the same after it's over. What's been unleashed can't be contained. If the rebels win, then no one can know what'll happen. I've seen some of the men who serve in the rebels, and they're people like you and me. And I'd rather be ruled by people like you and me." Marilyn, the young man, and the others soon agree. When the walls rattle again it seems as though their time is come. She speaks more with the pastor, their time spent hiding from the constant battle between factions allowing for much discussion, in turn Marilyn's deep depression beginning to lift. But when a group of nationalist militia take this church and determine to use it as a command post, what happens next will serve as Marilyn's epitaph.

The seizure of Armagh has been the result of a somewhat coordinated operation involving the republican and unionist paramilitaries along with the remnants of the old Home Guard who've not yet fractured along sectarian lines, even including a few who remain committed to an ideal which can never be. If the next line of questioning should take Valeri and those fighters under his charge in the city of Northampton, then they'll be ready. They have only a brief time to rest before they're to take to the offensive again, with a few days to go until the other bands of fighters reach their objectives. Once this is achieved, the next step in the seizure of the city of Northampton can proceed. "We're running out of ammunition for the guns," says Lynn, "we're almost out." She's convening with Valeri a few metres back from the line but ahead of the artillery pieces. They've been firing at an erratic pace into the city centre, pausing every so often as they must in order to allow for the dust to clear thus permitting an examination of the effects of their bombardment. "Cease fire," says Valeri, and Lynn snaps out the order to the men manning the guns. Valeri then says, "send out a request for more ammunition, see what we can get." In the meantime, Valeri hopes the other bands of fighters will reach their objectives soon. There's more firing along the line, with the position secured but groups of enemy fighters persisting in having at them.

Finally, Roy Cook and the band of fighters he's taken in with fight their way across the countryside, pausing nightly, only to pick up the advance again as soon as dawn comes. It's the summertime again, nearly two years after the declaration of the new People's Republic, and Roy has found his calling. But still he thinks, from time to time, of his dead wife, Sabrina Hale. It matters little, with all that's happened, whether she'd have survived this far. After putting down for the night, one night, he strikes up a conversation with the fighter who'd rescued him, with the fighter whose timely intervention had resulted in his unceremonious induction into the fighting forces of the Popular Front. "You shouldn't spend too much time thinking about the little things," says the fighter. "It'll be hard not to," says Roy. "Still," says the fighter, "if you keep on thinking about what could've been, if only this little thing had turned out differently, then you'll go mad." Roy asks, "so what should I think about?" What the fighter tells him will stay with him for the rest of his life.

But whatever the fate of the Irish government in Armagh, another will rise to take its place. The unholy alliance of republican and unionist, of south and north against the forces of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front will soon rise, within the ranks of this unholy alliance a fracturing to take place that'll dwarf the recent fracturing of the ranks of the Popular Front. All across Britain the fighting has intensified since the onset of a very early summer, with the brutality of war having assumed an entirely new character. The angel of light which guides the counter-revolution is in fact a vainglorious caricature of the dark essence which guides the revolution, and this caricature will soon become known to all who've chosen one path or another. The time to choose sides is rapidly drawing to a close. Nearly everyone in Britain counts themselves part of the revolution or the counter-revolution, or part of a third force which lacks in leadership and has yet to take sides. It seems to men like Valeri as though it's been such a short time since they were living ordinary lives, dominated by ordinary concerns, but their vague and imperfect memories deceive them. It's been almost twenty years since that first, failed revolution that took the lives of Valeri's mother and father, along with the mothers and fathers, the sons and daughters of many others here in Britain and across Europe. Now, as Valeri and all the other men and women who fight under the banner of the Popular Front stand on the cusp of achieving their own lasting liberation, there remains only a few steps left between where they are and where they seek to be.

35. Brothers in Arms

It's around this time that Valeri's application for membership in the Worker's Party is approved, the Worker's Party along with the People's Party one of the two co-equal parties designated as leaders of the Popular Front, with all other parties subordinate to their leadership. On the advice of Sister Simpson, he'd made his application months ago, even as he'd been fighting in the countryside. As membership in either the Worker's Party or the People's Party (it's forbidden by the Popular Front to be a member of more than one) must be sponsored by an existing member, Valeri's application had been sponsored by Sister Simpson herself. This is a seminal moment in Valeri's own personal journey, a landmark of sorts in his ascent from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's yet to be. Valeri has already distinguished himself as a capable soldier, and he's begun to demonstrate his abilities as a leader in serving as a provisional captain of sorts. But the notion of serving the new People's Republic and the states which are to follow it as a political officer, this is beyond anything he could've ever dreamed of. It was only a few years ago that Valeri was working as any other young worker, whatever job he could find to sustain himself from one day to the next. Although his membership in the Worker's Party has started him off at the bottom, as part of the rank and file, he has much growth left to accomplish, growth which should see him become so much more than he is.

Still, in the meanwhile his party membership entitles him to wear a special pin on his lapels, with a factory in London having been commissioned to produce these pins and other bric-a-brac for the Popular Front all made from recycled material. He wears it proudly, even as he must work to hide his various minor injuries, seeking as he does to keep on fighting until he's dead or the revolution is won. "It's time," says Lynn, "we can begin." Valeri nods, and says, "now's the time to make it all count." They know that this assault will help them seize the city of Northampton, yes, but the larger picture eludes them. This will be a decisive battle in the revolutionary war, something which'll take much longer and which'll require much more effort than any of them can know. With Valeri's having taken to wearing the pin of the political officer, the others are to fight harder and longer than they ever would've. "This city is so larger," says Valeri, "so much larger than anything we've taken before." Although pre-revolutionary Northampton had been around the same size as Milton Keynes, the flow of refugees has swelled the former to more than twice the population as the latter. Save their lightning advance into London a year and a half ago, Valeri has never been part of any attempt to seize so large a city as Northampton has become. But this, this realisation doesn't intimidate him; such has been his growth from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be.

In France, the unrest which developed almost in parallel with the long-rising revolution in Britain reaches its own crescendo, the French working class achieving their own revolution. A miscellaneous coalition of radical left-wing parties have seized Paris and many provincial cities, arresting and executing leaders of the French republic they now overthrow. All Valeri's having read, in his spare moments, has been his copy of the foundational text of the People's Republic as well as the Bible, and his knowledge of both, taken with his considerable experience in recent years, have been enough to carry forward his application. He'd made his application more than a year ago, when the men and women of 1st Revolutionary Guards Battalion, Aylesbury were still in the city that would give their brigade its name. And all this is still beyond the comprehension of men like Valeri, even as he's gained admission to the Worker's Party the finer points of larger policy far too remote to concern him. In joining the Worker's Party he's become part of the rank-and-file, charged with disseminating the edicts of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front but still fighting in the revolution as a foot soldier. Soon, Valeri wears the pin of the Worker's Party on his lapel conspicuously, drawing the curious glances and awestruck stares of many. But there's little time for him to explain himself, the changing course of the revolution soon thrusting them into action again. While Valeri's band of fighters is among the forces poised to assault Northampton from the south, there's another range of fighters ready to assault from the west. "We take them now," says Valeri, as he leads the attack on the first enemy positions. His party membership had become effective only recently, although in the intervening period he'd been looking forward to its approval. He'd thought about it for only a brief period before making his decision at the behest of his sponsor, Sister Simpson, who'd identified him as a particularly enthusiastic member of their small band of fighters, back when they'd been only a few dozen men and women marching through alleys and along rail lines in the night, before the overthrow of the hated Provisional Government and the declaration of the new People's Republic in Westminster.

The revolution in France has succeeded in overthrowing the Fifth Republic, around one hundred years after its founding, and replaced it with a new government called the French Worker's Republic. This new state is led by a self-selected council of working men, self-selected from among a vast array of parties who make up the new French government. The man known only as Lucius takes this turn of events as an encouragement, after having been indwelt by the angel of light only a time ago. A new international regime is in its ascendancy, the revolutionary struggle of the rebel Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front having provoked the ascension of a counter-revolutionary coalition. But the American intervention is only the beginning of an entirely new stage in the course of the revolution, both in Britain and around the world. Although Valeri is, for now, only a rank and file member of the Worker's Party and the Popular Front which derives its leadership from the Worker's Party and its co-equal People's Party, in time he'll complete an ascension to a higher purpose, destined as he is to serve as an example for others to follow. It's around this time, around the time when Valeri formally joins the Worker's Party, that one of the Party's apparatchiks makes contact with him. This apparatchik's named Geoff O'Malley, a somewhat older man who asks to interview Valeri for a report in the Party's publications. At first, Valeri's reluctant, telling O'Malley, "I'm only fighting, I'm not here to make myself into an icon." Although Valeri can't articulate it as such, he believes that he should quietly dedicate himself to the work, that he shouldn't benefit by becoming even a minor celebrity. But O'Malley says, "you may be able to do your best work for the revolution by the inspiration of your example. Others will see your name, they'll read your story, and they'll become inspired to give everything they have to give to the revolution." There's more, but little of it matters. Valeri agrees to be featured, although his agreement is something of a moot point, given that the apparatchik O'Malley would've gone to Sister Simpson directly and obtained an order for him to be interviewed. They agree on a date and time for their first interview, but they also agree this is tentative, that it could be postponed by the exigencies of war. A week has passed since Valeri's men and women had achieved their objectives, the first to do so. Finally, the order comes to resume their advance, and it's an order Valeri relishes in obeying.

As for Valeri, the battlefields somewhere in the British countryside have held only a confusing and disjointed array of sensations and experiences, far removed as he is from the ill-mannered malcontent once struggling to survive in London's working class slums. Now, bearing the membership of the Worker's Party on his lapel, he takes news of the sudden escalation of the war as an encouragement, that he's become something so much more than what he's always been. No longer the ill-mannered malcontent throwing stones in the streets with all the others, he's now on the cusp of becoming the disciplined soldier of the revolution he can never be. The Popular Front's forces continue to take food, clothing, and fuel as needed from the locals, as well as medicines of all kinds. This is in keeping with the rebel Elijah's edicts that the revolution should be sustained by the very people it seeks to liberate. Of course, during these times of extreme shortages of all kinds of basic medicines, it should count as some small miracle that more people aren't dying from simple infections, the kind that kill millions of people around the world. "Are you able to continue?" asks Lynn, approaching Valeri from behind. "As able as I've ever been," says Valeri, shaking the worst of the pain from his body and steeling his nerves as he turns to face the coming battle. "Not all the units are waiting," says Lynn, "many of our fighters in other units are already engaged." Valeri looks back at her and says, "then all we have left to do is wait for the signal and be ready when it comes." A few half-hearted enemy attacks have been repelled over the past few days by Valeri's fighters and the fighters of the other bands occupying nearby positions, these attacks in any case ensuring they couldn't advance any further. "Do you know what this means?" asks Valeri. Lynn nods and says, "it means we've got them right where we want them."

Although the French revolution is an entirely separate and distinct movement from the British revolution, on both sides of the channel the new governments declare an immediate solidarity with one another. As soon as Valeri makes it back to the battlefields of England he repeats the line he's been given, but he repeats it genuinely and enthusiastically, as though he was given these ideas through divine revelation. It seems to Valeri as though the enemy might be trying to force them back, knowing as he does that their band of fighters along with a few others form the furthest-advanced portions of the Popular Front's troops in the area. "I'm glad you're back with us," says Lynn. "I never left," says Valeri. A furious enemy attack is repelled, the most determined attack on their position since they'd entered the city. In the aftermath, Valeri realises they've lost several of the men and women, although there's hardly any time to bury their dead before they, too, must be on the offensive. "I know," says Lynn, "you were here in spirit." As they've developed a habit of having conversations that leave off and pick up with extended periods between, all that remains for them to do is put their bodies to work in the meanwhile. "No," says Valeri, "I was here all along, in the flesh." The two of them have surveyed the damage from the latest wave of enemy attacks on their positions, and agree that they need no reinforcements to hold this position in preparation for the next attack. After their reunion of factions only some weeks earlier, Valeri and Lynn have held many impromptu discussions among the men, even as they're in the midst of a breathless assault on the city of Northampton their own internal debates and discussions continuing to take front and centre. "You were gone," says Lynn, pressing the matter a few hours later. "You may not have seen me," says Valeri, "but that doesn't mean I wasn't here." It's nightfall, with the day's last light receding to the west.

They're to pick up the offensive again tomorrow, the night to be spent withdrawing the wounded and gathering the last of the weapons and ammunition they'll need for the coming assault. Valeri would've expected a fresh enemy attack on their positions, if he'd not known the insidious presence of the great fragmentation now underway. Tonight, the field guns will fire again, unleashing a cannonade on the enemy everywhere but the city centre, with Sister Simpson and the others responsible for planning this assault hoping to drive the enemy and as many civilians as possible into the pocket that's about to be formed. Soon their next assault is at hand. After the artillery pieces fall silent and the fighter-bombers let up, it's up to Valeri's band of fighters along with the others to advance to their next series of targets. They're to haul the guns into a new position and then relentlessly fire on the enemy. This'll take several more days, their days occupied by a breathless and relentless advance, their nights by a restless pause. Their advance will take them towards the city centre, right up to the hardening enemy defences, while the Popular Front fighters from the northwest link up with them to form a united front. As Valeri sees the men overcome another enemy position, he realises they're establishing the last foothold forward for his band, that they'll have to hold position from here until the enemy surrenders or they're ordered to storm what'll become the enemy's last stronghold in the city.

Even just some months earlier he'd have been unable to control himself, let alone the few dozen men and women under his control. Now, he advances with a few of the men and women along a narrow boulevard, the men and women taking turns hauling the guns by hand. "Nothing ahead can stop us," says Lynn, pausing with Valeri as they catch their breath. "They're pathetic," says Valeri, "if this is all the enemy has to offer, then we can take the whole country in a week." They both turn to face the battle. Lynn shouts, "forward!" Valeri shouts, "until everyone's dead or we've won!" From the men and women a roar of approval sounds out, momentarily overpowering the sounds of battle, before the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs drowns them all out. They've almost reached their final position as dictated to them by Sister Simpson's plan for this attack, and the enemy seems to stiffen their resistance even as Valeri's men and women advance metre by metre. Valeri orders the men and women to shoot without consideration for ammunition, to fire on anything they see that holds a gun but isn't wearing the sign of the Popular Front. This means they fire into old, disused shops, at vehicles and lorries left in the street. This is in stark contrast to previous attacks, where their objectives had been to join forces with civilian uprisings, workers who'd seized their own factories, mills, warehouses, and homes, as Valeri had once done. When Valeri leaps on top of the burnt-out wreckage of a lorry, he suddenly feels nothing of the pain his nagging injuries had inflicted on him, a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he fires his rifle into the street ahead.

The city centre is ringed by a series of small bridges and critical intersections, which Sister Simpson and her fellow commanders have determined to induce the enemy to commit their forces to defending these positions and thus entrap them in a pocket. This will take some time, although it'll only be a few more days, perhaps a week or two, before this pocket is fully enclosed. The order comes down from Sister Simpson to conserve their field guns' ammunition to the greatest extent possible until the enemy is confined to the planned pocket in the city centre, after which time they'll unleash a relentless bombardment against the remaining defenders, by their artillery pieces on the ground and by their fighter-bombers in the air. Finally, they reach the last step forward, achieving their objectives for this operation. It comes as no surprise to Valeri when Aretha reports they're the first to do so. But elsewhere, the action takes on a decidedly different character.

In the city of Sheffield, firmly in the hands of the Popular Front, a young man named Jonathan Burgess has been living and working near the city centre for some time when these waves of uprisings take place. He knows of the warring factions within the Popular Front who've been at each other's throats for some time now, having read the bulletins posted via the network nodes in the city. As he joins in with a crowd of unruly workers, a figure from the Popular Front comes out to address them. "Who is this man who would turn us against Elijah?" asks one woman in the crowd. "Where are the gangs we can run out of town?" asks one young man. Jonathan can hear only some of the voices, those nearest to him, with the rest blending into a cacophony. They've all become tired of war. They all want peace. But the great fragmentation that's still underway across the country promises them only more war, no matter who's in charge. Jonathan, for one, has been working at a local factory, and he doesn't want to lose that meagre livelihood. "I am following Elijah," says the figure, "and I stand with those who do. But there are many even here who stand in our way."

The figure proceeds to identify specific persons, representatives of factions formerly in the Popular Front but now in with the dissidents. The figure calls out, giving the crowd locations here in Sheffield where these persons can be found. "Let's get them ourselves," says Jonathan, shouting as far as he can throw his voice, "let's do it now!" With that, much of the crowd disperses, with many seeking out the men so named by the Popular Front figure. Jonathan doesn't know what he's doing, of course he doesn't, but he feels as though his whole body is filled with a raw electric sensation, as though he is submitted to the control of some unknown force which enables him the courage to do things he never could've done on his own. They march to a commercial property, then proceed to search it floor by floor, until they find the man identified. They take him to the roof and cast him off. They fly the red and gold flag of the Popular Front from the side of the building. Their work here is done.

They're situated along the south side of a bridge, with greenery on either side. To the east there're blocks of flats, while to the west there's continued greenery which gives way after about two hundred metres to a light industrial district. On the other side of the bridge lies the city centre, with mostly-abandoned, disused shopping centres and the older market centre beyond. "They're already constructing a barricade," says Valeri, "they seem to know what we're planning." Lynn says, "let them build all they want. When we've got them surrounded they won't stand a chance." Valeri nods. The thrill of battle causes him to taste the familiar taste of metallic blood in the back of his throat. His heart pounds. He feels alive. And when he surveys the men and women, while they build positions to guard against any possible enemy counterattack, he can see from the enthusiastic smiles and the upright backs they feel alive as well. But Valeri doesn't simply look, he puts in with the men and women, at each forward position assuring the men and women of the righteous path forward. Still elsewhere, this splintering of factions has dire and immediate consequences.

In the city of Leeds, long a stronghold of the forces of the Popular Front, a young woman named Eloise Banks has been working and living under the banner of the Popular Front for nearly two years, but the great fragmentation which is now underway has immersed the city into fighting and civil unrest once more. Eloise has been working at a shoe factory making boots for the armed forces of the Popular Front, and living in flats nearby. She crosses a small park separating the industrial subdivision where she works and the flat where she lives. But today, she knows there's speeches given in this park, and it's these speeches she attends with many others. "...And if any of you should seek to join the dissidents," says the speaker, "then you will be empowering the forces of your own oppression." From the crowd there's a mixed reaction, with some cheering and others remaining quiet.

Some have come to show their support for the speaker, a Popular Front loyalist, while others have come for the spectacle of it. A few, like Eloise, are caught up in events by happenstance. "Don't let them get away," says one man in the crowd. "Whatever it takes to get the fighting to end," says another. In the middle of a pocket of supporters, even someone ambivalent as Eloise is beginning to find herself enraptured by the passions of the Popular Front's supporters here in Leeds. "You know what must be done," says the speaker, "so now you must do it." But this time, there's no easy apprehension, as the dissident factions have their own supporters and their own paramilitary forces who are ready to defend them. There's a bloodbath, with dozens shot dead in the streets. Eloise isn't among them, having declined to take part in the march on dissident positions. By the time Popular Front loyalists are able to overcome the dissidents, more blood has flowed through the streets than rain from the sky. Although Eloise isn't joining in with the violence, she returns to work at the shoe factory and works harder, under the supervision of her lead hand, than ever before.

But with each step forward they take through the city of Northampton the enemy's resistance seems only to stiffen. It's taken them several days to advance just under a kilometre and a half. Some of the other bands of Popular Front fighters manage to advance further than that in shorter a time, but must hold to the prescribed schedule. When Valeri reports over the line to Sister Simpson on their progress and on their losses, she says to him, "it was the toughest line of attack. That's why you were given it." Valeri acknowledges by saying, "and it's not over." Although they've reached their final positions as determined by Sister Simpson's plan for seizing the city, there's still a sizable enemy force ahead of them. Valeri and Simpson both know they can expect ferocious counter-attacks by a freshly determined enemy. News of bloodbaths throughout the country continue to pour over the networks. Still, Valeri relishes this brief pause as the opportunity to give his ragged, haggard body a rest from the relentless punishment of an ongoing attack. He doesn't ask for a doctor, as none are available, although even if any were at hand he'd still direct them to care for the others wounds, even the civilians before his.

"We've got to hold here," says Valeri, speaking with Lynn and several of the men and women, "as long as we can do that, then victory is at hand." He quotes from their most recent communique from Sister Simpson, noting they're the pivot against which their pincer movement will close. As their vehicles have been brought forward, with some civilian lorries commandeered to form barricades, there's little else to do but wait for the order to proceed. Still the men and women face down the task with a straight-eyed determination. When the enemy ventures down the road from their stronghold, Valeri and the others shoot them dead, scattering fire and flesh across the street until the edge of the city centre seems like the edge of hell. And they're not alone, with so much of the urban area ablaze or smoldering from fires only recently left to die. Still elsewhere, the many loyalists to the Popular Front continue to do battle with the dissident factions, not always with the bullet and bomb. All across the city, a river of fire seems to touch everything that lives, as if hell has been risen to earth. Even after having been ordered to halt their advance, Valeri can hear the sounds of battle, the cracking of gunfire and the bursting of bombs all around them. They must form a bulwark against any enemy advance, as his band of fighters is designated as the pivot around which both pincers of the Popular Front's troops will close. The enemy won't likely attempt to attack in serious numbers again, after having expended so much manpower against Valeri's new defensive strongpoint to little effect. Rather, the sound of battle, the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs seem to have strengthened their resolve to see this battle through, no matter the casualties they've sustained.

In the city of Liverpool, long a rebel stronghold, these bloodbaths prompt a new wave of unrest. A young man named Alton McBride has worked at a large factory which produces clothes, for the past year and a half mostly uniforms for the fighting men and women of the Popular Front. But when Alton and the others at this factory find themselves under attack not by nationalist militia or sectarian youths but some of the very dissident factions who'd broken ranks with the Popular Front, the event is shocking to them all. At the end of a shift, some unknown gunmen take up position across the way and fire on workers, Alton among them. Along with some of the others, he flees back into the factory, while their lead hand frantically calls on the Popular Front's apparatchik, their contact, for help. By the time this help arrives in the form of loyalist forces, a dozen workers are killed, dozens more wounded, some critically. The loyalist forces soon drive off the dissident gunmen. Inside, Alton shelters with some of the others. Their lead hand comes around, asking for volunteers to run a second shift. "We've got to work harder than ever to make up for this," says the lead hand, "we can't stop working, or else there'll be no one to do the work." Alton's the first to volunteer. He raises his hand and says, "I'll keep working until I'm dead or they are." The lead hand nods and says, "thank you for your service." More hands go up. Soon there're enough volunteers not to have to force anyone. It matters little that the dissident factions could be back at any time. This factory and the men who run it will carry on their work as though there'd been no attack at all.

In the University of Manchester, long commandeered by a mixed group of students and workers, a young woman named Eunice Doyle would but carry on like any other day were it not for the occupation of a central building by a group of students who call on the university to follow one of the dissident factions. When Eunice reaches campus with several other students, they don't attend class but a public lecture given outdoors by a member of the university's governing council. "...And if you should doubt the conviction of Elijah and his disciples to prosecute the revolution," says the councilman, "then let that be the epitaph of these dissidents." He then calls on the students to march on the occupied central building, a calling which elicits a sweeping roar from the crowd. Eunice finds herself roaring and cheering, even as she's seemingly possessed by an overpowering spirit which she doesn't understand. "All power to the Popular Front!" she shouts, as she marches with the others to the dissidents' building. As Eunice has friends and family deeply affected by the war, she feels compelled by some unknown spirit to act. They find the dissidents and their supporters, a battle breaking out between factions, with stones and other missiles thrown, objects used as battering rams, with hand to hand fighting over the course of several hours resulting in most of the dissidents driven off. Included among them are most of the remaining intellectuals from the university's pre-revolutionary days, beaten and bloodied, a few killed in the encounter. Finally, the university is firmly in the hands of its students. Finally, the real struggle can begin.

Finally, the constantly changing spiritual character of the revolution is put on full display in a church not far from the city of Westminster, in a church once controlled by the Anglican church but shuttered after years of neglect and decline. Elijah's revolution, of course, had precipitated a spiritual resurgence, in turn prompting the reopening of this Holy Trinity Church under the management of a rogue ministry. A young man named Adam Gardner attends services here, and it's here on one Sunday that the pastor exhorts the faithful to take sides in the great fragmentation now underway. "...And I call on you not to relent but to strengthen in your faith during these trying times," says the pastor, "however long and hard the road has been, know that this is the road of the righteous, to persist in struggle, to choose the path most arduous." At the pastor's urging, Adam and the other congregants stage a march on Westminster, determined to show their support for his regime, and to call on all to join them. Many others have chosen this date to march on Westminster, resulting in crowds of tens of thousands filling the streets outside the old houses of parliament. Although these and other working class men and women don't know it, can't know it, the rise of so many dissident factions is the ultimate expression of the ethnic nationalism and petty grievances fostered under the old way of life, with the revolution here in Britain and the civil war that's to follow only the final means of resolving these grievances by utterly crushing them before a new way of life can be instituted. But it won't be so simple as winning a war on the battlefield. What's to come after the war on the battlefield is won will prove to have been the most difficult struggle of all. The resolution of the inherent tension between pride and shame, the shame in pride and the pride in shame, will require a greater sacrifice than even men like Valeri will be capable of making. In renouncing his pride and embracing his shame, Valeri is, in fact, asserting pride for his shame. Yet, in asserting his shame, Valeri acknowledges his pride as a critical component of his personality, as something that can never truly be renounced. In this Valeri's realising his true purpose as an avatar for the larger working class struggle, his person encapsulating every mutually exclusive, self-contradictory element of the larger struggle, in one way or another. This is the battle beyond the battlefield, the one which may never truly be won.

Elijah comes to address them. He says, "I declare that you have done the work of the revolution in working to ensure that the former world is passed away. There can be no question that the dissident factions are in league with an evil influence, an evil influence which should seek to take away from us everything we have worked so hard and so long to achieve. But I tell you this: the most difficult time is yet to come. I challenge every one of you to persist through this time, not by circumstance but by choice." There's the roaring of the crowd. Even Adam, normally a reserved young man, is caught up in the moment. He yells, "all power to the Front!" His voice is blended into the voices of thousands, all of them forming a terrible cacophony. Although Adam, like every other youth in revolutionary Britain, has lost many friends and family, he'll be motivated to lose many more. Even his strength will be tested by what must come. For Valeri and the other soldiers in the countryside, this time of great victory is also a time of great loss.

IV

36. First Light

At last, it happens. Appearing before the cameras of the world, the American president announces the impending deployment of American forces to Western Europe, declaring it his nation's responsibility to end the conflict consuming the continent. In truth, no one can see him for who he truly is, not a man but a leader of men. Behind the scenes, the leader Lucius continues his slow, skilful manipulation of the leaders of men, serving as he does the nefarious influence of the angel of light who guides the counter-revolution. This Lucius is an American as well, although he's never held any public office beyond diplomatic posts, plus the occasional special appointment by various governments. From his office in New York, he directs a variety of efforts, through the complicated arrangement of private corporations he owns and controls, which he exercises his control and ownership through a network of investors and managers, each of whom believes themselves autonomous and self-directed even as they willingly enslave themselves to the influence of the very same angel of light which Lucius serves. The man known as Lucius worships icons, chief among them a miniature replica of the bronze bull kept in the street in the heart of New York's financial district. The angel of light similarly worships the image of this bronze bull, the great conspiracy of forces aligning against the revolution being devoted to this vacuity. In truth, as this Lucius figure becomes indwelt by the angel of light who guides the counter-revolution, the two arrive at an unspoken but acutely felt understanding. The pogroms against Jews, here in Britain and elsewhere throughout Europe, they've been instituted at the behest of this unholy alliance, capitalising on so much violence and uncertainty to begin their master plan to murder millions of people.

Meanwhile, as Valeri and many others continue their assault on the city of Northampton, having secured the outer positions on the southern edges of the city. They are now primed for an assault deep into the city. Even as they rest in position along a suburban housing development, the sounds of battle sound out all around them, the rattling of gunfire and the bursting of bombs can be heard no longer so distant. By the time Valeri and the others make their next assault, to penetrate deep into the city, the few pockets of resistance outside the city centre are neutralised by the Popular Front's forces, neutralisation amounting to the destruction of entire blocks with enemy fighters still inside. As the city centre is enclosed by the pincer movements of flanking Popular Front forces, Valeri only waits for the signal to begin bombardment of the enemy stronghold with their field guns. He waits like a hungry jackal waiting out the death of sick and wounded prey. With events about to overtake them, Valeri, Lynn, Aretha, and the others here might very well take advantage of this last opportunity to relish in the moment. "Valeri," says Lynn, "it's time." Valeri nods. After steeling himself against the coming moment, Valeri heads to his temporary command post. Situated a few metres behind the main line, this particular position allows for protection while still giving a good view of the street ahead. "Be ready to attack at any time," says Valeri, "we should be able to storm the enemy positions and kill them all." Lynn says, "or take them all prisoner." Valeri nods. After having been given the opportunity to serve as the bulwark against any enemy counterattack, now Valeri must wait for the next order to come, something which he anticipates gravely. He licks his lips at the thought.

But Valeri feels the pain in his body sharper and more visceral than ever. After leading an assault on a particular enemy position, his fighters killing several nationalist troops and driving the rest off, Valeri pauses to contemplate the moment. "Word from Sister Simpson," says Lynn, "we've got them surrounded. Our men have linked up on the other side of the city centre. They have no escape now." Valeri steels himself against the moment, and looks to his subordinates. "Their elimination is assured," he says. He nods knowingly at Lynn. She turns and snaps out the orders to the gun crews, saying, "be ready to fire at any time. We'll be ordered to bombard the city centre until they surrender or every last one of them is buried in rubble." Valeri almost hopes the enemy never surrenders, that they give him the satisfaction of being able to repay them for every innocent person they'd killed, every Jewish woman and child, every striking factory worker, even including every soldier in the army serving in the war on the continent. As the Popular Front which has come to encompass so many factions is in the midst of surviving its great fragmentation, so must its enemies fail to achieve a breakthrough during their greatest opportunity. But Valeri, Valeri's bound to be disappointed, knowing as he does in some vague and instinctive way that the cannonade they're about to unleash on the enemy will surely provoke surrender.

"All guns are in position," says Lynn, after reporting back to Valeri on the status of their barricades. "Excellent," says Valeri, "have the machine gun crews and the forward line ready in case the enemy stages another charge." Lynn nods, and turns to relay the order. "This is going to be difficult," says Valeri, "but I like it." Some of the men and women around them have been wounded, but most of the wounded carry on with their duties, each determined to fight through this critical attack. Each draws on a reserve of strength granted to them, in this moment the dark essence which guides the revolution choosing to impress itself upon each of them, to infuse itself into each of them with the beating of their hearts and the gasping and heaving of each of them for breath. They know this could all end at any moment, that the nuclear fire which'd devastated the battlefields in Poland and eastern Ukraine could be visited on them a thousand times over at any time, but this only relieves them of the burden of concern for themselves. Each of them, Valeri knows, is a dead man, and they fight like dead men who've been given the gift of everlasting life.

In truth, the Americans have faced mounting unrest in their own country for nearly as long as there's been fighting in Europe. The post-industrial wastelands of the American Midwest and Northeast hold many times the despair that produced revolution in Britain, never mind the permanent underclass dwelling in black and Hispanic slums. As well, violence against Jewish people and others have been increasing in the United States for some time, with the central government in Washington seemingly uninterested in reining in these crimes. This is something Lucius uses to manipulate the Americans into deploying their forces to fight in Europe; they must crush the revolution in Britain, France, and elsewhere on the continent, says Lucius, in order to prevent the working class in the United States from seeing inspiration in the European example. A few more hours pass in the city of Northampton, with the order to open fire having not yet come. Valeri doesn't press Sister Simpson for instructions, content as he is to wait. "She probably wants the bombardment to come from all surrounding positions at the same time," says Lynn, looking over a handy map of the city, marking off spots here and there. But elsewhere, there's trouble.

For Christopher Jenkins, this breathless time has meant continued attack, the band of fighters he's in service having been committed to relentlessly assailing the nationalists to the east of the city of Birmingham, regardless of losses. Several of the other men and women in Chris' small, platoon-sized band have been killed in recent weeks, and many more have been wounded, some of the wounded seriously. "Come on," says Chris' lead hand, "let's give it to them!" They've been told that if they fail to keep up the pressure, then the enemy will have a free hand in taking the city behind them. They've all heard of the mass killings and the lynchings, those targeting Jews, Romani, miscellaneous working class factions, and others, and they fight knowing they must keep up the attack lest the enemy be allowed to commit mass murder in the city they defend. "No surrender!" shouts Chris. "No surrender!" shouts first one fellow trooper, then another, then another, soon the whole lot of them shouting in unison. They attack. They don't succeed in pushing the enemy back, but nor do they fail to prevent an enemy attack on Birmingham. It wasn't all that long ago that Chris would've been only another civilian, hiding from battle, allowing himself to stand on the sidelines as his friends, brothers and sisters, have fought. He doesn't know, won't know that his old friend, Helen Reed, is dead, having been killed in a firefight with nationalist forces. He'll never know what's come of her. It matters little, as he'll narrowly escape death in the next attack, the next attack after this most recent assault.

But this will all take place over the course of many years, the American military bureaucracy needing an extended period to lurch into action, its early efforts doomed to be half-hearted, aimless, and without coordination between the various factions that it should seek to assist. Behind the front lines of the revolution, the greater struggle has only just begun, with industrial production flagging despite efforts on the part of the Popular Front to put the cities under its control on a total wartime footing. In Northampton, Valeri's fighters advance along a narrow road, flanked on either side by small housing estates and isolated patches of urban parkland. The small housing estates are run down and ragged by the course of the war, many sporting loose bricks and shattered windows, while some lots are occupied by loose piles of rubble and others nothing at all. Finally, the order comes in. Aretha relates the order to Lynn, who relates it to Valeri. "Then by all means," says Valeri, after pausing for a moment, "open fire." Seemingly all at once the terrifying cannonade of their field guns erupts, even the ground seeming to tremble and the nearby trees seeming to quiver in time with each shell fired. There are no moments of quiet, even when Valeri's guns are between shells, as the field guns employed by the other Popular Front fighters surrounding the city centre fire a determined fusillade at the same time. After a short time has passed, Valeri sees the fighter-bombers return, adding their bombs and rockets to the hellfire.

Elsewhere, the revolution's new escalation continues unabated. For Julia Roberts, the loss of her family, her husband and children have caused her only to redouble her efforts at the railyard. The loyal Popular Front fighters had repelled the dissident attack on the yard, although the battle had killed many of the workers here. Now, a little over two weeks later, Julia and the others who'd remained at their posts work harder and longer than ever, sustained not by their meagre diets nor by the fitful few hours of sleep every night but by their common struggle. The Popular Front's apparatchik asks her to take note of those who kept on working even in the immediate aftermath of the attack on the yard, of those who kept on working even as the bodies of the dead had yet to be taken away. "I won't stop working," says Julia, "I've been through too much to stop." This she says when speaking with the Popular Front's apparatchik following a double-shift, sixteen hours at the railyard. Much of the work now is focused on repairing damage, along with clearing away space for the Popular Front to position a newly-acquired missile battery to defend the yard against aerial attack. The implication is that the Americans will soon strike. "Make sure that you work through this difficult period," says the apparatchik, "the work must never stop, not even for a moment." But when she next sees her old friend, Fred White, at the yard, he's hobbled and slowed, working, but too slow to be of much use. She exercises her authority to relieve him of his duties, something which he accepts without argument. But not all is lost. There is another way. By the time this day is through, even Julia will come to grips with what must come.

Meanwhile, these negotiations which've provoked the great schism among the many factions of the Popular Front continue, even in the face of the efforts of Elijah's disciples to unite them. All this is distant and largely unknown to Valeri and the men and women he leads, news of the larger political developments conveyed to them only by After this latest assault, the fighters of the Popular Front in Northampton have finally succeeded in enclosing the remaining enemy forces in a pocket roughly encompassing the city centre. With a new supply of ammunition for their field guns sent in by Sister Simpson, Valeri's fighters are to begin bombardment of the city centre shortly. Still elsewhere, the current stage in the war's frantic and frenetic pace has left Joe Hill and the others manning the ramparts in a fight for their lives. They'd fended off enemy attack using only the implements of their work and the barricades they'd built, hurling stones and planks of wood over the barricade at the enemy troops. But then some gunmen had arrived to reinforce their position, their combined efforts succeeding in holding the street and driving off the enemy. "Who's going to attack us next?" asks one young man among their ranks. "I don't know," says Joe, "but I hope they come soon." They've been having this same conversation for days, since they'd last seen enemy action nearby. "I've lost a lot since the war began," says the young man. "So have I," says Joe, as he thinks of his friend, Nina Schultz. As far as he knows, she's still in service of the Popular Front's armed forces, and she's kept loyal to the forces of Elijah despite many of her friends and fellow fighters turning against him. "I hope the war ends soon," says the young man. "I wouldn't count on it," says Joe, as he can hear the distant sounds of gunfire rattling and bombs bursting even so far into the rebel stronghold surrounding London. "What'll you do when the war ends?" asks the young man. Joe takes a moment to think about it, in that moment reflecting on all he's been through, all he's learned. Finally, he says, "keep on fighting, I suppose."

After the fall of the first Irish People's Republic in Antrim some months ago, a new government is declared to be founded with dominion over all Ireland, this time in the smaller town of Warrenpoint. This town sits on the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic, with the armed forces of the Popular Front having seized a sizable pocket of territory on both sides. The new government declares itself the 'All-Ireland People's Democratic Republic.' It seems something of an absurdity to continuously found new governments, but then this is by design. The rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front have calculated this move to sow confusion among their enemies, to confound the leaders of the emergent National Forces and to muster the support of the many factions. Although Ireland is only one theatre in the burgeoning war, it'll be here that a decisive moment is had. Executions continue to take place, with the Popular Front's apparatchiks searching out and dispensing justice upon those who would undermine the interests of the new People's Republic and the working class which it serves. Some of these executions target political figures from the old regime, with anyone who'd served in parliament to the old United Kingdom added to the list of those to be hanged.

Still elsewhere, Marilyn Carter has continued to take shelter at that small church in the countryside, despite repeated threats of violence against them by enemy militia. After their church had been commandeered by nationalist militiamen, the rogue pastor had been killed in standing between the militiamen and the church's front door. Now militia continue to come and go, with Marilyn having been made to accept their occupation of the church for the time being. For a while, Marilyn contemplates leaving, only to find herself detained by the troops on suspicion of being a rebel spy. "I support the Popular Front because it's the right thing to do," the rogue pastor had said, the last time Marilyn had spoken with him before the militiamen had attacked. He'd gone on to say, "faith is not a feeling. It's a choice. It's the choice to continue to believe even during the darkest times, when there seems no deliverance from evil. I'll never forget the way ordinary people used to be treated like chattel, factories closed and men and women tossed out of work in order to make some distant businessman a few more pounds. I won't ever consent to any arrangement, to any way of life that treats ordinary working people like mere objects. And that's why I'm here." A few days later, the militiamen had attacked, killing the pastor, arresting everyone else, interning them in the church's own basement. Marilyn's been here before. She's been enslaved by one group or another, only to find herself again facing the same dire threat. As she starts the fire which'll consume the church and thus deny its use to the militiamen, she's prepared to die in service of the same ideals which the rogue pastor had been killed for. Having been converted to the faith some time ago, she knows her soul is prepared.

But for the pilots of Mobius squadron, these months have meant only constant action. Their flights over the North Sea have found them in a pitched battle with a multitude of enemies, from the newly-arrived Americans to the uncertain Russians and many others. Now, as the evacuation of the army from the continent gets underway in earnest, Hatfield and the squadron he commands has their work cut out for them. Recent defections have made their work no easier. They're over a small convoy of vessels, two larger merchant vessels flanked by numerous small craft, a mix of armed and unarmed. The atmosphere is tense, as they expect enemy aircraft could appear at any time. "Captain," says one pilot, "there are Americans coming in from the south." Sure enough, Hatfield's scope reads several contacts approaching at high speed. But this time they've got reinforcements, additional fighters having recently defected to their cause after a series of rousing speeches from Popular Front apparatchiks. "Let's take them," says Hatfield, before turning his plane to head right at them. Their aerial battle is over quickly, and afterwards Hatfield is drenched in sweat from head to toe, while gasping for breath. All Hatfield has left is his service in the armed forces of the Popular Front, his family having been found and killed by the now-defunct Home Guard. He's given up on finding the specific persons who were responsible for performing the execution of his family; all he believes he can do now is keep on fighting until there's no fight left. After returning to the squadron's base east of London, Hatfield's ability to contemplate his own future returns. He'll have more sorties over the next several weeks in which he'll have to confront the Americans, only to return home to confront everything he's lost. This is his tragedy, a tragedy which he can only live through.

Several days have passed since the formation of this new front, and after these several days all seems lost. Although Valeri and the others under Sister Simpson have staged their lightning attack to seize the city of Northampton, still there remains the ongoing nationalist offensives sweeping Britain, seizing patches of unoccupied land in the country along with miscellaneous urban tracts occupied by flats, shopping centres, and industrial estates. Although the war is becoming more like a conventional war with each passing month, still there remains that irregular character to it, with battles between factions taking place throughout the country, even in territory considered to be controlled by the forces of the Popular Front. The front lines, such as they are, remain impossible to define, save the certainty that some cities are held by the forces of the Popular Front and others aren't. The still-new People's Republic claims sovereignty over all the countries of the old United Kingdom, and through its allies in the new All-Irish government the whole of Ireland as well. All this takes place even as the Popular Front's relentless campaign of trials and executions continues unabated. But elsewhere, Roy Cook has had much time to reflect on the death of his young wife, Sabrina Hale. Although it's now been a year, nearly a year and a half since she'd been taken from him, it still feels to him as though she'd died only yesterday. The wounds that he'll live with the rest of his life, they're still raw, seeming to pulsate beneath the skin, as though there's an empty void where his heart had been, the nerve endings still confusedly searching, feeling for something that isn't there. As he's come to serve in the fighting forces of the Popular Front, he's learned much more than he'd have ever thought possible, chiefly from the experience of his lead hand, the man whose name remains unknown to the larger world. "We've got to fight," says Roy, "no matter what it costs." His lead hand had said, "you've been given the opportunity to make good on what you've got. Don't waste it." And this, this had made such a man as Roy to over come his lengthy depression, the depression which'd set in with the death of his young wife all so long ago. Now, as he prepares to enter into battle again, he prepares as a new man, ready to rise to himself.

But these Americans, they've been preparing to take action against the revolutions of Europe for some time, their vast and cumbersome military bureaucracy taking as long as it has to begin the process of deploying forces to the streets of not only Britain's cities but those of France, Germany, and Italy as well. While the revolutionaries of the Popular Front in Britain overcome their internal divisions and institute the next step in the course of their long and arduous revolutionary struggle, still there're larger forces at work. The army on the continent is not yet ready to come home, but it's almost there. With such a dizzying array of forces continuing to align against this new beginning, it falls to Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front's leadership to exercise the discipline that's needed to see their new beginning through this difficult time. As the world burns, the rebel Elijah himself rises to face the threats being mustered against his new beginning. But it won't be so easy.
37. Impugn

Although it's been nearly two years since the declaration of the new People's Republic in Westminster, to Valeri it seems as though it's been hardly two months. In the span of those two years, he's accumulated such a vast wealth of experiences so as to make him among the more respected and esteemed among his peers. It's for this reason, among others, that the Popular Front apparatchik Geoff O'Malley has chosen Valeri as an interview subject, after searching for several months among the fighting men and women of the Popular Front. But as the date and time for their agreed-upon interview has been continually pushed back, it might seem to Valeri as though it'd never come at all. In the meanwhile, larger events continue to mount, with Valeri and the others under his charge fighting harder than ever. Although Valeri's become too badly wounded to directly participate in their advance, he directs the attack from their previous positions, knowing as he does that his time as a soldier is drawing to a close. However brief it may have been, Valeri is acutely aware of all he's learned, all he's accomplished, even as he has much left to learn and much left to accomplish. Their final assault on the surrounded city centre in Northampton will surely be a bloody and violent encounter, but it's one which Valeri looks forward to with enough enthusiasm as to temporarily enable him to exceed the limits placed on his mind and body by these steadily mounting injuries. After a particularly long night of restless sleep, there's little which Valeri can d but rise to face the occasion. Any discussion of interviews can no longer be postponed, and it's in recognition of this fact that Valeri and the others must finally rise to take their fate. "I'm glad you're here," says Valeri, speaking with his lead hand. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be," says Lynn.

Elsewhere, events continue to mount. After the fall of the self-proclaimed People's Republic of Wales some months ago, the forces in Wales loyal to the banner of Elijah and his disciples in the Popular Front have continued their work. Now, a new government forms under the same banner, rather in the smaller city of Aberdare in the mountainous area to the north of the Welsh southern coast. Here, the fighters under the command of the new government will be better able to defend their headquarters from assault by the nationalists who control the city of Cardiff. But this isn't to be the permanent home of the new government. Although Valeri can't participate in the next wave of attacks, he keeps up with the men and women anyways, holding his own by sheer strength of will. So different has he become from the ill-mannered malcontent that he'd been, so changed has he been by the things he's seen and done over the past few years. But the change is not yet complete. The small, platoon-sized band of fighters Valeri's lead will be effectively disbanded, combined with the elements of three other such bands to form an entirely new band, under the leadership of a woman whom Valeri doesn't know. All this seems rather sudden, but in fact it's taken place over the course of several weeks, with the fury of another unusually short but brutal winter bearing down on them all. "I didn't ask for this," says Valeri, "but I'm beginning to learn that it's because I didn't ask for it that makes me the one for the job." He's speaking not with the reporter O'Malley but with his former lead hand, Lynn, who remains in the city for a few more days. She's to keep on fighting in the Popular Front's armed wing; Valeri asks her whether this is what she wants. "It doesn't matter," she says, "this is not the way it's going to end." And to this Valeri can only reply, "I'll see to it." From their vantage point just to the south of the city centre, they can see across a bridge and into the urban area ahead. "They didn't even try to blow up the bridge," says Valeri, "they can't stand against us." After all that's happened, after all that he's been through and after all that he's seen, Valeri can only imitate the behaviour and mannerisms of a professional soldier, consigned as he is to the perspective of the working man. He can never truly become the disciplined soldier of the revolution that he aspires to be, but it's in aspiring to be more than he is, more than he can be that he realises his true destiny.

The next attacks will have as their objective the final assault on the remaining enemy-held areas of the city of Northampton. After the city is secure, which won't take place for some time, Sister Simpson will move her headquarters in and begin carrying out her next moves. Finally, it happens. As Valeri and the others watch their bombardment of the city centre demolish buildings and scatter rubble across the urban landscape, they receive word from Sister Simpson that the enemy has signalled their unconditional surrender. Immediately Valeri orders the guns to cease firing, and has every man in their band of fighters await further instructions. After four weeks of some of the heaviest fighting they've seen, the city of Northampton is theirs. As they move cautiously through the city's streets, Valeri and the others all note the devastation wrought, some by their guns, but most by the guns of the nationalist militia who now surrender. Although Valeri's not yet been made to dispense justice against the criminals who'd controlled Northampton only a short time ago, he craves the opportunity, remembering as he does the various times he's personally dispensed justice. But even these experiences, visceral as they may have been, won't prepare him for what he must accomplish next. When the Americans land their first troops on British soil, an event which could transpire at any time, Valeri will be one of those fighters sent against them. He'll be fighting a guerrilla war that very much resembles the war he'd fought when under the direct control of Sister Simpson, when the enemy was the old Home Guard. But there's more to it than that. There's always more to it than that. What lies in Valeri's personal history, as he participates in the final assault on the city of Northampton, will prove to have been a harbinger for the future of the revolution here in Britain and across Europe.

Soon, it comes. Sister Simpson orders Valeri's band of fighters to be among the first to enter the enemy's former stronghold, and take prisoner all enemy fighters who've thrown down their weapons. The commanders of the enemy troops are to be arrested and transferred to the custody of the Popular Front's apparatchik who's soon to arrive, whereupon they'll be subjected to charges for their crimes, including the cold-blooded murder of the city's small Jewish population. As has happened before, the Popular Front's apparatchik is to, in the coming weeks, seek out witnesses and take their testimony, to be used in the proceedings against those accused. Although the city's lone synagogue had been burned down a while ago and most of the city's small Jewish population driven off or killed, those few left will be given every opportunity to bear witness against their murderers. But it's not that simple, it could never be that simple, as Valeri and the others under his charge move through the streets of the city's centre they see so many bodies scattered about, mixed with the rubble from so many buildings all but demolished. After a few days in this position, they're informed by Sister Simpson that the city is considered secure, with Sister Simpson to move her headquarters in. But when he confides this in his old lead hand, Lynn, she says, "you'll never be asked to give more than you have." Valeri nods. "I'll never forget what I've learned from you," he says. "And what's that?" she asks. But all he does is keep on looking forward, his gaze fixated on some unseen point ahead. This battle is won, but the war is yet to be lost.

After marching for an hour the men and women under Valeri's charge are tired and in need of rest. Now that the city of Northampton is firmly under the Popular Front's control, they're permitted that rest. All that's required of them is that they watch over the civilians, to make sure that their uprising against capitalist order remains within the boundaries laid out by the rebel Elijah and his disciples at the highest levels of the Popular Front. A few of the prisoners so recently detained have come from the last remnants of the old Home Guard, men who look to blend in with the city's population but who're spotted and singled out by angry and despondent residents. "Do you still believe what you used to?" asks Lynn. It's a little while later, after they've established a new position to the north of the city centre. Valeri shakes his head. "I believe that I can now be saved," says Valeri, "because I'm willing to be." Although Lynn now has full access to the extent of her emerging psionic talents, she is only one of many. Their number makes up only a small, very small portion of the Popular Front's men and women, but they're to form a critical link between the fighting men and women of the Popular Front and the people who they'll call on to fight these Americans. These Americans, they don't know what they're getting themselves into. The alliance they've formed with the remnants of the nascent National Forces, the loose and mostly-disorganised coalition that's emerged in opposition to the Popular Front and the People's Republic it controls, it's only the beginning of a grave new threat to the revolution in Britain. As the first American troops are to land on British soil, the emergent psionic link between soldiers fighting in the Popular Front and the people will prove to be a decisive factor in the changing character of the war that's yet to be.

Despite his mounting injuries, Valeri will come to rededicate himself to the struggle, inasmuch as he can. Given the crippling shortages of medical supplies and personnel, he determines it unlikely any effective medical attention could be had in a timely fashion. He wonders how he can find it in himself to carry forward, to keep up with the struggle even as the pain he experiences seems to intensify. After they've taken in a few more prisoners, Valeri and the others stand by and watch as they're presented with a remarkable sight. As the city is brought under their control, crowds of ordinary residents stage their own uprising in tandem with the Popular Front's seizure, groups of residents targeting anyone who draws their ire. Former managers are dragged out of factories and warehouses, while political officials from the local authority who've tried to blend in are picked out and beaten to death. Valeri and the others receive orders from Sister Simpson not to intervene. By nightfall, the crowds of angry workers haven't abated but have continued to swell, seeking vengeance on the criminals who'd perpetrated horrific crimes against them. Eventually, Sister Simpson will instruct the Popular Front's fighters to step in and impose order, by which time there will be many bodies to dispose of. "After all that we've been through," says Valeri, "it's hard to imagine things getting any more difficult." But Lynn says, "anything you can imagine is only part of what's possible." They say this in the last moments before Sister Simpson's order to put a stop to the killings comes through, by which time the streets have run red with the spilling of so much blood, with the falling of blood from the sky as rain.

By the time they are to secure the city, they'll find hardly any Jews left. Most of the city's Jewish population will have indeed already been driven off or killed by the nationalist militia and sectarian youths now defeated by the forces of the Popular Front. Valeri realises there was probably nothing they could've done to rescue any of the city's Jewish population from their fate, although he doesn't believe himself excused for his failure to rescue them by this reasoning. There are others, here in Britain and across Europe, even around the world. The Romani people across Europe have become the targets of a new wave of violence, unleashed by nationalists of various stripes, opposed by the rebel Elijah's fellow travelers in the various countries seized by their own revolutionary fervour. The American bombing raids on British military installations which have been taking place for over a year will continue in earnest, although without any clear objectives. The angel of light who guides the anti-revolution continues to effect his nefarious influence, continues to seek the murder of so many innocent people as the means to beginning a new counter-revolution here in Britain and around the world. In Northampton, the eruption of violence against managers and officials is the product of so much pent up rage finally given an outlet. "It's going to get worse before it gets better," says Valeri, after they'd forcibly stopped the riots. He's speaking with Lynn and Aretha, while they supervise the transfer of prisoners into a makeshift jail set up by Sister Simpson. "I say bring it on," says Aretha. "We can take anything they have to throw at us," says Valeri. "You're both right," says Lynn. Their jail soon fills, and still they keep filling it, until the cells are packed ten to a bed. "There are so many," says Valeri, "and there's got to be many more."

The American navy begins its new operations, along with navies of a few other countries thrown in. Their one naval battlegroup, centred on a single nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, is augmented by two more, their three flight decks deploying more aircraft than the nascent People's Republic can muster from among those in the old Royal Air Force who've defected to their cause. But the bulk of the eventual American deployment in ground troops will take at least several months to begin, the huge and lumbering bureaucracy that controls the Americans' mighty military complex needing such time to take action. Some of the nationalists and others who oppose the Popular Front also oppose American intervention, but the Americans don't consider this in laying their plans. This isn't the end, but rather the beginning of a much larger struggle. The Americans have their own internal problems, with their bitter political infighting succeeding only in obscuring the deeper divisions inside their borders. The Hispanic slaves who've migrated across borders illegally for generations, the permanent black underclass throughout the country, and the white workers dispossessed by decades of post-industrial decline, all are not merely natural allies of the working class revolution here in Britain but part and parcel of it. As the revolution here in Britain enters a new and deadly phase, the decisive battle is yet to be won. Events in other European countries continue to mount, with Russia and many other Eastern European countries consumed in their own civil wars. All capitalism seems to be on the verge of total destruction. All men like Valeri can do is keep fighting until its destruction is assured.

38. The Beginning of the End, Redux

At last, Valeri and O'Malley begin the first in their series of interviews. Although we know the basic outline of Valeri's struggles, of the long and roundabout path his journey has charted from the ill-mannered malcontent he'd been to the disciplined soldier of the revolution he's becoming, the finer points of all that he's seen and all that he's been through remain mysterious even to him. When he sits with O'Malley in the office of an old church, in the background the city of Northampton eerily calm. Although Valeri doesn't know it, can't know it yet, the testimony he gives to this O'Malley will form the basis for his account of the revolutionary struggle, the act of recording and shaping his testimony to make him into a lesser prophet of sorts. O'Malley is one of twenty of the Popular Front's apparatchiks chosen to seek out subjects for interview and study, and Valeri is the subject O'Malley has chosen. He'll become one of twenty such subjects, the twenty of them together making up a body of testimony for inclusion in a single work, a second canonical text to follow the first, 'On the Way Forward For Our Revolutionary Struggle and Its Components.' "I've lost many people in life," says Valeri, having been asked to begin the first in a series of interviews with O'Malley with a statement rather than the answer to a question. He thinks of his mother and father, the young woman Sydney Harrington, his former roommate Hannah, and the once-prostitute Maria, even his friends Tonya and Roger. Some he'd known only for a brief time, others many years. It's a little while later, a few days after they'd completed their seizure of the city of Northampton. Valeri and O'Malley speak while waiting for a nearby screen to carry a new speech from none other than Elijah himself.

As their forces have secured the city of Northampton, all that's left for them to do here is establish a base for further operations. The Popular Front's installation of an apparatchik to oversee the implementation of their rule will take place shortly. After having witnessed the duty of these apparatchiks in the small city of Aylesbury but also the larger city of Milton Keynes, Valeri has an idea of what this must entail. Still it comes as a surprise when Sister Simpson asks him to take on the role. The final new government to form is in Scotland, with the declaration of a new Worker's Republic in Glasgow. Still, in the city of Northampton Valeri and O'Malley continue their first interview, O'Malley continuing to record Valeri's statement. "And I suppose I'll lose many more," says Valeri, before expounding in brief on the summation of the long and winding path he's taken to reach his current station in life. There isn't enough time until Elijah's speech starts for him to cover everything that he's seen, everything that he's been through, and it's for this reason that Valeri had chosen this moment to begin their interviews, after having delayed them for so long. In the distance, the city of Northampton continues to burn. The Popular Front forces in the area have ceased their offensive, with the enemy having regrouped in the countryside beyond. The Popular Front must now consolidate its gains, here in Northampton and in other cities and towns that've fallen under their control following the recent wave of attacks. From his vantage point on the third floor of a three-storey building, Valeri can see the fires of liberation burning, while in the distance he can hear rattling of gunfire and bursting of bombs as battle recedes from the city at last.

The People's Republic has enlarged the territory under its control, until most of England's cities in its grip. A few centres are still in nationalist hands, while the rural areas remain a war zone. Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland remain riven by civil war, between factions loyal to the Popular Front and a variety of others. But all this is largely academic and antiseptic to Valeri, consigned as he is to a narrow focus. In his few spare moments, he prays for the strength to carry on, to continue in his duties. He'll receive this strength; in so receiving, he'll delay the receipt of the full brunt of his injuries until after his purpose as a soldier of the revolution is fulfilled. But after the recent wave of assaults that've pushed the enemy out of the city for good, Northampton is secure. Sister Simpson has moved her battlefield headquarters into an office building near the city's main train station. The Popular Front will shortly select a new political apparatchik to take over administration of the city, a role filled in Milton Keynes by Sister Baldwin. As with Sister Baldwin in Milton Keynes, the role of the Popular Front's apparatchik will be tasked with prosecuting individual enemies of the working class, organising a local cadre out of worker's, student's, and parishioner's councils, and raising troops to join the armed wing of the Popular Front for conducting the revolutionary struggle from here on out. But all this'll take time. With the imminent arrival of American troops into cities held by the National Forces, time may be one thing the Popular Front doesn't have. "But there's more to it than that," Valeri says, speaking with O'Malley, "there's always been more to it than that." As Valeri waits out the last few days before he's to head out to a new assignment, he feels a mounting anticipation.

But with the onset of American intervention in the European war, the streets of cities across Europe and even in America itself have seen a renewed wave of unrest. Demonstrations have broken out in American cities from coast to coast, as parties sympathetic to the cause of the rebel Elijah and his People's Republic in Britain have begun their own campaigns aimed at achieving some of the very goals which the rebel Elijah seeks. The exact boundaries of the People's Republic are not known, and to some it may seem outwardly conflicting that the People's Republic claims sovereignty over the same territory as these new republics in Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, but these three new republics all form a unified state in the making, together with the People's Republic in London. After losses had made Sister Simpson combine weakened elements of various bands of fighters into newer units, with a few men surplus to these newer units. Valeri is one such man. As the call has gone out for men and women to be made into bands of guerrillas, to wage war against the Americans and the remainder of the opposition to the new People's Republic, Valeri's to be one such guerrilla. He doesn't know when and he doesn't know where he'll go, only that he'll soon be sent deep into enemy-held territory with a handful of others. O'Malley will go with him. "I'll keep on fighting until the revolution is won," says Valeri, pausing to let O'Malley write what he's said. Soon, Elijah's speech begins. Broadcast via the data networks from the heart of Westminster, this address is being watched by both friend and foe.

A moment of pause sets in. All of the Popular Front's apparatchiks above a certain level—above Valeri's level—had received notification several days ago of Elijah's planned address of the nation. Valeri's formal promotion within the ranks of the Worker's Party has yet to become effective. Now, Valeri and the others watch as Elijah delivers his latest address on the state of their revolution. The fighting forces of the Popular Front now number into the hundreds of thousands, although most are poorly armed and almost entirely untrained. "...All that we have fought and died for now hangs in the balance," says Elijah, "all that we have given our sons and daughters for is about to be lost. And all that our enemies should seek to take from us is to be taken from us. We do not seek war, but neither do we turn from it. They who would oppose the liberation of the working class here in Britain have learned this lesson well. Now the American government seeks to learn this lesson, and we can only oblige them. But know this: as the responsibility for all death and hardship in a war of liberation rests on they who would resist liberation and seek to perpetuate oppression, so must the responsibility for all death and hardship in the coming American war lie with the Americans, not with their people, who remain overwhelmingly under oppression and impoverishment but they who would oppress and impoverish. But we have our enemies here in Britain, with the future of our People's Republic hanging in the balance. We have brought the army home and ended our participation in the costly and ill-advised war on the continent, fulfilling one of our pledges to the people. But more is yet to be done."

"I tell you this: the American people are a natural ally of the British people, being as they consist of working people subject to oppression and exploitation. This is true of the Hispanic farm workers, the near-permanent black underclass, the dispossessed white workers in old industrial towns across the so-called American rust belt, and many others. But as their oppressors should seek to suppress their burgeoning consciousness, so should they inevitably rise above. These oppressed in America are not simply our allies in another country, but are our brothers and sisters which such things as political boundaries, bodies of water, even different languages can't separate us from. Although we have ended our participation in the war on the continent and brought the army home, we can never relinquish our drive to free the international working class from the relentless tyranny and oppression of the old way of life. Now, as the tide of an unwinnable war turns inexorably against us, there might be those who would ask why we continue to fight. This is not the right question to ask. As I speak to you now, I am personally struck by an illness which baffles even the best doctors in Britain, one which almost certainly means I will not live to see the future which we seek to build. Many of you will share in my fate, destined to perish before our history's future is realised. Therefore we fight without any expectation of our own personal reward. We fight to bring about a future we can never see. There are those who would say that we must reconcile with our enemies, arguing now that as we have seized power we must bring about peace at all costs. This peace cannot be had but for the institution of worker's rule, here and everywhere, now and always."

"As we stand on the precipice, I ask you this: prick us, shall we not bleed? Poison us, shall we not sicken? Enslave us, shall we not rebel? And wrong us, shall we not revenge? As our war has always been a war of liberation of all oppressed peoples against their oppressors, what, then, should be the humility of the oppressor at the hands of they who were once so oppressed? Revenge. As we fight a war of liberation, we must necessarily fight against those who would seek to repress our liberation. But our war is not and has never been a reaction against the rise of evil, rather the rise of good; theirs is the reaction. Ours is not a movement led by men, but by classes of men, classes universal, classes that transcend political boundaries. Our movement is but an instrument of history, wielded by they who would seek life where there is only death, freedom where there is only slavery, and justice where there is only oppression and exploitation. We do not seek war, but neither do we turn away from it. We do not blame the American worker, but the oppressor of the American worker, he who is in league with the oppressor of workers here in Britain, across Europe, and around the world. We seek the allegiance of the oppressed. We seek to advance the interests of the most pathetic and wretched among us. We brook no compromise with evil, and we accept no accord with the purveyors of evil. Our new beginning faces a dire threat, one which we must overcome. We will not rest until every working man in the world is master of his own destiny. This is our challenge. This is our calling. We will rise to meet this challenge, and we will strive to fulfill our calling. We will, because we must."

"Working men of all countries: rise!"
A Note From the Author

'Inferno Burning' is the third in a series of novels. Parts I and II are available at many retailers. Part IV is expected to be released over the course of the next eighteen months.

You can follow J.T. on Twitter, where his handle is @jtmarshauthor for the latest news.

You can also visit his personal website at http://jtmarshauthor.com/

