Fiction

EnZi Part One Odesa Chapter 8 The Coast Guard

by Stanislav Dema
01/20/26
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For a conquered people, the most terrible grief is not taxes nor alien laws.

The true grief is a son conscripted into the army of the empire.

One can console oneself with talk of a "great power," of a "high mission," of a "civilizing role."

But all these speeches vanish like smoke when you receive the letter: "Your son fell the death of the brave."

Not for his own land. Not for the freedom of his people.

But so that a khan, a sultan, or a tsar could seize one more province and build himself a new marble palace.

Young and passionate empires are like gas: they fill all available space they can reach.

They always lack something—territories, people, resources.

And every time, a "weighty" reason is found why, precisely now and precisely this people, must be conquered.

"They have the wrong faith. They have the wrong language. They have dangerous ideas. They have the wrong shape of nose."

Thus the propaganda machine is launched. It burns out conscience and the ability to think critically.

And people no longer notice how they consciously give up their children—not for the defense of their home, but for the enslavement of others.

The true death of a nation is not defeat in war, nor an enemy in the capital.

It is the joyous consent to the death of its sons in the name of the empire's greatness.

Not for the sake of freedom—but for the sake of control. For the sake of "being feared."

For the sake of erecting one's monuments in foreign squares.

In the 14th and 15th centuries, the Ottoman Empire, like spilled oil, spread like fire across the Balkans and the Black Sea region.

The Ottomans seized Bulgaria, Serbia, Greece, imposed tribute on the Danubian principalities, and took control of the northern coast of the Black Sea.

Turkish speech now sounded imperiously on these lands, and boys were taken as janissaries and recruited into the army.

But no people that has preserved its memory wishes to live forever under the rule of invaders.

The time came when the empire weakened—and a great uprising flared up in the conquered territories.

The peoples of Europe united in the Brotherhood of Freedom. Protracted, cruel wars began.

The flame of this struggle blazed for decades, claiming lives, breaking destinies—but it brought the most important thing: freedom.

The Rusyn Kingdom, initially squeezed between East and West, underwent a metamorphosis during this period.

It became the Rusyn Hetmanate—a free, proud republic, wishing to be no one's servant.

And it was the Hetmanate, having gathered strength and confidence, that struck the decisive blow, expelling the Ottomans from the northern shores of the Black Sea.

By this moment, the Karaim Khanate, a historical ally of the Ottoman Empire, had undergone significant changes. In response to the challenges of the new time, Khan Selim-Giray al-Mustafik himself initiated internal reforms, clearly understanding: absolute monarchy was no longer viable in a rapidly changing world.

On his initiative, the Khanate peacefully transformed into a constitutional monarchy. Inheriting the spirit of the ancient Khagans who once ruled the steppes, Khan Selim-Giray saw in reform not the destruction of tradition, but its renewal. From now on, supreme power belonged not to a sole ruler, but to the Mejlis—the national parliament—and the cabinet of ministers formed by it, which determined internal and foreign policy. The Khan retained his role as a symbol of unity and continuity of traditions, fulfilling the functions of the state representative in the international arena. He headed diplomatic missions and signed agreements on behalf of the Khanate, but all of them were subject to subsequent ratification by the Mejlis.

Thus, the Karaim Khanate acquired a new form of state structure—balanced, in which the ancient legitimacy of the dynasty was combined with modern institutions of popular representation.

When the Ottoman Empire left the region, the Khanate found itself at a crossroads: continue to reach out to the Ottomans, draw closer to the Moksan Khanate, or seek new allies.

After long debates, the Mejlis of the Karaim Khanate made a fateful decision: to build partnership relations with the Rusyn Hetmanate as a real power in the region and a developed, civilized state.

Treaties were concluded on mutual duty-free trade, military alliance, and joint control over sea routes in the Black Sea. Furthermore, the parties agreed on the legal protection of each other's citizens on their territory and the recognition of official documents issued by the trade missions of both sides within special economic zones and trading posts.

Selim-Giray al-Mustafik personally visited Kyiv—the capital of the Hetmanate—where, in the building of the Supreme Rada, he delivered a speech:

“Gentlemen deputies, Pan Hetman, honorable representatives of the Rusyn people!

I arrived in your capital not as an envoy of a hostile state and not as a petitioner.

I arrived as a neighbor, as an ally and—I dare say—as a friend.

For many centuries, empires have divided our lands.

They set us against each other, instilling fear, mistrust, and envy.

But if there is anything stronger than iron and dearer than gold—it is memory.

Memory of those times when the peoples of the Black Sea lived not under the yoke of a conqueror, but under the sky of freedom.

The Karaim Khanate is no longer a vassal, not an executor of another's will.

We have walked the path of renewal without destroying our roots.

We passed a law that elevated not the power of the Khan, but the dignity of the citizen.

We preserved tradition—but opened the door to the future.

Today I stand here, in the heart of the free Hetmanate, to say:

The time of solitude has passed.

No nation will stand alone before the storm of the coming century.

Our shores are washed by one sea.

Our merchants meet in the same markets.

Our sons will fight for the same freedom if the shadow of a tyrant hangs over them.

Let there be, from this day forth, no "East" and "West," no "Khan" and "Hetman" between us.

Let two free peoples be bound by a common covenant: to defend freedom and work for the happiness of our children.

We conclude an alliance not out of fear, but out of confidence in the future.

Not for profit, but for cooperation.

I believe that someday our children will look at the map of the Black Sea and see not borders, but shores—connected by bridges of trust.

Let this page become the beginning of a new history.

A history where cannons do not thunder over the waves, but the song of the triumph of human reason and good will resounds.”

Not all politicians of the Khanate were pleased with such a step. Some feared that the Hetmanate might eventually pose a threat to the sovereignty of Crimea. But the Khan, an educated and farsighted man, answered all objections with one thing:

"The best defense is good relations with neighbors."

Thus, the eastern part of the coast, belonging to the Hetmanate, was reliably covered by the allied Karaim Khanate. The efforts of the Rusyn state focused on strengthening the most vulnerable section—the coast from Izmail to Kinburn.

It was here that a new line of defense began to form—the Coast Guard. It was not just a military unit, but a people's movement that arose thanks to the sense of responsibility of coastal communities.

To create an effective structure, not only enthusiasm was required, but knowledge, experience, and a systemic approach. General Ostapenko—a hero of the liberation war, a talented organizer, and an officer with broad connections in the military circles of Europe—was appointed commander of the Coast Guard. He decided to attract foreign specialists with practical experience in creating similar formations.

Experts were invited from Poland, Italy, France. Among them, the French military engineer François de Volan especially stood out—a man whose fortification ideas and solutions would play a decisive role in the defense of the coast in the future.

He not only understood fortification as a science—he felt the terrain: where an outpost should stand, where to lay a drainage ditch, where to erect a fort or install an artillery battery. Under his leadership, the construction of the first modern fortifications on the coast began—not cumbersome bastions of the old style, but compact yet effective flanking fire pillboxes and fortified outposts integrated into the relief. They formed an interconnected system with overlapping sectors of fire, reliable communication, and sustainable logistics.

De Volan's plan formed the basis of the entire coastal defense system—later, Hetmanate officers only developed and perfected his design.

Thus began a new chapter in the history of this region.

Not with a warrior, but with an engineer.

Not with enslavement, but with the defense of freedom.

After the erection of the first line of pillboxes, artillery forts were built—powerful fortified positions located deep in the coastal strip with long-range guns. Their task was to protect strategic sections of the coast: places suitable for amphibious landings, approaches to ports, and naval bases.

The next stage was the creation of PDSS detachments—Anti-Sabotage Forces and Means. These were combat swimmers, professionally trained to work underwater, inspect the water area, check the hulls of ships, and neutralize hidden threats. Serving alongside them were patrol ships equipped with modern sonars. They patrolled the coast, identified underwater objects, and, if necessary, acted as rescue vessels.

Then, a network of acoustic stations capable of giving advance warning of air threats was deployed on the coast.

But the main thing—this was not just a state project.

The Hetmanate gave everyone who wished the opportunity to make a personal contribution to the defense of their native land. Residents of coastal towns and villages united into volunteer detachments called "Vartovi Spokoyu" (Peace Wardens).

They stood watch at acoustic stations, manned observation posts, served as messengers transmitting reports promptly, and provided support to the Coast Guard rapid reaction teams.

For them, this was not service in the army. It was daily, conscious work to protect their shore, their homes, their families.

They guarded not state borders, but the pulse of life that beat in this beautiful land.

Years passed. The Hetmanate survived two difficult wars with the Moksan Khanate, and all efforts, all resources invested in the creation of the Coast Guard, paid off many times over. This structure became one of the most effective and reliable in the country's military organism.

During both wars, not a single enemy landing attempt was crowned with success. Enemy sabotage groups attempting to penetrate ports and damage infrastructure were promptly identified and neutralized. Coast Guard volunteers carried out their service with special persistence and attention, which allowed a significant number of regular troops to be freed up for other important tasks at the front.

The Coast Guard proved itself particularly vividly during the air battles over the sea near Odesa, in an episode later named the "Battle for Odesa." Volunteers in boats, risking their own lives, pulled dozens of downed pilots from the waves of the Black Sea.

After the end of the "Second Coal War," the Coast Guard's communication and warning system was significantly modernized. Combat experience and identified weak points were thoroughly studied, and the updated communication network now worked with the precision of a marine chronometer, ensuring reliable and timely transmission of information even in the most difficult conditions.