TIA 3

Every time Kozie mentioned a country, he paused deliberately, giving the silence space to sink in, to let the weight of history press down on the room. He glanced at Drakama — expression unreadable, cold as stone — and then kept talking, mostly to himself.

"We spent a fortune building the three Baltic countries. Vast farmlands, massive power plants. Those countries now produce the best electronics, top-quality cars, perfumes that are famous worldwide. Yes, we built all that. But now? Those people are ungrateful — they turn to the West, those countries that gave them nothing but empty promises, and they call us shameless invaders."

Kozie's voice carried a sudden bitter edge. The Soviet Union had poured effort and blood into cultivating communist allies — only to see them turn their backs, chasing freedom and prosperity elsewhere.

"We built laboratories, radio stations, Baikonur rocket launch centers, hospitals, stadiums in Central Asia. We launched satellites, built missiles, helped them farm wheat and cotton to feed the whole country. And when they tasted the fruits of our labor, the oligarchs told us to leave their land — lining their pockets with our construction funds."

"We invested in Ukraine's heavy industries: the biggest aircraft, ships, tanks, cars. When they could finally enjoy those fruits, the government told the Soviet army to get lost, called us evil devils."

Kozie's voice lowered, almost venomous. "We naively built the Iron Curtain from Szczecin in the Baltic to Trieste on the Adriatic — but it didn't stop internal alliances from fighting behind the scenes."

With deliberate calm, Kozie pulled a revolver from his waist. He loaded a bullet, spun the cylinder, and then leveled the barrel at Drakama's forehead.

Cold and hard, he said, "We did raise ungrateful people. But later we learned this: only when our country is strong enough to crush others will they willingly submit. That's far more reliable than diplomacy bought with money."

He leaned in, voice icy. "So now, we're not the lackeys of socialism — we're greedy vampire Ivans. Don't think to use interest relations to blackmail us, Drakama. Our boss behind the scenes is the Kremlin leader in Moscow. If he nods, let alone a resistance movement — the whole country of Mozambique can be wiped from the map in three minutes."

Kozie's finger tightened on the trigger. "I'll give you three chances to speak until your resistance gives us a satisfactory answer. If we support you, what conditions do we get?"

Drakama's voice trembled, cold sweat breaking out. "Unconditional mining rights for metal minerals for five years."

"Pah."

The gun clicked — no bullet. Drakama screamed, the panic cutting through his chest like a knife.

"Russian roulette's a game of heartbeats," Kozie said. "Two chances left. If we support you, what conditions do we get?"

Drakama's eyes squeezed shut. "Unconditional mining rights for all minerals, for over ten years."

"Pah."

Again, the empty click. Drakama nearly collapsed, caught by two soldiers.

Kozie smiled coldly. "I didn't expect the leader of a movement to be so afraid of death. One chance left. Impress me."

Drakama gasped for air, voice shaking. "The previous conditions… plus unconditional overseas garrison at the port."

His heart hammered in his chest; his vision blurred.

"That's good enough."

Kozie holstered the pistol, approached, and dropped a bullet into Drakama's open palm. "There was no bullet before. But I thank you for your generosity. We have ten-year mining rights and permission for Soviet overseas bases."

Of course, Kozie had no intention of letting Drakama rule Mozambique. The peasants were chaos incarnate — a disaster for stability, and the mining industry. The promise was a bargaining chip, a weapon against the government forces. If President Chissano made moves behind the scenes, Kozie would threaten with Drakama.

Chemezov, Kozie's superior, was pragmatic. The only thing he cared about was the official agreement with the Mozambique government — black and white, interests guaranteed.

He didn't care about the lives of others. Everything was for the Soviet Union.

When Kozie visited Drakama, he arrived in a Gazelle helicopter, showing off military might, mocking the weak government patrols below.

Outside the helicopter, hot wind hit Kozie's face. Blue skies and white clouds seemed so close. Tanzania was eternal summer — nothing like Siberia's cold grip.

Kozie watched government trucks on patrol and sneered — no heavy firepower, no threat.

When President Chissano heard Drakama was dead, he nearly wept for joy. The Soviets had assassinated the resistance leader in under three weeks — something the government forces had failed to do for decades. Without leadership, half the militia's strength crumbled.

So when Kozie landed, Chissano greeted him warmly, even hugged him.

"On behalf of Mozambique's people, thank you, Colonel Kozie. You eliminated the devil and brought us light."

But Kozie's eyes showed nothing but calculation. He was already plotting the next trap.

"Haha, President Chissano is too polite. Let's discuss our earlier agreement."

Only Kozie and Chissano entered the presidential office, Kozie lounging on the sofa, a lion skin sprawled before him, eyes frozen in death.

Chissano offered coffee. "Colonel, coffee from the finest cocoa beans in Mozambique?"

Kozie's gaze flicked from the lion skin to the president. Tapping the table, he shook his head. "No time for coffee. Let's get to the point. When will you grant us mining rights?"

Kozie knew Mozambique's stability would take months — fighting wouldn't end soon. Better to mine while the war dragged on. But the government delayed, unwilling to cooperate.

Chissano paused coffee pouring, blew on the cup, then said smoothly, "You just killed the resistance leader, Drakama. That wasn't in the agreement. Plus, your army controls the diamond mines at Maratic — even our forces can't enter. Our contract states mining rights come after the country's liberation. Isn't this impatience?"

His words were barbs wrapped in silk — dodging blame and accusing Kozie.

Kozie reclined, crossed his legs, voice cold and sharp. "So, President Chissano, you're breaking the rules?"

"We keep our promises. Here, it's said that those who break promises are cursed by the devil. But Russians don't seem to understand that."

Kozie laughed, standing and slapping his thigh. "Very good. Perhaps you don't realize we've brought huge profits to your mining industry. We pay salaries — unlike the opposition. After years of war, Mozambique's economy is broken, right?"

He approached the door, paused, and turned back.

"If we support the resistance, what difficulties will your government face?"

Chissano smiled, triumphant. "Drakama is dead. Without their spiritual leader, the resistance is broken. Soon, they'll fight among themselves for supremacy. We don't need you anymore."

Kozie added quietly, "What if Drakama isn't dead yet?"

Chissano scoffed. "Impossible. I saw his body. Find a better excuse."

Kozie tossed photos onto the table. In the images, Drakama, wounded but alive, lay in a field hospital, looking defiant.

"I knew you'd try something like this, old fox. So I spared him. Drakama's conditions are better than yours."

Chissano slammed his fist on the table, furious, but Kozie ignored him.

He muttered, "Portuguese enslaved you, but you never learned the spirit of contract. Drakama is more loyal than you — ten years mining rights, plus overseas military bases if our army supports him."

He smiled darkly. "The opposition is more generous than your government. That excites me."

"You're despicable!" Chissano growled, pointing at Kozie but powerless — Soviet helicopters hovered nearby, government forces helpless.

Kozie grinned. "I like your hate when you can't do anything. Now, shall we talk about Drakama or the mining? Or is Mozambique ready for war today?"

Chissano stared, then sighed, softening. "Fine. I'll discuss mining, but you must give me Drakama!"

Kozie raised the stakes. "Mining rights now — eight years, not ten. If you accept, we talk."

Chissano clenched his fists. "You Soviets are bandits, even worse than the opposition."