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Lineage of Lions

I've resurrected this treatment which I thought up last year because of its timeliness, given the events of September 11th.

Lineage of Lions is a near-future short story set in the Middle East, mid-21st century. The new Russian empire is expanding and has taken advantage of a cold war between the EC and America to expand its influence into the Middle East. The discovery of new oil resources in Antarctica by the other powers has lessened the power of the oil sheiks who have taken to squabbling. The Russians have been invited into Iraq by a dictatorship reeling from internal strife and wasteful wars with Iran and Turkey. If the Russians can reach Iraq (and install a friendly government) they will gain access to the Persian Gulf. Together, they can push the Iranians back. Once there, they will have a stranglehold on the region's oil economy. First, however, they must cross the mountain corridor between the Caspian and Black Sea...

The Russian army is ruthless. Lead by a dynamic commander, General Kharkov, a leaner, meaner Russian invasion force is quickly pushing into Iran using biological weapons, massive firepower and air superiority. In a matter of weeks they will be in Tehran and will be able to prop up the government. However, on the shore of the Caspian sea they begin to suffer surprising reverses, ambushes, and terror attacks. Whole units are surrounded and massacred before aid can arrive. Jets and helicopters fall from the sky. The entire offensive is grinding to a halt because of this small sector. The lost time will enable the other gulf states to form a coalition to oppose the Russian presence or worse, the EC or America may once again turn their attention to the Middle East.

Kharkov travels personally to the sector to see what the trouble is for himself. Things go wrong from the very beginning. Approaching by helicopter, he cannot raise the local commander and is forced down when anti-aircraft fire blasts his escort from the sky. Narrowly escaping the crash of his own helicopter, he is pursued on foot and caught by unknown soldiers. They reveal themselves to be Russians, frightened out of their wits. Kharkov realizes that he was shot down by his own troops.

After persuading the conscripts of his true identity, Kharkov demands to be taken to the local commander. He learns that the brigade headquarters was wiped out by a bomb and that the highest ranking commander is a major of engineers. The headquarters is now located in an armoured lager with weapons pointed in all locations. When the General finally meets the engineer, he finds him a cowering incompetent and orders him shot on the spot. With the full attention of the remaining officers, Kharkov resolves to get the offensive back on schedule. First he must learn the situation.

From the makeshift staff, Kharkov learns that only a week ago the brigade had been steamrolling through the mountain roads, blasting villages and possible problem areas ahead to maintain momentum. Progress had been above expectations when spearhead units began flooding the radiowaves with panicked reports of being overrun by attackers appearing out of thin air. Others reported units fighting among themselves, lieutenants shooting their captains, tanks running amok in hospitals, gunships dropping bombs on their own troops. And it seemed that the bomb that destroyed the headquarters could only have been planted by the commanding general himself.

Kharkov quickly reorganizes the brigade and makes changes. He orders the units on the front to reorganize and tighten their formations to support each other. Suspect officers are arrested. Communications are improved. He raises a lieutenant, Vasiliyev to be his aide. He then examines the geography for an source for this resistance. From the last reports of contact with 'the enemy that could appear out of thin air', he identifies a mountain fastness called by the locals, Alamut, overlooking the Caspian shoreline. No longer willing to sacrifice forward units for reconnaissance, he instead relies upon satellite data. The column moves forward, deliberately and carefully.

The Russians approach the mountain. With a policy of taking no chances, anyone approaching the army is immediately fired upon. There are a few initial attacks upon the column but Kharkov's conservative approach seems to be working. They rout their attackers and for the first time retrieve bodies. The dead are both men and women and sometimes even children. All are well armed; the children carry bombs and destroy themselves by scurring under the tracks of tanks and detonating their charges. The fanaticism is chilling. It is also clear that these people are different from the local people they had fought before.

Kharkov is troubled. He has left his education behind him but recalls that there is something about Alamut in history that is important. He consults with his staff. Vasiliyev tells him that Alamut was the mountain kingdom of a Muslim sect of the Ismail'is who were known as the Assassins, smokers of hashish who were said to possess superhuman powers and a willingness to die in the course of destroying their enemies. The secret order would send out agents to infiltrate the households of the wealthy and powerful and at an appointed time would kill. Trusted servants would kill masters. Nurses would murder children. Wives would poison husbands. But these peoples were wiped out in the eleventh century by the Mongol hordes. They no longer existed. Besides, all Muslims were fanatics.

Kharkov is chilled by this but dismisses it as coincidence. These mountains were home to many strange peoples who had always given conquerors their share of troubles. But the Russians would prevail.

Alamut is encircled and the Russians dig in for a seige. Kharkov is not willing to risk the fragile morale of his troops on an assault. Instead, he will reduce Alamut to a mound of ashes through bombardment. But first, a reconnaissance. He sends in robotic drones to buzz the area, sending back video of what lies ahead. Alamut is shrouded in mist. Remotes are shot down but one or two get through the mist. The video that returns is highly disturbing. Ringing the mountain fastness are lines upon lines of people. They are not in formation. They are merely standing a pace apart, staring down the mountain toward the Russian lines. Men, women and children. Some of them wear Russian uniforms. Thousands of people. Then the remote hops over an outcropping and manages a brief glimpse of what looks like a shining palace...

The remote is destroyed. Kharkov and the staff view the video again, looking for a clue to this strangeness. The people in the video seem absorbed, out of their heads, and do not even look up when the remote buzzes them at above head level. One of the staff leaps up from the table and points out a face he recognizes from among the men in Russian uniform. The staffmember declares that it is a classmate from military college - he had not been heard from for years - the man had last been posted to an embassy in Asia. Kharkov orders a satellite reconnaissance. The satellite pass-over is partially successful. Images are taken but the satellite malfunctions for an unknown reason before assembling a complete picture.

The staff examine the images. Kharkov is more interested in the palace that was seen from the remote. There are modern fortifications ringing the summit of the mountain but beyond that is what looks like a sophisticated complex. Lines of people are mobilizing and being sent to the front. More people than it was thought this region contained. The palace is of more interest. It appears to be an ancient fortress, but there is no activity. But wait, there are two figures standing at the peak of a tower. A larger figure and a smaller figure. The images is scaled up. And again. There is an old man who wears the robes of a muslim cleric. He has one arm around a child. The face of the child can be made out. Both the old man and the child are looking up, as if they are looking straight at the satellite and those for whom the images were intended.

With no explanation, Kharkov angrily orders the staff to leave . He is sweating, upset. The chief of staff re-enters to see Kharkov slumped in his chair. He is red-faced and has been weeping. Who is that? the chief of staff asks. Kharkov quietly replies that the child looked like Anya, who was his only daughter. But that could not be the case because Anya and her mother were killed in a train wreck eighteen years ago. The wreck had been caused by an insane track worker who had caused the passenger train to collide with a freight train.

Regaining his composure, Kharkov orders the bombardment to begin. His artillery and rockets light up the night sky, raining fire down upon Alamut. Outwardly, Kharkov is a model of strength, raising the morale of his officers and the men at the front. Inwardly, Kharkov is haunted by the image of the child. Anya and her mother were running away from Kharkov. They had been travelling to the Ukraine and then to Europe. It was a clever illusion. Whoever lead these people had found out about this incident and had prepared a clever illusion meant to give Kharkov pause. But Kharkov will not fall for it.

The bombardment halts so that the effect can be seen. The woods are shattered and smoking. Great chunks of earth have been thrown up and strewn about the landscape. Fire blaze. Then out of the mist come the people. There are great gaps in their lines but still thousands of them remain. They march upon the Russian lines. The foremost in the line are women, children and men in Russian uniforms. Many of them seem to have suffered wounds but are still able to walk. From even beyond rifle range the attackers begin firing methodically toward the Russian positions. Kharkov orders tanks and machineguns to open fire.

The human wave disintegrates in the sheet of fire thrown up by the Russians. Hundreds go down in the first hail of shell, bullet, rocket and grenade. But still more come. Kharkov takes up a sniper rifle to view the destruction. Only handfuls of the attackers are coming through, running. Kharkov sees a child dodging through cover. Wait. It's Anya. His heart skips a beat. Then it seems as if the child knows that she is being watched and turns and stares straight at the Kharkov through his sniper scope. Kharkov is shocked. What do you see? the aide asks. Kharkov does not reply. He chambers a round into the rifle, levels the crosshairs on the child, closes his eyes and fires. Nothing, Kharkov says and returns the rifle.

After ten minutes the attacks cease. Kharkov orders patrols to probe the mountain. He returns to his tent, exhausted. He manages only a moment's rest before there is a commotion outside. Several of his officers are excitedly surrounding an large officer. It is Marshal Dmitriyev, Kharkov's immediate superior. Dmitriyev has evidently come from the sector command to see on the progress of the invasion. Kharkov wants to know what happened to Dmitriyev's staff. Ddmitriyev replies that his staff were destroyed when their car ran over a mine. Kharkov invites Dmitriyev into the command tent to review the situation. The staff gather around the table. Kharkov asks Dmitriyev if he has come to remove him from command. Dmitriyev says that Kharkov must return to the sector command and take control of the other advances. Dmitriyev himself will take mop up this mountain as Kharkov has already defeated the enemy. Kharkov seems to accept this and lets Dmitriyev be briefed on the situation. Then, on a whim, he asks Dmitriyev if he wants to share a flask of vodka. Dmitriyev agrees. Kharkov brings a pistol up with another hand and shoots Dmitriyev between the eyes. The staff is shocked and draw weapons themselves.

Kharkov explains that this man was an imposter. The chief of staff angrily declares that if this man is not Dmitriyev, he must be his twin because he talked and acted like the well-known marshal. Kharkov says that the real Dmitriyev had a degenerative liver disease that prevented him in the past seven years from accepting any alcohol. Besides he came without warning and alone. The staff is still suspicious, however. Did not Kharkov come alone and without warning? Kharkov has his pistol. This is a confrontation he has been dreading. After a tense moment, Kharkov reverses his pistol and hands it his chief of staff. Kharkov says that if they would feel better if he was removed, then remove him. If not, then they had an operation to complete.

The staff is cowed and they return to the table. The aide orders two soldiers to remove the body. They drag it out but moments later there is shouting. The staff rush outside. The Dmitriyev body has gotten up, frightening the soldiers away, and is lurching toward the command tent. Kharkov and the staff open fire on it, but it continues coming. Finally it roars and rushes at the tent, heedless of the bullets thumping into its body. Kharkov's aide takes him by the arm and they leap out the rear entrance of the tent just as the body shatters the tent in an explosion, killing all the staff.

Patrols return from probing the mountain and report that there are bodies strewn everywhere and no resistance. But it is evident from the morale of the patrols that they were unwilling to go to the summit. Men are deserting left and right. There are rumours of Kharkov planting the bomb that killed the staff. Tales of the undead Dmitriyev are everywhere. In a bid to restore order Kharkov announces that they have beaten the enemy and that he himself will lead the way to the top of Alamut to finish the enemy and put an end to the business once and for all.

Kharkov and a company of soldiers ascend the mountain slope in armoured cars. But halfway up the terrain proves too difficult so they must disembark and proceed on foot. The men are nervous and ready to flee at any moment. But Kharkov has taken rigid control and leads the way. They are attacked from within the mists by people. Kharkov organizes a defense and they beat off the attack, but some men have died and others have fled. There are supposed to be other companies advancing from different points but Kharkov cannot raise them on the radio. The enemy must have automatic jammers, he suggests.

Soon they are almost to the summit of Alamut. A glow comes from beyond. Kharkov imagines the palace. They crest the slope. The palace is beautiful and glowing. More modern buildings surround it. A small town that seems deserted. They approach cautiously. They seem to be the only Russians who have made it to the top. They enter the town cautiously. The town seems to be an amalgam of different styles and different cultures. One block seems to be a 'novogrod' style Russian (yuppie) apartment complex. The next, one modelled on the Chinese. A training base for spies? Kharkov wonders.

One of the soldiers declares that he feels sick. A bioagent? Kharkov tells them to touch nothing and to put on their masks. They go deeper into the town and leave the practice residential areas behind. Now they are in a vehicle pool where there are vehicles of all different kinds. There is even a jet fighter, a MiG. A soldier fires at a shadow, putting them all on edge. He thought he saw something. What? It was silly, the man says. I thought I saw a bear. Kharkov disarms him. The aide wonders how a complex like this wasn't detected from space. Kharkov says that either the mists are all year around or that they have people in high places.

They enter a building that looks like an administrative complex and immediately feel momentarily nauseous. Some of the soldiers complain that their vision is blurry and they can't concentrate. Kharkov sends them outside with instructions to hold the perimeter. Now, with only two squads, he enters the building. It is strange. Aside from the 'practice' living areas, they haven't yet found a barracks. The aide says that they must be located underground where it is secure. They begin hearing voices on the speaker system. A child's voice. A woman weeping. Kharkov is angry. He shoots speakers. He says that it is psychological warfare. But he can't shoot all the speakers.

Now they are in a laboratory complex. There are large chambers that cannot be entered, computers that do not have power, and no notes lying around. They enter into what looks like an operating room. A body lies eviscerated on the operating room table. The aide exclaims. It is one of their officers from a detachment that had been overrun weeks ago. It is a grisly sight. Kharkov orders everyone to move on. But one of the soldiers stays behind to perform last rites. They leave him but then hear a scream. Kharkov and the others rush back to see that the body of the dead officer has gotten up off the table and has broken the neck of the soldier. Kharkov throws a grenade into the room and shuts the door. Guts and blood spray onto the viewing window.

At this point the rest of the soldiers flee. Kharkov and the aide are left alone. Kharkov has a heart-to-heart with Vasilyev . They must get to the bottom of this for everyone's sake. Anyone with the power to bring the dead back from the living is the enemy of civlization. They must find out and bring the information back to the command.

They proceed on together, back to back. There is a windowed causeway that leads from the laboratory complex to the foot of the shining palace. While they cross the causeway they look back to the outside of the lab complex where they had positioned the remainder of their company. Bodies are strewn everywhere. Only a handful of men remain, locked in a hand-to-hand struggle with each other. Vasilyev wants to return. But Kharkov stops him. They will only end up like those mad men, he reasons. If they must die, let them accomplish something. Die? Vasilyev wants to know. But we must return with the information. Kharkov says that he doesn't think they can leave. Whoever controls this place won't let them leave. But they can strike a blow for Russia if they continue.

They emerge from the causeway and look up at the gleaming palace. It was in part illusion. There is no mist shrouding this part of the summit. The sky is blue above. The shining comes from a massive array of solar panels that line the old fortifications of the palace. Kharkov tries his radio. He can reach the sector command. His communication is terse: This is Kharkov. I've reached the summit. We are deep into the enemy base. He then pockets his radio. Vasilyev wants to know why Kharkov does not radio for an airlift or for reinforcements. Kharkov points out missile emplacements that have been cleverly hidden among the fortifications. Besides, Kharkov says, we don't need more men to die.

Kharkov and Vasilyev enter the palace. They are immediately attacked by men in ancient arabic garb carrying shamshirs and polearms. Kharkov and Vasilyev mow them down with their rifles. Kharkov leaves behind a grenade to dispose of the bodies. In the next room, however, he is surprised by another assassin who manages to wound Kharkov in the leg before Vasilyev can shoot him. Vasilyev begs Kharkov to call for an airlift. Kharkov responds angrily. They must continue.

Finally they are the bottom of a staircase that seems to lead into the heart of the palace. They are halfway up when a woman appears at the top. Vasilyev turns to Kharkov as he aims his rifle. 'Don't shoot,' he pleads. 'Why?' 'That's my sister.' 'Don't be ridiculous,' Kharkov says. 'It's one of them. They dug up your sister's body someplace. They've desecrated your sister's grave.' 'No, you don't understand,' Vasilyev says, 'my sister isn't dead. She went missing. She and her husband are journalists. They disappeared here three years ago.' He turns to the woman. 'Tamara! Tell me its you!' Tamara: 'Sasha, it's me. Mikhail is dead. He wouldn't turn over for them. They've had me here for three years.' Vasilyev approaches her as she comes down the stairs, clutching the railing as if she is weak. 'I'm so tired, Sasha,' the woman says. Kharkov shouts at Vasilyev to get away. Vasilyev turns to Kharkov. 'Put down your gun. She's real. She's not one of them.' Tamara: 'They let me go just now. They want me to tell you and the other soldiers to leave. They just want to be left alone.' She tears her dress to show scars in her legs. 'I'm real. Look what they did to me!' Kharkov: 'If you're really his sister, then get out of here!' Vasilyev: 'She's weak. I need to help her. There's no way she can survive out there by herself!' Kharkov: 'You're needed here!' The woman lets out a cry and moves down the staircase. Vasilyev moves to reach her. Kharkov fires. She falls into Vasilyev's arms. Vasilyev is out of his mind. His hands are covered in her blood. 'Look, you maniac! The blood! It's real!' He holds her head in his arms, crying. Kharkov approaches. 'I'm sorry. I couldn't be sure.' Vasilyev murmers in his grief: 'I saw you shoot that child. That was your child, wasn't it? Well congratulations. I hope that really was your child.' Kharkov: 'my child is dead. Now get up. We have to get the monsters who did this to us all.' Vasilyev lets his sister's body slide to the floor and stands up mutely. He follows Kharkov up the stairs. Then to his back he says: 'you're the only monster here.' Kharkov turns just in time to see Vasilyev raise a pistol. They both fire at the same time. Vasilyev is thrown up and down the stairs by Kharkov's rifle. Kharkov is hit in the arm and can no longer hold his rifle.

Drawing a pistol, Kharkov continues up the stairs. At the head of the stairs is a large golden door. In pain, Kharkov draws it open and then peers inside. It is a throne room. There are a dozen people, seated. They all wear the garb of muslim nobility. They are kneeling, facing the throne where an Imam (teacher) is also seated, reading from script. None are moving. Kharkov stands bolding in the entrance way and points his machine pistol at the Imam. 'Tell them all to leave,' he says. He then produces a grenade.

The Imam looks up. 'Why should I care if you point a pistol at me. Am I not going to paradise?'

'You'll go a lot quicker if you don't tell these others to leave,' Kharkov says and shoots one of the adherents in the back. The others show no sign that they heard the shot, much less cared about the death of their fellow worshipper. The Imam nods and the others get up and leave through doors on either side.

'Who are you?' Kharkov demands.

'I am Hassan I Sabbah,' the Imam declares. 'I am the Old Man of the Mountain. I am the leader of adepts. I am Sinon.'

'What are you?'

'I am the death of presidents. I am the King of conspiracies.'

Kharkov shoots the Imam in the shoulder. The Imam falls over with the shock of the bullet and then rises again.

'You're one of them.' Kharkov says.

'Would you like to see what *they* are?'

'Show me. You're dead whatever you are. It makes no difference.'

The Imam rises and leads Kharkov through a door. Although limping, the Imam shows no sign that he is in pain from the bullet.

'We have survived for centuries after the world thought we were dead. But we are the world. Every pope has a cardinal. Every Prime Minister has a cabinet. Every pop star has an agent. Did you know that we produced a top ten album last year? DJ Nizar in Budapest.'

Kharkov: 'So why this. Why this base. You're not all powerful if you let us come here. Even if I die, others will come.'

'But they will be different.'

'Where are you taking me.'

'Dancing, dinner and nightcap.'

'If I don't like it; you're getting a bullet in the brain.'

The Imam reaches a door and pushes aside the curtains. It is a chamber with row upon row of people. But they are people without faces or skin. They are in different sizes but have no hair or facial features. Some don't have mouths.

'You *make* these?'

'Not here. It's cheaper to get it done in Asia.'

'How? No jokes now.'

'I think the process is a bit beyond you, General.'

'Well, you can explain it to someone who it isn't beyond.'

'You may be able to find someone like that but they probably already work for us. Watch out behind you.'

Kharkov pulls the pin on his grenade and throws it over his shoulder. He then pushes the Imam out of the room and follow. The chamber explodes behind them. The Imam is angry. 'You didn't even bother to look. That was one of our finest creations you blew up.' Kharkov: 'And you? You're so fine they let you be captured.' The Imam: 'I have faith'. The Imam rises. 'I am Legion. I am the disciple of Allah. My death means nothing.' Kharkov pushes him along. The nobility who had earlier disappeared file into the corridor. Kharkov shoots them all methodically as he takes the Imam. He pauses to reload and something small out of the corner of his eye runs past him. Leaving a cut on his leg. Anya. He takes a shot and misses the child. The Imam takes off.

Kharkov pursues the Imam firing. They go into a room with lots of pillars and shadows. Places to hide. The Imam is quickly lost.

Imam: 'How could you so easily shoot at your child?' Kharkov doesn't reply but keeps on the Imam's tail. Imam: 'What a world! What should I expect? A general who orders whole villages slaughtered without warning. Who bombs cities with germs? What a man! Are you a Mongol?' Kharkov trips and falls. Anya is within sight, playing with her little golden hair. The Imam is nearby in voice. 'I am a human being. You can't hurt me anymore,' Kharkov says. 'I don't have anyone to care about, understand? No one to to fool me! This place is gone.'

'No one, General?'

There is the sound of footsteps. Bootsteps. Kharkov crawls, sees a shadow, and fires. A body falls. Little Anya runs around. Kharkov crawls more. And then finds the body. It is a copy of him.

'Our *finest* creation, General,' says Anya.

Anya runs up and snatches the pistol from Kharkov's hand. She holds it like a toy. Even puts it up to her head. Kharkov can't move from his position to take it back. He remembers his real Anya. He beckons to her. Meanwhile she has stripped the pistol and scattered the pieces. Kharkov is tired. He is leaning with his head against the head of his copy.

'You must understand that men like you are gone from this earth.'

'Humans?'

'Oh no, Papa. Only the exceptional ones. Like you.'

'No. Not me,' Kharkov says and pulls the radio from his pocket. Anya leaps at him with a growl. Kharkov catches her in mid-leap and breaks the little girl-copy's neck. He cradles her head in on his chest as he works the radio with his other hand. Her hair *smells* like his Anya. He thumbs a signal on the radio and then lets it drop. The Imam is talking - singing - shouting questions. Kharkov is listening to the sounds of communication streaming from his radio to a satellite in space. His Anya is running in the fields. Golden fields. The sky is blue. There are no tanks. No soldiers. Just the blinding white light.

--

News report: The Russian Foreign Ministry continues to deny reports that a massive explosion on the southern Caspian coast was caused by a tactical nuclear strike launched by their invading forces in Iran. However, U.S. defense analysts point to possible use of space-based beam weapons as a possible source of the explosion. Sources in the Middle East report that the Russian offensive has stalled in the region of the Elburz mountains where rebels have fought both Iranian government forces and the Russian expeditionary forces to a virtual standstill in recent weeks.

In other news, the family of Democratic presidential candidate frontrunner Perry Corkham spent a quiet day at home in their Des Moines, Idaho ranch recovering from their four-day ordeal in the waters off of the Oregon Coast. Corkham were reported missing after their yacht failed to report in from a day trip. Coast Guard vessels discovered the family late Tuesday floating in an emergency raft close to their capsized yacht. The office of Representative Corkham expressed the family's deepest thanks to the Coast Guard for the rescue and said that they would be taking their future vacations closer to home. Earlier reports indicated that chances of finding Corkham and his family were growing dim after earlier searches had failed to pick up any sign of their yacht.