Father Paulus arrived at Kalimas Station in Surabaya after a twelve-hour long ride. Taking his luggage and dragging it along the concrete floor, he scanned the station's arrival hall, looking out for anyone who might have been waiting for him. Father Avell, Paulus' best friend and supervisor back at the seminary, had told him before leaving that someone will pick him up at the station upon arrival.

Soon enough, Paulus saw a man dressed in a cassock carrying a placard with his name standing at the left side of the hall. The man appeared to be a few years older than him – with jet black hair, round owlish glasses, and a curious-looking scar on his right forehead. "Father Paulus," the man called. "You've arrived."

"Yes. And you are?"

"Father Timo," the man said. "Timothy Aaron Ramlie. I'm your assistant vicar at Sacred Heart Cathedral. Archbishop Sutikno has been notified of your arrival, and he expects you to say Mass beginning this Sunday."

"Thank him for his consideration," Paulus said. "My body could use a little rest right now." He stretched briefly before continuing his way to the station exit. Years of training in Chinese martial arts had conditioned his body to withstand prolonged stress. For Paulus, the cramped seating space on the long train ride to Surabaya was only a minor discomfort, from which he recovered relatively quickly upon arrival.

Timo hauled Paulus' luggage and loaded it into the boot of his car before driving away. The two men conversed about their respective assignments along the ride.

"So, you graduated from Saint John Paul the Great?" Timo asked.

"Yes," Paulus said. "And you?"

"Providentia Dei," Timo replied. "One of the best seminaries in all of Indonesia. I too was ordained last month, and received my pastorate just a week ago."

"I see."

Surabaya was like Jakarta in almost every way. It was a bustling metropolis and home to the Republic's largest naval base. The only difference was that the streets of Surabaya were much less crowded at night, and due to its proximity to Mojokerto, where the most recent battle of the Civil War had erupted – numerous security patrols and checkpoints at important junctions.

Timo saw Paulus looking sideways at the Marine watch post just metres away from the right side of the car. "I know, there's been some changes around here," he said. "The Republic is in the process of dislodging the Fascist Alliance and their allies from East Java. Mojokerto is the site of the most recent battle, and by the looks of it, there's a risk some of the fighting may spread to Surabaya."

"Father Chrysostom said as much," Paulus agreed. "This city sits literally on top of a war zone."

Timo did not reply. Twenty minutes later, both priests arrived at the rectory inside the cathedral complex. Father Timo had prepared dinner before he left for the station to pick up Father Paulus. It was rice with a side of smoked milkfish and vegetables. "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty," Paulus made the sign of the cross and said grace over the meal spread before them on the table.

"Amen," Timo exclaimed. "Let's eat."

-----------

Hundreds of miles away, a very different scene was being enacted inside one of the officers' quarters in Jakarta's Military District.

Assegaf was seated in his desk chair, speaking with two guests seated down across from him. He'd just been promoted to Brigadier General earlier that day, for his role in expelling the Fascist Alliance from their stronghold in Palembang on the island of Sumatra.

"Congratulations once again, Brigadier," Jaka Gifari said. "We are indebted to your efforts in safeguarding the Republic from hostile forces which threaten to collapse it."

"Thank you," Assegaf replied. "We each have our own part to play." He and Gifari were long-time associates, dating back to the early years of their respective careers. At the moment Gifari worked as Homeland Security's liaison to the Army and Department of Foreign Affairs, in charge of observing and monitoring international developments related to the ongoing Civil War.

"It would've been much better had you mobilised the workers' militia against the Fascists," said another voice. Seated beside Gifari was Giorgio Ibrahim Al-Bin Yahya, also of Hadhrami Arab descent like Assegaf. An influential member of the Labour Union with a long history of political activism, Bin Yahya was instrumental in mobilising working class resistance against the Fascist Alliance and their Islamist extremist allies; thus contributing to some of the Republic's early successes against both rebel factions.

"Permit me to say this, habibi," Assegaf said, moving his stare from Gifari to Bin Yahya. "Arming and training the workers' militia would've taken too much time. Sometimes it's better to have fewer but more capable forces to achieve the assigned objectives, than run the risk of dissipating my strength needlessly by having a large mix of troops of uneven quality."

Gifari sensed the tension between both men and moved quickly to interject. "So tell me, what are your plans following the Fascists' defeat in Palembang?"

Assegaf rose from his chair and walked over to the window overlooking the front yard. "The Fascists may have been much reduced in Sumatra," he said, "but here in Java and in Borneo they remain a powerful force. I'm keen to wring out every advantage from their latest defeat that I may, by pursuing and eliminating once and for all their main forces in Java.

"Unfortunately," he continued, "for some reason Army Intelligence is reluctant to provide the information I need to make my move."

"And why is that?" Bin Yahya asked.

"I've been wondering about that myself," Assegaf replied. "Something tells me this goes much deeper than simple Army politics."

"Speaking of that, I've been tracking the rebels' source of arms and funding, and we just got a few new leads," Gifari said. His tone holds certainty. "A week ago the Coast Guard captured a freighter trying to smuggle AK-74 rifles into rebel-held territory. I was there when they made the arrest."

"What did you find out?" Assegaf asked.

"Some of the crates carrying the rifles were said to have been shipped from Yemen and Syria, others say they come from places as far away as Somalia," Gifari replied. His voice and expression hold puzzlement. "But no one, not even the ship's captain, was able to say with certainty under whose orders the rifles were purchased. It is, I must say, a considerable puzzle."

"It is easy to obtain weapons anonymously inside conflict zones," Assegaf said. "Determining their movement and exact origins can be a difficult task."

"We are still trying to figure that out right now."

"Keep me updated," Assegaf looked at Gifari. "For all we know, this may lead to something bigger."

The door to Assegaf's office opened before Gifari or Bin Yahya could say anything. "Sir," an officer stepped into the room. "You've been ordered to report to High Command. You are to be briefed on your next assignment."

"Thank you, Captain," Assegaf said. "Send my acknowledgement, and inform them I'll be coming shortly."

"Sorry, gentlemen," he looked back at Gifari and Bin Yahya. "We'll continue this conversation another time."

-----------

"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from all evil."

"For thine is the Kingdom, the power and the glory, now and forever, Amen."

Fathers Paulus and Timo were reciting their lauds before heading out from the rectory chapel to the dining room to start their breakfast. Along the way, they conversed about their first time praying together.

"I noticed," Paulus said, "how you ended the Lord's Prayer with the doxology. Most cradle Catholics I know of are not accustomed to this practice."

"That is because I'm not one," Timo replied. "I was an Anglican Priest before becoming Catholic. Shortly after my conversion, I applied for entry within the Ordinariate and took the option of becoming a Priest. It took me a year in seminary and a special dispensation from the Holy Father for me to remain legally married before I was allowed to wear the cassock."

"I see," Paulus said. "I'm a convert too, by the way."

"From which faith, if you don't mind me asking?"

"A former Protestant just like you," Paulus replied. "Lutheran, to be exact. My father happened to lead one of the largest congregations of my former denomination back in Jakarta."

"Really?" Timo asked. "What made you convert?"

Paulus thought back to the day his grandfather died from cancer all those years ago. Tears welled up in the priest's eyes as he recalled how the old man had suffered in his deathbed, barely capable of speaking to his loved ones in his final moments. That tragedy had led to Paulus' crisis of faith, which he would not overcome for another two years.

"That's a story best reserved for another time," Paulus finally said. "Let's not ruin the mood of this glorious day, shall we?"

Timo remained silent. Both priests arrived at the dining room to eat their breakfast before Timo began, "So, what plans do you have for today?"

"I will be spending the rest of the day inside the library," Paulus said. "It is only two days before Sunday, and I have yet to prepare a homily. What about you?"

"I will be doing the same in my bedroom," Timo replied. "Once we're finished, we can compare our notes together."

"That would be most welcome."

-----------

"Brigadier Assegaf, you've arrived sooner than expected."

"Yes I have," Assegaf spoke. He was walking up the stairs leading to the Army Chief's office, accompanied by Operations Chief Colonel Khaerul Hartono, his old friend back at the Academy.

"To be honest, High Command had a hard time deciding who to appoint to the task before deciding on your name," Hartono said. His voice and facial expression hold intrigue.

"I can only guess."

Hartono and Assegaf stood shoulder to shoulder as they strode into the Army Chief's office. There, seated in his desk, was General Otto Atmojo. Flashing above his table was a holoreport detailing the recent battle of Palembang.

"Ah, Brigadier Assegaf," Atmojo said. "Come, take a seat. Leave us," he turned his gaze to Hartono.

Assegaf settled down immediately. Otto Atmojo, the Javanese Lutheran, had been his superior and mentor when he first entered the ranks of the officer corps. Though belonging to different faiths, both Atmojo and Assegaf knew what it was like to be outsiders within the Javanese Muslim dominated officer corps, and thus formed a natural alliance with each other in a bid to eke out a space in the Army's hierarchy.

"Once again the Republic is thankful for your efforts," Atmojo said. His voice and expression hold gratitude and relief. "With the liberation of Palembang, Sumatra is now clear of the rebels save for a few holdouts."

"Palembang was a costly victory," Assegaf said. "Almost half of our forces there have perished. If it weren't for the last-minute reinforcements, I would surely have been defeated."

"I am aware of that," Atmojo replied. "That said, I've heard from High Command regarding your wish to continue the offensive in Java."

"That is true, sir."

"Frankly, not all of High Command favoured your decision," Atmojo said. His facial muscles are taut. His tone holds wariness and anticipation. "Some say you are too impetuous, others say your methods are too unorthodox. But I know that is not the case. You've succeeded where others have failed, and I have great faith in your abilities."

"Thank you, sir," Assegaf replied. "For your trust in me."

Atmojo nods. His voice and expression hold certainty. "This may just be the right assignment for you. For months we've been trying to rid Mojokerto of the Fascist Alliance. Our efforts have mostly failed due to their strong defences. But now we're on the verge of gaining a foothold, thanks to local militias and the student regiments, many of whom were instrumental in filling the depleted ranks of our regular forces. You'll go to Surabaya to lead this final effort."

Assegaf couldn't believe his ears. "Surabaya, sir?"

"Yes. Your hometown, is it not?"

"Yes sir," Assegaf said. He fell silent for a moment, eyes bent upon the ground, showing signs of strong emotions.

"Is something wrong?" Atmojo asked.

"No, sir. I was just collecting my thoughts."

"Good," Atmojo said. "Your intelligence officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Abdat, will be joining us shortly."

The door opened to reveal a wiry man with an oblong face and deep-set eyes. This was Thalut Abdat, a senior member of Army Intelligence Field Operations. Assegaf had been introduced to him through a mutual acquaintance; an ethnic Chinese Colonel named Ali Hakim who works as the Navy's liaison to Republic Intelligence. Despite having worked with Abdat in intelligence-related matters, Assegaf had an instinctive urge to give the man a wide berth.

"We meet again, Brigadier Assegaf," Abdat said. His expression is muted, with a hint of resentment in his eyes.

"Colonel Abdat," Assegaf acknowledged him.

Atmojo spoke to Assegaf before both could say anything further. "Now, before you leave," he turned to Assegaf, "you will be assigned an aide for your next mission. Choose one among three officers, each with their own specialisation."

"Is it possible to meet with them?"

"Yes," Atmojo said. "How about nine o'clock tomorrow morning?"

"That sounds perfect," Assegaf remarked.

"Very well then," Atmojo said. His voice holds satisfaction. "You're dismissed. Good luck, Brigadier."

-----------

Assegaf and Abdat strode out of the Army Chief's office before the latter began to speak.

"So, you received a new mission. Another one to add to your long list." Abdat's voice is cynical, his eyes edged with malice. Yet his composure remains steady.

"Yes," Assegaf said. "I take it you're coming along."

"Of course," Abdat said. "I'll be in charge of gathering intelligence on enemy positions and movements along the front."

"I assume you have information you're willing to share at the moment."

"Not now," Abdat's stance holds tension, as if trying to withhold something. "We're still gathering more information as I speak."

"Well then. I look forward to your findings."

"And I look forward to sharing them with you," Abdat said. His composure returns to normal, but the malice and resentment in his voice remains.

-----------

Abdat turned around as soon as Assegaf had left the spot. He called his chauffeur to pick him up at the back entrance, before ordering him to drive to the Army Intelligence building further down the street.

He thought back to his meeting with Assegaf along the ride. That stuck-up, presumptuous Sayyid Assegaf; who loves to hide his ambition behind a veneer of humility and self-effacement. Each ribbon bar in Assegaf's chest was a result of Abdat's men dying to get the information he needed to win the battle and receive the accolade. And yet for some reason, Abdat never received the same kind of recognition for his role.

There was another reason behind Abdat's dislike towards Assegaf. Despite being both of Arab descent, he and Assegaf belonged to different clans, each occupying different positions within Hadhrami Arab society. Abdat belonged to a Qabail family of the tribe of Al-Kathiri, whose ancestors served as warriors and foot soldiers. Assegaf, on the other hand, belonged to the Sayyid class, believed to be descendants of Prophet Mohammed himself through his grandsons Hassan and Hussein.

Believed to be, Abdat restated the point. Whether or not the Sayyids are descendants of the Prophet is a moot point. His father had taught him to never allow anyone, not even a Sayyid, to hold any sort of power over him. Assegaf must be got rid of at any cost.

Abdat rushed to his office as soon as he arrived at the imposing grey building where Army Intelligence conducts its operations. Upon arriving he reached to his computer and pressed a few keys. "Come in," said the voice coming from the computer's speaker.

"This is Auberon, with an urgent message."

"Yes, Auberon. What is it?"

"Republic High Command has decided to send Zack Assegaf to the Surabaya front," Abdat said. "Be careful, he is a dangerous opponent. Eliminate him."