T1 Optimistic: Russian Quagmire
“We no longer have a purpose. We need to go home.” Craigen’s switched off the sat phone and slid it dejectedly across the café table. With one hand, he rubbed the top of his bald head.
“Isn’t PIRA at least going to send out a relief team?” Kedzierski asked.
“It doesn’t make any sense to send a relief team with the border closing.” Craigen shook his head. “Plus, with NATO enforcing a No-Fly Zone, the situation here is deemed too unsafe for continued operations. We’re not set up to operate in war zones.”
Thibido leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “It’s the daggone tomahawk missiles we’re shooting at them Ruskies that’s got me fired up. The ‘ole US of A is back on track and gonna put an end to this madness once and for all. Whoowee!”
“Did you forget Putin has nukes, Scooter?” Bolanger shot back. “He’s said he will use them if he feels threatened, and now those fools at NATO are sending troops to Georgia. They're backing him into a corner. This is all going to go terribly wrong!”
“Why would NATO send troops to Georgia, Dee? That don’t make no sense at all.” Thibido was genuinely perplexed.
“She means Georgia the country, not Georgia the state, Scooter," Kedzierski explained patiently, then added, "They want to keep the Russians separated from the Iranians.”
“Stop it.” Craigen put his head down in frustration and held his hands out to end the discussion. “Just stop it with the rumors, all of you. We’ve got to focus on our immediate task. I’m going over to the airport to get us a flight out of here. How long do you think it will take for you to get your gear packed?”
Sitting together in the Chişinău International Airport terminal, Craigen marveled at the thronging mass of humanity collected there. For the most part, people were packed into hurried, bustling groups of exhausted-looking people heading en masse for the departure gates. But he noticed there were also a fair amount of adventurous-looking people disembarking from the arrival gates. They were easy to spot with their safari shirts, hiking shoes, and outsized bags that probably contained cameras or other gear.
Did we look like that when we first arrived? Craigen wondered, fully aware that his team’s appearance now fell squarely into the category of exhausted-looking, rather than adventurous. How long have we been doing this? Eight years? Ten? So many deployments together. But never one this bad, with so little accomplished. He felt a melancholy wave of depression wash over him. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the sensation. He concentrated on taking a few deep breaths. He had to at least appear strong for the team. There would be time to wallow in self-pity once they were all safely back in the United States.
“They've got President Zelenskyy walking around the streets of Kyiv,” Bolanger was scrolling the headlines of some news source on her cell phone. “It's a photo op of him talking to the troops. He's encouraging the Ukrainian soldiers to keep up the fight. He says soon the Russians will pull back from the cities of Mariupol, Kharkiv, and Kyiv.”
“I don’t know if Putin’s been read into that plan.” Craigen opened his eyes, relieved to be at least momentarily distracted from his glum emotions. “That guy fights like a junkyard dog. He’ll keep pushing this foolish war to the bitter end. This isn’t going to be over any time soon. The only guarantee is that the longer it goes on, the more damage will be done."
“Rattle, I need you over here ASAP.” Kedzierski tapped on Craigen's shoulder, interrupting his conversation with Bolanger.
The urgency conveyed in her hushed, whispered words instantly triggered all of Craigen’s alarms. Despite the pounding of his heart, he responded to her in the same discreet tone, “What’s the matter, Curly?”
“The suit at six o’clock is giving us the hard stare.” Kedzierski took Craigen by the arm and innocuously angled him so that he could see better.
The PIRA team used the term "hard stare" to indicate a potentially dangerous encounter, generally with a government official, or possibly a criminal or other people who meant harm. Craigen picked the man out instantly. He was obviously staring at the team. However, the stare seemed unnaturally wide-eyed.
Creepy, was Craigen's first thought. Then the man started walking directly towards him. There was obviously something wrong with him. He wore an expensive suit with a vest, tie, and highly shined shoes. This alone made him stand out in the crowd of war-battered airline passengers. But Craigen noticed the jacket was not buttoned improperly. Instead of a smooth, clean line, it gapped awkwardly. His gait was also peculiar. It’s not a limp, Craigen surmised. He looks …dizzy.
By instinct, Craigen held his hands out, palms showing, with his arms hanging down by his sides. He smiled broadly to indicate he was no threat. “Dobryden,” he offered. This was one of the few Ukrainian words Craigen had been able to learn. He hoped he pronounced it correctly. “Can I help you, friend?" He continued in English as the odd man came to a stop in front of him. Craigen hoped his friendly tone would convey his meaning even if his words failed.
There was an uncomfortably long pause. The strange man looked in Craigen's direction, but he seemed to stare right past him. "Are you Christian?"
The question caught Craigen off-balance. He'd been expecting some sort of official questioning, perhaps a demand to see identification, passports, or travel itinerary. The airport lobby was packed with people, and it struck him as incongruous to be asked about his faith in this environment.
“You look like Christians.” The man indicated the PIRA team with his words, but his glassy eyes remained fixed on Craigen’s face.
Relieved that the man at least spoke English, Craigen replied cautiously, “Yes. We’re with the Parousia International Relief Agency, PIRA, yes. Who are you? What do you want?”
“My name is Hadeon …I am destroyer. Please,” he refocused his seemingly distant gaze to stare into Craigen's eyes with startling intensity, "do you have any Bible? I am going to hell.”
“Yes. Of course, we have a Bible.” Craigen shot a meaningful look to Kedzierski, who started opening her backpack to find one. "Sit down right here, Hadeon," Craigen steered the man to an empty chair. "You look like you're about to fall over."
Kedzierski approached quietly and placed her own well-worn Bible in the Hadeon's hands. Rather than open it, he just held it in his lap, gazing at it with that same distant stare.
Craigen wrapped one big arm over the man’s shoulders, but Hadeon seemed oblivious to the kindness contained in the simple act. Shell shock, Craigen’s diagnosis was the obsolete term for post-traumatic stress disorder.
“I don’t know what to do with this.” Hadeon said at last, his morose voice tinged with despair.
“Just talk.” Kedzierski also placed her arm around him. The three sat huddled together. From countless interactions with people experiencing grief, the PIRA team had learned that the best way for someone to begin to come to terms with their feelings was to just talk. Otherwise, destructive thoughts would swirl around and around in their mind, gathering energy that often led to desperate action.
Hadeon seemed to consider the invitation, then stated, “We did this.”
“What did you do, hon?” Kedzierski prompted him to continue.
“All this. The war, the bombings, the bodies, all of it. We did it only for money.” The words were delivered devoid of emotion. More sinister for their coldness.
How is this guy connected? Politician? Business exec? Craigen cast a suspicious eye out at the crowd. Is he being watched? He didn’t notice any obvious surveillance. “It’s OK, bro.” Craigen couldn’t think of anything better to say. “This is Putin’s war, don’t blame yourself.”
“Putin is nothing!” Hadeon lashed out, mouth twisting into a snarl, eyes blazing with a terrible inner light.
Oops! Triggered something. Craigen leaned back, shifting his grip on the man's shoulder to allow for a quick takedown and submission hold if necessary.
"We did this. We have blood on our hands! We used to sit together with the Russians and laugh over vodka about how much money we would make when the war came. We knew it was coming, and we laughed!"
Kedzierski seemed unconcerned with Hadeon's outburst and she continued speaking to him in a calm and reassuring voice. “There is no sin greater than God’s ability to forgive. Why did you laugh about the war?”
Her words brought Hadeon back to earth. He seemed to consider the question. "I sat on the board of Naftogaz. Do you know this company? It is a natural gas firm run by the Ukrainian government. When they came after us for corruption, we bought them off. They were so dirty, it was easy. We bought them off with money, with drugs, with sex, whatever they wanted. And with every blackmail and extortion, we skimmed our filthy money."
“Who was dirty?” Kedzierski encouraged him to continue.
Hadeon flinched at the question, and Craigen tightened his grip to keep him from lunging at Kedzierski. "Why do you want to know this?" he demanded. But before she could continue, Hadeon stood up, brushing away Craigen's protective grip. Craigen let him go because he seemed to be heading in a safe direction, away from Kedzierski.
“Everyone is corrupt!” Hadeon shouted, causing looks of alarm and heads to turn their way. "Putin is dirty! Zelenskyy is dirty! Even your American President and his perverted son are filth! Everyone is in on this, don't you see? Now the bombs are coming, and they keep coming and coming, and we are the ones who did this. We have the blood on our hands. All the people are dying, and there is so much blood. Look, I’ve got money!” Hadeon reached into his briefcase and began pulling out fistfuls of bills and throwing them on the ground haphazardly. “What good is this dirty money now? Now that my family is dead,” he sobbed. Hadeon kept throwing bills on the floor until his briefcase was empty, and then he threw that away too.
By this time, a large crowd had gathered around the PIRA team, witnessing Hadeon's outburst. Despite the large amount of cash scattered around, no one moved to pick it up.
Hadeon turned to go, and Kedzierski recovered her Bible and went after him. “Please take this with you! It’s not too late to…”
She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Hadeon whirled about and struck the Bible from her hand, knocking it to the floor. "It's too late for me!" he declared. "Nothing can save me from hell. All of you," he spun to face the crowd, "all of you are going to hell! You will run out of fuel, you will run out of food, the whole world will come crumbling down." He pushed his way forward, and the crowd opened to let him through. "We will all burn."
Craigen caught Kedzierski’s arm and pulled her back. “Let him go, Curly.”
“But he’s suffering…”
“Let him go.” Craigen pulled Kedzierski into an embrace, “You can’t save ‘em all. You know that. Let him go.”
She wept.
A very old woman, a babushka in a dark dress with a headscarf tied under her chin, leaned down with difficulty and retrieved the discarded Bible. She reverently handed it back to Kedzierski, touching the younger woman's hand and arms affectionately while muttering something unintelligible to the still weeping American relief worker.
To Craigen, it seemed the simple gesture brought Kedzierski a great deal of comfort. Even though the words did not translate, their meaning was clear. The two women embraced. The crowd dissipated, and people resumed shuffling their way through the packed airport to reach their destinations, stepping around the dirty money that lay on the ground, untouched.
You are the Chief of the PIRA Operations Center. You make the call:
Choose Option 1: You have managed to preserve your team despite the difficult and dangerous conditions they encountered. They are discouraged but safe. Your small portion of the humanitarian relief mission has been basically ineffective, and the greater war will continue to rage on indefinitely. Choose this option if you wish to return to the start point and explore other possible outcomes.
Choose Option 2: You have managed to preserve your team despite the difficult and dangerous conditions they encountered. They are discouraged, but safe. Your small portion of the humanitarian relief mission has been basically ineffective, and the greater war will continue to rage on indefinitely. Choose this option if you wish to quit this exercise in Directed Fiction and continue to the solutions page to learn more about how these scenarios were developed.