The rumor that the enemy's tanks had reached the northern suburbs was not far from the mark. At six hundred hours that morning a somber mayor declared Ngrama, the capital city of Zylandria, an open city and requested calm. There wasn't any though! Thousands of refugees fled north along the coastal in the late morning sunlight. Most were on foot but the occasional horse drawn vehicle moved forward through the throngs.

A roar above made horses whinny and hundreds of eyes stared in fear at the sky as a fighter plane flew in from the ocean. A group of girls headed for a roadside ditch but stopped when someone called out, "It's one on ours."

Faces turned from despair to hope when the refugees saw the white triangle edged in black on the aircraft's fuselage. This was the first friendly airplane seen since dawn. Perhaps the navy had arrived and they could be evacuated to offshore islands still under the government's control?

The Zylandria Air Force fighter, though, was alone. It slowed to just above a stalling point as if the pilot was searching below, followed the highway until it slid over a covered wagon pulled by a couple of draught horses. This wagon was different from the dozens along the ten-kilometer stretch of highway in that two young women sat holding the reins. Both had long blonde hair and had resisted the trend their fellow citizens to cut it short.

The fighter's engine roared as it rose in a steep climb, circled out above the ocean and returned over the silent crowd. The younger woman on the wagon looked up and waved as the squat fighter flashed over.

"He waved back, Kolina," she screamed. "He waved back. I saw him!"

"So what, Sofia?" her elder sister replied. "What good can he do up there?"

Sofia pouted. "Perhaps the Duke of Westronia has arrived and we'll all be evacuated."

The Duke of Westronia was Zylandia's and indeed the whole Western Alliance's last battleship.

Kolina shrugged. "I think it would be a wiser precaution if you went into the wagon and cut your hair short in the Basonian fashion. Perhaps even add a dark tint to it." She glanced at her sister. "Perhaps you should put on a blouse that covers your arms, too."

"And walk with a stoop so I don't tower above the bastards' heads," Sofia muttered. "If they catch us it won't make a lot of difference anyway."

"I guess not," Kolina replied. "Get up there, Maurice and Mandy." She shook the reins and the two draught-horses increased speed a fraction. Tired pedestrians nearby looked annoyed but when they saw the two women on the wagon they'd smile and step aside.

"May God bless you my friends," one elderly peasant woman said as the wagon went by.

"Thank you. Take this for you family." Kolina smiled as she reached down and offered the lady a small loaf of bread.

A wrinkled hand reached up and took the gift while watery eyes of sympathy glanced at each of the pair in turn.

"And don't let that saying slip from your lips when the Sunbars arrive," Sofia warned.

The enemy from the south was called this derogatory term that literally meant Sun bastard. The ancient religion the Basonians followed a believed in numerous gods, the most powerful of which was Sustashine the sun god who watched over all daytime activity. He surrendered his power at night to Sustoon, the moon god, a lazy fellow who only appeared in full once a month and at times never at all. Together with these was Sushaze, the god of weather and Sasgrow, the god of the earth below. There were numerous other gods and superstitions that the Basonians followed in complete contrast to the mainly secular Zylandrians.

"I will try to remember," the old lady replied. "But I shall never bow to their heathen gods."

She stepped back and was soon out of sight behind the wagon.

"It'll be hard for the old ones," Kolina whispered. "The beliefs of a lifetime cannot be forced from their bodies."

"But the Sunbars will try," Sofia said. "Did you listen to Freedom Radio last night?" She referred to the private Western Alliance station that boomed in throughout the country in spit of Sunbar attempts to jam the broadcasts. Adults largely discounted a rumor that its broadcasts came from a satellite orbiting Myco, their planet. It was more likely that the transmitter was on one of the closer islands.

"No. You know I prefer the Defense Forces Radio."

The eighteen year old pouted. "Perhaps you should, Kolina. The Sunbars have declared all people like us as heretic outworlders who will be forcibly sterilized so our species will not be perpetuated." Sofia flushed. "That's after we are sent to their comfort houses for six months."

In spite of her effort to remain aloof, Kolina paled. Enforced prostitution for young women was a well-known fate for those in the occupied territories.

She turned and glanced at her sister's frightened eyes. Sofia was five years younger than herself but her little kid sister wasn't that any longer. She was an attractive woman as tall as herself. "So how do they categorize us?" she whispered.

"Any female over a meter eighty tall with blonde hair." She grimaced. "We both fail on all counts."

Kolina looked annoyed. "So you'd rather be covered in acne, have dark hair and be only a meter sixty tall?"

"At the moment, yes." Sofia whispered. "To be male would also help."

"Yeah, and be dead on the Northern Front after a gas bomb sucked all the oxygen from your lungs." Kolina's anger subsided when she glanced across at her sister again. "I know it's hard, Sofia," she continued in a softer voice. "But be proud of what you are. I know I'm proud of you."

"Are you?" Sofia bit on her lip and stared away out over the horses at the crowd ahead.

"I am," Kolina whispered. "It's been a hard five years since Mamma died but we made it, Sofia. To come third in the whole Year 13 class at high school was no mean achievement."

"Pose," Sofia muttered but her eyes shone a little as she flicked the reins and urged the horses to go a little faster. "I'm scared Kolina," she whispered. "Really scared."