There had been a moment when the ash forgot to fall in Korf. The industrial district stood in total stillness, and the naval district was silent as the city held its breath. The eyes of the public had been north-- their capital was assailed, and the forces of the unknown, faceless enemy with an unutterable name roamed the steppes. Not long after, the Federal forces in the city mobilized, clogging the pedestrian and ash-filled streets with mechanized infantry and tanks as they rushed to leave the city. Hours passed once they left before the first gunshot was heard. The battle did not go in their favor-- they retreated, taking up a position to the northwest of Korf where they made counterattacks. Their opponents took up the northeast, furiously parrying the attacks of armor while replying in kind. The battles of the day merged with the night, and just when no city-goer had the attention to keep in touch with the battle to the north, the city proper came under siege.
“Uvarov, hurry up! Fire on Ustinov street!” Shouted Antonyuk. Antonyuk was a peculiar man-- despite being just thirty-three, the portly fellow had aged so poorly as to appear at the upper threshold of being middle-aged. His weathered jowls contrasted to the brand-new navy blue windbreaker he had donned, a size or so too small for him. Uvarov had never asked how the man got it-- sometimes after the brief looting period, the city suffered it was best not to ask.
Uvarov hurried along with the jumble of hose in his hands, stretching muscles he hadn’t used in several months from his military service in a jog behind the stout figure of Antonyuk. He had on his field uniform, yet still more untidy with its joints caked in mud and creased from use. Uvarov had aged as well, but perhaps for the better: his youthful face had matured, losing the soft innocence that he had once had. Now, he looked like a man-- never to be mistaken for a college student.
“Here-- screw it in here!” Antonyuk shouted, pointing towards a fire hydrant across the street from their target. Vitya Uvarov barreled over, the hose threatening to untangle and drag across the ground, before releasing the hose in a messy pile before the hydrant. While he fastened the hose into the hydrant, he jerked his head to the side to glance at his target-- the collapsed roof of a townhouse spewed flames beside its neighbors, yet untouched by the blaze. This was the work of incendiary shells lobbed at the city by one of the outside parties-- because either side believed that their adversary was taking advantage of the resources of the city, even if in reality they weren’t.
Antonyuk padded over back to his side of the street after coercing the inhabitants of the street out of their homes and took a stance behind Vitya with his hands steadying the hose while Uvarov readied it at the building. By now, there were numerous bystanders; the civilians, in varying degree of readiness, that Antonyuk had stirred from their homes to avoid the fire; actual members of the fire brigade, streaming in from fighting another fire on another block; and a line of soldiers that formed part of the militia.
Vitya drew the lever on the tip of the hose back and braced as a jet of water shot above the flames and smoke before being corrected and brought onto the blaze, extinguishing it within a few hard-fought minutes.
It was one of the things they had to do now that Korf was on its own-- with no exit by land, air, or sea, the police merged into the population, the government was toppled in place of the committee, and the city of 4.1 million formed its own higher emergency services, militias, and governors.
Uvarov remembered when it all started-- panic in the streets while half the workers in the industrial district labored out of necessity while the other half fled; columns of civilians made caravans to flee the city on foot because the buses and trains refused to run, while others mobbed the maritime district, hoping to gain passage out of the country or stow away aboard a cargo ship. CFOB made it a priority to sink the ships so that their opponents, apparently the civilians themselves, could not use it to escape their formation. Meanwhile, the Federal Republic force made certain to mine roads and open areas that represented easy passage of their assailants; there was no way to know the scope and degree to which the minefields had been laid.
As the city government’s control over its citizens waned with the increased unrest from the siege, it came to be realized that the only control it had over the masses was the distribution of the rations (stockpiled in Korf ever since the Cossack Strait Crisis) since the police had long since stopped obeying the mandates of the city hall. Soon, through weeks of the city administration’s inaction, this was widely known as well. A sufficient mob and a curt demand presented in the office of the municipal hall quickly dismantled the former government and committee rule began.
Various action committees sprung up and began to meet in the municipal administrative building, organized by no one and staffed by anyone who wanted to show up-- they tackled the key problems through volunteers and group consensus and suddenly Korf breathed again.
Yet all that was changing still; the Rationing Committee declared it was running short and an impromptu emergency session had been called, the information distributed by word of mouth rather than a public announcement.
“Going to the meeting tonight? Antonyuk asked, a smile on his face. Wrapping up the remainder of the length of the hose, Uvarov sighed.
“I’m tired and in no mood for politics,” He said.
“Oh, that’s no excuse! They want everyone over there!” Antonyuk scoffed, wrapping his bloated arm around Uvarov’s shoulder.
Finishing with the hose, Vitya asked, “And who’s this ‘they’, again?”
“Why, not only half the city, but all the big players-- Leonid Koval, Mykola Vlasyuk, Andrij Radchenko. Whatever they’re planning, they want all the capable men they can get; which involves--” Antonyuk said with a slight jostle of Vitya’s shoulder, “--you, tovarisch Uvarov.”
The big players-- those that emerged at the forefront of the little provisional government the people had established. The meetings were much smaller, no longer extending down the hallways of the Municipal Administrative Building, now that these figures had arrived. Once someone felt someone active and charismatic was representing them, they no longer felt like coming if someone was going to represent them more fervently and vocally than they would ever.
Uvarov was undecided. The meetings were always so loud, and he felt no motivation to speak up if he disagreed with the resounding cheers of the crowd. Vitya felt that the mob brought about the committee system, and the mob would eventually suffocate it. Eventually, he felt that the chaos that had brought about the committees would devolve into true anarchy with the harsh onset of food scarcity-- it would be best if they dissolved and sought help from the government or the opposition forces: either would do. But Vitya kept these thoughts to himself and merely expressed his indecision.
“Nonsense. A good fighting-age man such as yourself should have a voice in his community at a time like this, if nothing else. There’s always room in the committees for militiamen.”
In response to the perceived unilateral aggression against the town itself by both the parties in the Civil War, the militia had been born at the behest of the committees, creating a merger between ex-military citizens and the police into a ragtag group of fighters. Vitya, despite his haggard appearance after weeks of homelessness, was welcomed into the ranks of the Korf Militsiya.
Uvarov was about to outright refuse, but reconsidered. Events were in motion-- some speculated how much longer the rationing committee could perform in its role before supplies ran dry and a humanitarian crisis was on their hands.
“Alright-- but I’m staying toward the back.” He would want to see it in person rather than hear of the big decision second-hand.
It was a combined scuffle of dozens of people to fit in the city hall; the ones that got seats left gaps and due to the tight space of the seating, denied their use to the ones forced to stand against the far walls of the room. The room itself was a large conference hall but made in the Cossack style-- that is, plain and without any interesting architectural detail. The room tapered in width as the platform went on, eventually forming a semi-circle at one end of the room where the ‘big players’ sat. They had formed a panel of six men on the stage, seated at two tables facing the audience area-- some citizens stood on the stage until they felt too much attention bear down on them and they took a position off the stage, leaving the recognizable faces to the raised platform.
“Order, order… hey! Settle down, settle down, people!” Came a shout, and the room gradually decrescendoed from the chatter of hundreds of people. One of the big names stood, after glancing at his compatriots for permission, and addressed the crowd.
“Welcome all--” He was able to utter before cheers drowned the room. The thin man, one hand in his suit pocket, looked around in dismay as the crowd rambunctiously took command of the chamber.
“Hey! Hey! Shaddup! Let the man speak! Shaddup!” Came a shout from the side of the room. With a silent audience once again, the man reset.
“Welcome all--” He said, to some hushed applause and disparate cheers. “I am Eduard Serhiyenko, and I am here before the congregation of the people of Korf to oversee a combined committee meeting of some importance, I believe. We are here to discuss the nature of the problem before us-- that is, the apparent food shortage--” Serhiyenko had to stop yet again for a clamor to peak before being suppressed. “-- And to suggest and consider possible solutions before deciding a course of action. Let us please act with civility and respect towards one another and their voice. After all, we’re all from Korf around these parts.
Now, I yield the floor to Mykola Vlasyuk. Comrade!” Serhiyenko shook the hand of the now-standing Vlasyuk.
Uvarov, leaning against the right wall of the room, could see the salt-and-pepper hairs upon Vlasyuk’s head from over the shoulder of someone in front of him-- Vlasyuk was always milking the popular, working-class hero image. His connections with many different sects of the industrial workforce before the civil war (which if the rumors Uvarov had heard were true, were made over his private bootlegging operation) allowed him to remain a favorite based on character alone; but when it came down to it, Vitya knew him as somewhat of an idiot.
Vlasyuk took a place at the forefront of the platform before the many, dusting off his worker’s dungarees to the whistles and cheers of the audience. After enjoying the attention for a few moments, Vlasyuk waved his hands, and just like that, the hall was silent. His expression took on a more solemn look before he spoke.
“Friends, unfortunately, the Rationing Committee is sorry to report that we are in fact running low on rations. But don’t groan-- there are remedies to this problem we face! I believe that through appealing the two dogs at our gates, we may receive their favor! By appealing to them as a unified people-- a city-- both of them will have no choice but to help us, in fear of us supporting the other’s efforts!” Vlasyuk said,
Andrij Radchenko began before the applause could start. “If they wanted to curry our favor, they would have done it long ago.” The attention of the room turned to Radchenko, a younger man with slicked-back hair, a bureaucrat’s hands, and a stony face. “The Opposition Bloc cares only for the removal of Smirnov, and we all know that Smirnov couldn’t give a rat’s ass for us. This war is over mush-- politics. What do they care for humanitarianism? If we come begging to them, we’ll get more or less the same response as if they were in power.”
Radchenko, one who commanded respect sheerly by his cool-headed, level responses and bureaucratic experience. He had been in charge of the Southern District’s Bureau of Commerce and had since worked past the city’s mistrust of him.
Leonid Koval agreed. “We have to go it alone, no matter our feelings.”
And like that, Mykola lost the attention and support of the city. He wandered back to his seat as Radchenko went on.
“There is simply no hope for support from either side-- and once they find what’s going on in Korf, with our own governance, they won’t treat us like citizens but threats to whatever they’re fighting for. I propose we seek help abroad.”
There was an upset in the crowd-- Uvarov admitted that even he shuffled in discontent.
“Are you mad? Once they turn their eyes to what we’ve got here, there’s no telling how many spies and usurpers may be shipped in to undermine our government!”
“That also brings up another point-- we will need to form a stronger government if we are to survive much longer.”
Uproar came from the crowd, who were on the verge of throwing whatever they had in their hands. But despite this, the unpopular idea took hold.
Vlasyuk jumped up from his seat and paced out to the front of the platform, just behind Radchenko. “I agree! I believe that our heritage as citizens of Korf will be honored-- centuries ago, a government completely unique to our land was formed, and it will be formed again: I propose we reform the Republic of Korf!”
This time, the speakers were met with the most diametrically opposed and violent of reactions-- shoes were indeed hurled at the stage, but cheers almost outweighed the boos.
“Order! Order!”
“Settle down, now!”
“Zamovkny, blyadʹ!”
“Hetʹ komitet!“
“Siday, blyadʹ!” And so forth.
“Get yourselves under control! Shut up! Shut up!”
The uproar declined but was not muted.
“The Republic of Korf-- shall it be pursued? Put it to a vote!” Vlasyuk said, shouting over the incessant murmurs.
A rather uneven system of counting hands began-- and as some hands were counted, others pricked up in places they had just searched. In negation, there were still a lot of hands, but not nearly enough to outnumber their opposition.
Uvarov watched it happen from afar-- first, there was a trivial squabble among the delegates and shouters from across the room about the name itself, then each word that was put down for the preamble of the constitution was scrutinized and bickered over by the city over; Uvarov and many others left after a few hours to find a place to sleep. Cheers in the dim morning announced the completion of the constitution and the enactment of the Republic of Korf. The flagpoles that had for so long stood barren now bore makeshift banners of light blue cloth.