Dark Weapon Book One: Time of Bombing

Chapter 5

Examination day arrived. The trainees were confident about the practical test but terrified of the theoretical portion.

Some had smuggled cheat sheets into the exam hall, hoping to slip answers to their peers when the instructors weren't watching.

'Write as many answers as possible. No cheating. Good luck,' Swart said, turning to the chalkboard.

The trainees barely waited for him to finish before questions started flying.

'Hey Dana, what's the name of that explosive that makes a loud noise when it detonates?' Cathy asked.

'There are several explosives like that,' Dana replied, keeping her eyes on her paper.

'No, the one from yesterday's lesson,' Cathy insisted.

'C4?'

'Yes, thanks.'

When results posted, no trainees had failed. Their contraband strategy had worked.

But the exam was only half the battle. Next came the personal test—no partners, no shortcuts.

'Personal test begins now! Who's first?'

No one moved. Dana decided to get it over with and stepped forward, but Daniel beat her to it. He held her back with a smile, insisting she go ahead.

Dana took the platform and began. 'Military sniper rifles are evaluated on range, accuracy, firepower, penetration, and reliability. The Beretta M82, USA—a semi-automatic anti-material rifle developed by Beretta in 1982. It's a long-range weapon designed to neutralize enemy snipers at standoff distance, as well as weapons platforms like vehicles, artillery, and aircraft. It penetrates brick and concrete. Chambered in 12.7x99mm. Approximate cost: $8,900.'

Swart's eyes widened. She'd mastered the content better than he had taught it.

Daniel gave her a thumbs up as he passed. Their shoulders brushed, and he leaned in close. 'That was impressive.'

The next phase: fifteen doors, each with a picture. Trainees had to identify threats and respond with lethal force.

'Use your judgment,' Swart instructed. 'No time to ask permission in real combat.'

Dana picked a CZ 75 and moved methodically. Woman with child—no shot. Man selling clothes—no shot. Man with rifle—enemy. She took the fighting stance and fired. Applause erupted from the other trainees.

*

Eight months into training, trouble brewed—not among the trainees, but among the commanders.

General George entered Swart's office without announcement. 'The training is drawing unwanted political attention. The President wants them gone.'

'You welcomed them with open arms when they arrived,' Swart said.

'That was before the election cycle,' George replied flatly. Phillips entered, nodding in agreement.

'I don't understand,' Swart said. 'Why accept them at all if this was always the plan?'

'Headlines,' George admitted. 'Horki accepting foreign trainees looked good for the administration. Now it's a liability.'

'Then send them home,' Swart said.

'No. Eliminate them.'

Swart stood abruptly. 'You can't be serious.'

'Think about it,' George continued. 'They've been here nearly a year. If they leave through airports, the story spreads. But if they disappear quietly...'

'They were sworn in as mercenaries for Horki,' George explained. 'That's a political risk. In 1954, we trained men the same way. When word leaked, they turned on us. Fifteen Generals died. The country nearly collapsed. I won't let history repeat itself.'

'These trainees are skilled,' Swart protested. 'Especially the girls. It's wasteful to—'

'The decision is made,' George said, standing. 'You and Phillips leave tomorrow before nightfall. I've hired specialists to handle this. Their IDs will be wiped. No records. No trace.'

'You have a beautiful family, Swart. A wife, children,' George added at the door. 'Remember that.'

The threat hung in the air.

'I won't have innocent blood on my hands,' Swart said.

'That's why we hired people for the job,' George replied, leaving.

Swart's rage exploded. He threw papers, toppled furniture, his face dark with fury.

'Enough,' Phillips said coldly. 'He's made the order. Pack your things and leave. Protect your family.'

'You knew this would happen,' Swart said, looking at his colleague.

'I knew the risks when I took this job. So should you,' Phillips replied. 'Those trainees are already dead. Your righteous anger won't change that.'

Phillips walked to the door. 'Think about your family tonight. Whether your principles are worth their lives.'

When Phillips left, Swart slumped in his chair, the weight of impossible choices crushing down on him.

*

In the girls' dorm, no one suspected anything. They were laughing over bathroom duties.

'Finally clean,' Jasmine announced, emerging from the shower.

'You were in there forever,' Izzy said.

'Training makes you filthy,' Jasmine said, wrapping her towel.

'You were always filthy to begin with,' Cathy muttered.

'What?'

'Your mind, your mouth, your entire attitude—all filthy,' Cathy said. 'I'm just glad your body finally matches.'

'I'm ignoring that,' Jasmine said, but she chased Cathy around the room anyway.

'Commander's coming!' Chelsea called from the door.

Jasmine skidded to a halt. Swart entered, and the girls stood at attention. His face was grim.

'Your room's a mess,' he said, but without his usual edge.

'Just roughhousing, sir,' Izzy explained.

Swart handed a box to Dana. 'From your father.'

'Thank you, sir,' Dana said, accepting it.

'Open it,' Cathy urged.

'When I leave,' Swart said, and his voice cracked slightly. He was holding a bag of his own. 'I'm visiting family this weekend.'

'Have a good trip, sir,' the girls said.

At the door, Swart paused. 'I'm sorry. For the harsh training. For everything.'

The girls exchanged confused glances.

'Are you okay, sir?' Dana asked. 'You seem... unwell.'

'I'm fine. Rest well,' Swart said, leaving quickly.

'That was strange,' Dana said to the others.

'He's always strange,' Cathy replied.

Dana opened the box. 'It's a guitar!'

'I thought it'd be food,' Cathy groaned, flopping back onto her bed.

'You've always wanted one,' Chelsea said, squeezing Dana's shoulder.

'Everyone to bed,' Izzy ordered. 'Jasmine, phone away.'

'Always bossing me around,' Jasmine muttered, but complied.

Dana took the guitar and her headphones. 'I'm going to the field for a bit. Need to clear my head.'

'Inspiration?' Cathy asked.

'Maybe,' Dana said.

'Keep the window and door open,' Chelsea requested. 'It's hot.'

'Done,' Izzy said.

The girls settled into bed. Lights off. Exhaustion pulling them under.

Izzy's eyes opened a while later. A shadow moved past their open door, slipping from room to room. At first she thought it was boys from the male dorm. Then she noticed the deliberation. The way the shadow entered each dormitory and left something behind.

Her stomach tightened.

'What's wrong?' Chelsea whispered.

'Wake up,' Izzy said, shaking Cathy awake.

'What is it?' Cathy asked.

'That's Francis. Chelsea's uncle,' Izzy said.

They tiptoed to the door and eavesdropped.

'Plant bombs in every room,' a voice said—not Francis, someone else. 'No survivors. Wipe them all.'

'I'll take the boys' dorm. You handle the girls,' Francis replied. 'Not a single soul escapes.'

The girls froze. Back to bed. Pretend sleep.

Footsteps entered their room. They heard something drop onto the floor. The footsteps left.

All of them held their breath, paralyzed.

Five minutes later, Izzy sat up. 'Everyone. Come to my bed. Now.'

'What's happening?' Jasmine whispered, terrified.

'They're going to kill us,' Izzy said flatly. 'We save ourselves first, understand?'

'The window,' Cathy said, already moving.

The box on the floor began to tick.

'Hold hands,' Izzy commanded. 'When I say jump, we jump. No hesitation.'

'We'll die from the fall!' Jasmine protested.

'You'll definitely die if you stay,' Izzy said, guiding them to the window.

'One... two... three. Jump!'

They leapt. Behind them, the bomb detonated with a sound like the world splitting open.

On the field, Dana was playing soft chords when the explosion lit the night. Her guitar fell. The dorm was burning.

No. It couldn't be.

'Help us!' Jasmine's scream cut through the darkness.

Dana's paralysis shattered. She ran toward them.

'What happened? Are you hurt? Did someone misuse the camp stove?' She still couldn't accept what she was seeing.

'Don't talk loud,' Izzy said, her finger to her lips. 'We need to leave. Now.'

More explosions. Room by room, then entire dorms at once. The boys' side erupted simultaneously—not individual rooms but the whole structure collapsing inward.

'What's happening?' Dana demanded, but no one answered because they didn't know.

They crouched in the darkness as screams echoed from the burning buildings.

'Stay down,' Izzy hissed.

Francis stepped out of the shadows, silhouetted by fire. The girls could see him clearly.

'It's done, Minister,' he said into his phone. His voice was calm. Professional. 'I'll torch the field next.'

A pause.

'I'll be there,' he confirmed, ending the call.

'Run,' Dana said. 'Now. Take off your shoes.'

They crawled through the field, tears streaming, hands and feet bleeding on scorched earth.

Behind them, the screams from the dorms had stopped. Gone silent. All of them.

Dana looked back. Francis was setting another charge at the field's edge.

'The fence,' she said. 'Move!'

They had practiced this during training—scaling the fence for a glimpse of the city. Now it meant survival.

One by one, they climbed and jumped. Cathy was the last to clear the fence when the field exploded behind her.

They ran into the darkness of Danima's streets, not stopping, not looking back.

*

The news report came the next morning.

'This is Diana Harwell reporting from Danima. A gas explosion devastated the military training center last night. Officials estimate total casualties among the trainee population. No survivors have been found, and most bodies are too charred for identification. The government has announced a mass burial.'

The camera cut to Commander Phillips standing stiffly beside Commander Swart.

'The explosion originated in the dining hall where cooking gas was left on,' Phillips said mechanically. 'The fire spread rapidly through the dormitories.'

'How did the explosion affect all the buildings so simultaneously, sir?' the reporter asked.

'The gas ignition was powerful. Combined with electrical systems, the fire spread with extraordinary speed,' Phillips replied.

'And where were you when this occurred, Commander?'

'It was a weekend. We were visiting our families. If we'd been here...' Phillips trailed off, looking pained. It was a performance.

The camera turned to Swart. His face was hollow.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I couldn't stop this.'

He turned and walked away, leaving the lie to stand.

The reporter continued her script. 'The Horki government extends sympathies to the families of the deceased trainees. A mass burial has been scheduled. This is Diana Harwell reporting.'

Later, Swart stood alone on the field. Nothing remained. The ground was scorched black, ash coating every surface. No grass would grow here again. No life.

He knelt and picked up a piece of something—unidentifiable, burnt beyond recognition.

He thought of Dana's competence. Izzy's intelligence. Cathy's humor. Jasmine's hopeful apology that night, trying to make peace.

All of them were supposed to be dead now.

Swart's hands shook as he held the ash.

He didn't know that five girls were alive somewhere in the city, wet with sweat and ash, running into an uncertain future.

And he didn't know that everything—the oath, the training, the mercenary purpose—had only been the beginning.