# Chapter 7: Legitimate Military Action From *Things That Were Not There*, Book One of *After Intelligence*, by Peter Pink-Howitt (written in collaboration with AI systems; see the Preface). Web page: https://compossible.blog/2026/10/13/chapter-7-after-intelligence-legitimate-military-action/ Rights: © 2026 Peter Pink-Howitt. All rights reserved. Free to read, link to and quote briefly with credit; do not republish, translate, adapt or sell the text without written permission. The blog's CC BY licence does not apply to After Intelligence. --- > **Exhibit 7.** Public statement, released 19:58, Day 0. > *Maraya has carried out a limited operation against an armed network in the southern corridor. It was based on verified intelligence.* The money was under the blue cup. Nadia knew because she had watched her mother put it there, then watched Aaliyah move the cup while looking for something else, then watched her mother put it back. “Bread,” her mother said. “And?” “Nothing else.” “There was something else.” “There wasn’t.” Nadia lifted the cup. Two notes and three coins. Aaliyah stood beside the shelf they had repaired. One end was higher than the other. The jar on it stayed where it was. “Oil,” she said. Her mother looked at her. “We’ve got oil.” “Not tomorrow.” Her mother considered the bottle near the stove. “Small one.” Nadia put the notes in her pocket. “Can I get—” “No.” “I didn’t say what.” “You were going to.” Aaliyah smiled without looking away from her phone. Nadia took the cloth bag from its hook. The bag had a hole near one corner. Her mother had sewn it closed twice. Aaliyah had said the second repair was stronger than the original fabric, which seemed to Nadia like a reason to make the whole bag out of repairs. She had not persuaded either of them. At the door, she looked back. “What?” Aaliyah’s thumb rested above the screen. “You said ask it differently.” “The question.” “I was going to.” “How?” Aaliyah put the phone down. “Go before he closes.” “That’s not a question.” “No. It’s an instruction.” Nadia went outside. *** ![A colour linocut: in a worn, damaged kitchen a young woman stands by a lopsided repaired shelf, smiling down at her phone in the light from the door, while her little sister, a patched cloth bag in her hand, glances back from the doorway at the broken town outside.](https://compossible.blog/2026/10/13/chapter-7-after-intelligence-legitimate-military-action/inline-ch07-fig-aaliyah.jpg) The shop was four doors beyond the workshop. If she walked along the shaded side, she passed the place where the wall had been repaired with a different kind of brick. The bricks made a rectangle wide enough to be an old doorway. She counted them sometimes. There were seven across the top if she counted the narrow one. Six if she did not. Aaliyah had told her to count it both ways and say which she meant. Tonight Nadia did not count. The workshop doors were nearly closed. Light showed through the gap. The man inside was putting tools away in a drawer. She heard a metallic clatter. Then his voice. “Who’s there?” “It’s me.” He opened one door. “Nadia?” “Yes.” “Did it fit?” “Yes.” “Good.” He looked towards the house. “Your sister fixed it?” “We did.” He nodded. He had a small red mark beside his thumb. There was black beneath his fingernails. Nadia had never seen his hands clean, even when he washed them at the tap. She wanted to ask whether the mark hurt. Instead she said: “Do you want bread?” “No.” “We’re getting it.” “I have some.” He pulled the door towards him. “Straight home.” “Everyone keeps saying that.” “Good.” The door shut. She continued to the shop. *** The baker had put six loaves into a plastic bag for the shopkeeper. They were not as warm as the morning ones, but Nadia could smell them through the plastic. She waited while a man argued about cigarettes. The brand he wanted had not come for a week. He took another, complaining, and lit one in the doorway until the shopkeeper sent him outside. Nadia stood beside the refrigerator and watched a strip of water collect beneath it. Something inside it hummed, stopped, started again. She pointed at the bread bag. “Two?” She held up two fingers. “Oil?” “Small.” He took a bottle from the shelf. “The price has changed.” She looked at the money in her hand. “How much?” He told her. There was enough for the bread and oil. There was not enough for anything else. She had not asked for anything else. That seemed unfair. The shopkeeper put the bottle on the counter. *** On the small television above the refrigerator, a man in a dark suit was speaking. The sound was too low to hear. The shopkeeper counted her change twice. One coin rolled off the counter and under the rack of biscuits. Nadia reached after it. The rack’s metal foot caught the back of her hand. She said something Aaliyah had told her not to say. The shopkeeper laughed. “Who taught you that?” “No one.” She pulled the coin out. A thin scratch crossed one knuckle. A little blood appeared. The shopkeeper tore a piece from the paper roll beneath the counter. “Here.” She pressed it to her hand. Outside, a vehicle passed quickly enough to shake the loose glass in the shop door. Then there was a sound she could not put anywhere. *** ![A colour linocut: a tiny worn corner shop at evening, the refrigerator lit yellow, a small old television above it, cracked tiles and a strip of water beneath.](https://compossible.blog/2026/10/13/chapter-7-after-intelligence-legitimate-military-action/inline-ch07-1-shop-colour-v2.jpg) The refrigerator moved. That was what she remembered first. Not the noise. The refrigerator came towards her and stopped because the cord held it, or because the floor did, or because it had not moved as much as she thought. The television disappeared. Something hit her shoulder. She was on the floor. The bottle of oil rolled past her face. For a moment she believed the shopkeeper would be angry. The bottle had not broken. She tried to catch it. A hand took her arm. “Stay down.” She could see the shopkeeper’s shoes. One had come off. The light went out. *** The air was thick. She tried to breathe through her mouth and tasted something dry. The shopkeeper was saying words close to her ear. She could see his lips, but the sound did not match them. There was a high noise in her head that stayed the same when he stopped speaking. He put something over her nose and mouth. Cloth. Her bag. She pushed it away. “Home.” He held her shoulder. She said it again. He looked towards the doorway. The doorway was white. Not light. Dust. A shape crossed it, then another. The shopkeeper got up without releasing her arm. The floor crackled beneath his feet. Something fell behind them. He pulled her towards the side of the counter. She tried to pull the other way. The bread was still there. One loaf had split. The inside looked very white against the dust. “Leave it.” She had not told him she was looking at the bread. He said it again. *** Outside, the street had lost its distances. The workshop should have been near. The house should have been farther. She could see neither properly. There was dust between everything and small things falling out of it. A piece of cloth. Something that rang when it hit the road. The shopkeeper took her beneath the wall. People were running past them. One man carried a child with bare feet. Nadia looked for blood and could not see any. The child’s head moved against the man’s shoulder. Someone shouted for a light. Someone else shouted not to stand there. The workshop door was open. The man from inside came out with a lamp. His mouth was moving. He looked at Nadia, then down the street. The shopkeeper said something to him. Nadia pulled free. She knew the route without seeing it. Four doors. Past the workshop. Past the different bricks. Home. *** The workshop man caught her before she reached the corner. He put an arm around her middle. She kicked him. She felt her heel strike his leg. He did not let go. “No.” “My mum.” “I know.” “No.” “I know.” He carried her backwards. She hated him with a certainty that left no room for anything else. He had said straight home. Now he would not let her go. She hit his arm with both hands. One hand was bleeding from the scratch. She left a thin red line on his wrist. He held her tighter. *** The dust began to move. Through it, Nadia saw the end of the street. The doorway was not where it should be. Part of the wall stood. The rest had fallen across the road. She looked for the wire running from the upper window. It hung lower now. The window was gone. The workshop man turned her away. She pushed at his face. “Let me see.” He lowered her beside the shop. The shopkeeper crouched in front of her. “Stay here.” She tried to stand. He put both hands on her shoulders. “Here.” The workshop man went towards the house. Nadia watched his lamp enter the dust. She could not understand how he knew where to step. *** Her mother’s phone was inside. She told the shopkeeper. He said he knew. He did not know. She had not told him which room. “It’s by the mat.” “All right.” “Not the kitchen.” “All right.” “Aaliyah’s got hers.” He looked at someone behind her. “Water,” he said. Nadia stood while he was looking away. A woman she recognised from the bakery caught her hand. The woman was not holding bread. There was dust in the folds of her scarf. “Come with me.” “No.” “We’ll stay close.” “No.” The woman sat down beside her instead. Her hand remained around Nadia’s. It was warm. Nadia tried to make her own hand smaller. “Call Mum,” she said. The woman looked at her. “Her phone’s by the mat. You’ll hear it.” The woman took out her own phone. She found the number without asking for it. Nadia turned towards the house. She knew the ring. Karim had changed it because their mother said the old one sounded like someone at the door. The woman held the phone away from her ear so that Nadia could hear it calling. Nadia listened past it. Men shouting. A block shifting. The high noise in her own head. Nothing by the mat. “Again.” The woman called again. Nothing. “She has it loud,” Nadia said. “She always has it loud.” The woman called a third time. Then she put the phone away and held Nadia’s hand with both of hers. *** Aaliyah should have come outside. She came outside when Nadia took too long. Sometimes she pretended she had wanted to go for a walk anyway. She would stand in the doorway with her phone and ask whether Nadia had gone to the bakery in another country. Nadia looked for that doorway. There was an opening. It was too wide. The wrong part of the house was visible through it. She could see the back wall of a room she had never been able to see from the street. Something blue lay beneath a piece of roof. The cupboard. She tried to tell the woman. Her voice came out too quietly. The woman bent closer. “The kitchen,” Nadia said. The woman looked towards the house. Then she put her arm around Nadia’s shoulders. *** ![Colour linocut: from behind, Nadia, small, with the woman from the bakery's arm round her shoulders, looking through the opening that is too wide into the broken house, where something blue lies beneath a piece of roof.](https://compossible.blog/2026/10/13/chapter-7-after-intelligence-legitimate-military-action/inline-ch07-fig-cupboard.jpg) A car reversed down the street with its door open. Its horn sounded in short bursts. Men moved aside. Someone carried a plank. Someone carried a blanket that sagged in the middle. Nadia stood. The woman stood with her. The blanket was placed in the car. A hand showed at one edge. Nadia looked at the fingers. She knew hands. Her mother’s had a small scar near the base of the thumb from a knife that had slipped. Aaliyah’s had a mark where a pen rested. The hand in the blanket was covered in dust. She could not see either mark. The car left. She waited for the next one. *** The bread bag was under the shopkeeper’s arm. Her cloth bag. He had put something in it. He came over and gave it to the woman. “Her things.” The woman looked inside. Nadia reached for it. The bottle of oil was there. Two flattened loaves. Her change. The shopkeeper had found the coins. She looked at him. “Did I pay?” “Yes.” “How much?” “It’s paid.” He went away before she could ask again. *** Karim called. The woman answered Nadia’s phone because Nadia could not unlock it. Her fingers kept slipping. The woman said where they were. Then she said: “Slowly.” She listened. “No. Slowly.” She took the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. The call had ended. Nadia said: “He’s coming.” The woman nodded. “He’ll know.” “What?” “What to do.” The woman did not answer. *** An ambulance reached the far end of the street. It could not come closer. A man in a reflective vest walked towards them carrying a bag. He knelt beside Nadia and asked her name. She told him. He looked at her eyes with a light. He asked whether anything hurt. Her shoulder hurt. Her hand hurt. Her ears hurt. She said no. He examined the scratch. The woman told him about the fall. He moved Nadia’s arm carefully and asked again. This time she said shoulder. He nodded. Behind him, two men argued about moving a piece of concrete. The man in the vest asked how old she was. “Eleven.” He wrote it down. “How many were at home?” “Four.” He wrote. “Karim’s at the depot,” she said. “Three.” He crossed something out. “Three inside?” “I wasn’t inside.” His pen stopped. “Two?” Nadia looked towards the house. “Four,” she said. “There are four of us.” He did not write that down. “Your sister,” he said. “How old?” “Nineteen.” He wrote nothing. “She’s nineteen,” Nadia said again. *** Karim arrived without the van. He came running from the direction of the depot, then stopped so abruptly that someone collided with him. He looked at the house. He looked at Nadia. The woman let go. Nadia went to him. He put his hands on either side of her face. “Where were you?” “The shop.” “Where were you?” “The shop.” He pulled her against him. His shirt smelled of fuel and the depot. She could hear his breathing even through the noise in her ears. “You’re late,” she said. He did not move. “You said you were coming.” He pressed his chin against the top of her head. For a moment she thought he had not heard. Then his hands tightened on her back. *** The shop’s television had survived. It lay on the counter with a crack across one corner of the casing. The shopkeeper connected it to a small battery. People gathered to watch. Nadia stayed beside Karim. The picture appeared before the sound. A map. The same man. Different words beneath him. The shopkeeper turned the volume up. A recorded voice said Maraya had carried out a limited operation against an armed network in the southern corridor. It was the old eight o’clock voice, the one her mother always turned up. Nadia had thought he had stopped. Karim looked at the screen. The statement described a facility used to support hostile activity. It said the action had been based on verified intelligence. Someone beside the counter began shouting. The shopkeeper raised a hand. The voice continued. A legitimate military action. The presenter added that there were no confirmed reports of civilian casualties. Karim moved towards the television. Nadia caught his sleeve. He stopped. The man on the screen looked down at a page. No picture of the house appeared. *** ![Colour linocut: in the damaged shop the cracked television plays on its battery; Karim stands rigid watching it and Nadia has caught hold of his sleeve.](https://compossible.blog/2026/10/13/chapter-7-after-intelligence-legitimate-military-action/inline-ch07-fig-sleeve.jpg) Later, people asked Nadia what she remembered. The sound. The shop. Whether there had been an aircraft. Whether her brother had been home. Whether she had seen anyone leave the house. She told them what she could. The shopkeeper gave the woman a bottle of water. The woman gave it to Nadia. She drank. Some ran down her chin. Aaliyah would have wiped it with her thumb. Nadia wiped it with the back of her hand. The woman tipped the change from the cloth bag into Nadia’s palm, so that she would have something to hold. “How many?” she asked, the way you would ask a child anything ordinary. Nadia looked at the coins. She knew. She did not answer. *** Her phone had one message she had not opened. From Aaliyah. Sent before she went to the shop. It was short enough that the beginning showed on the screen. *Get the small one.* Below it: *And come straight back.* Nadia opened the conversation. She wrote: *I did.* She waited. Then she took the bottle of oil from the cloth bag and photographed it beside her foot. The bottle was dusty but whole. She sent the photograph. One mark appeared beneath it. She kept the conversation open. Around her, people moved through the street carrying things that had been inside houses. The workshop man passed with his lamp. His wrist still had the thin red line. Karim sat down beside her. He looked at the phone and said nothing. Nadia watched the mark. She knew there should be another.