Sirna Muliruid left University in his final year of study, right after independence was declared. He immediately volunteered for duty with his fellow countrymen to expel the Russians from his homeland. Over the years, he slowly moved up through the rebel ranks until his promotion to his present position.
How could it end here? He thought to himself. I have survived numerous missions against the Russian devils, escaping each time to fight another day. Sirna Miliruid was not about to die lying in a hole, not like some animal giving birth. If he were going to die, it would like a man, and charging the devils in his quest to reach Allah.
Yes, Allah would welcome him with a huge feast.
Slowly he counted to three.
Captain Isinov ordered his men to stay concealed. He alone would approach the remaining fighter. Cautiously, he approached with-in grenade distance, a mere 10 meters from the rebel fighter’s position. He secretly admired the man for not immediately surrendering, also for finding the only defensible position in the immediate area.
Captain Isinov once again motioned for his troops to stay in their positions, still unsure if the rebel had any stragglers lurking behind him somewhere in the woods. Pulling a stun grenade from his web belt, he counted to three before tossing it into the rebel’s rock stronghold.
Sirna Miliruid rose up from his position, his AK-47 blazing away before a brilliant flash blinded him along with its accompanying explosion, his eardrums bursting in the same instant. The combination of both dropped him to his knees in searing pain as he wondered aloud if he were dead or alive, crying out to Allah for guidance.
Captain Isinov saw his victim incapacitated for the moment; he rushed the remaining ten meters to the rebels’ position, diving over the outcrop of rock and landing on top of Sirna. He wrestled with Sirna to place plastic handcuffs about his wrists, amazed at the physical strength the man displayed after the paralyzing blow of the stun grenade.
The captain’s fellow troops arrived in time to assist placing the cuffs on Sirna, helping to flip him over onto back, face-up.
Seeing the situation now under control, Captain Isinov efficiently deployed two of his troops 50 meters in opposite directions. He then ordered the remaining men to search the dead rebels for anything that might be of importance.
Turning back to face his new prisoner Captain Isinov removed a pack of American cigarettes from his pocket. He carefully lit the cigarette against the bitter wind that blew in from the west. He took his time inhaling before blowing smoke down into the young man’s face.
Sirna stared back defiantly.
“Where were you going comrade?” Captain Isinov said in a tone meant more for scolding a young child, not a seasoned warrior such as Sirna. “Were you walking to, or from your headquarters?” Pointing up the trail, then he motioned behind him.
Sirna Miliruid spit at Isinov’s fur boots, missing them by mere inches.
Captain Isinov looked down at the near miss and smiled as he took another long drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his mouth for a few seconds before again exhaling directly into Sirna’s face.
Sirna coughed in response.
Captain Isinov was well aware that devout Muslims refrained from smoking, a filthy vice he had picked up as a mercenary fighting in Angola many years before. He puffed rapidly on the cigarette, effectively allowing the ash on its edge to become as hot as possible before plunging the cigarette directly into Sirna’s forehead, directly above his right eye.
Sirna winced from the pain but did not struggle or turn away.
Captain Isinov was just warming up as he lifted his boot and brutally smashed it against Sirna’s face, breaking Sirna’s nose in two places, allowing blood to flow freely down his lips and chin before finally dripping down to the crisp white snow beneath him.
Sirna realized he was facing a long, painful death at the hands of this infidel, but in the end, he would be rewarded with Allah and his friends. He silently prayed as Captain Isinov brutally pulled him up to a standing position before striking him in his abdomen, causing him to double over from the blow.
Captain Isinov brutally shoved Sirna to the ground where his head struck a rock, knocking off his traditional head garb.
“Tell me the location of your headquarters complex, and I will allow you a quick and merciful death,” Captain Isinov demanded. He walked around Sirna, acting as if he were an animal circling his prey, preparing for a second strike. “You have my word as a Russian officer.”
Sirna tried to stand up, resembling a young colt struggling for its balance. Sirna moved to within a meter of Captain Isinov’s face.
“God is Great, Allah Akbar,” Sirna said, spitting blood on the Russians white, winter parka.
Captain Isinov shook his head in disbelief taking a drag from his cigarette. “I am trying to be as kind as possible. You are pushing me to my limits.” He pulled a ½ liter bottle of vodka from the inside lining of his parka. “Can you please tell me the location of your headquarters?” Captain Isinov said, his eyes never leaving Sirna’s. He raised the bottle to his lips to take a small sip before pouring the remaining contents of the bottle on Sirna’s outer clothing. He smiled as he then removed a lighter from his pocket.
Sirna knew what was coming next, closing his eyes in silent prayer.
“Captain, Captain Isinov,” came a cry from Corporal Tupol. “I think we have another live one.”
Captain Isinov placed his lighter back into his pocket, pointing at his prisoner in the same instant. “You have a temporary stay of execution enjoy the time while you can.” He turned to a soldier evaluating captured papers. “Private Krimiv come over here and stand guard over this man. If he so much as moves, you have my permission to smash his face in but don’t kill him,” leaning in close to Sirna’s left ear. “He’s mine.”
Captain Isinov walked to where Corporal Tupol stood over a mangled, legless body, careful not to slip in the blood trail that flowed in both directions. “What is it Corporal? What is so important that you drag me away from my interrogation?” Captain Isinov looked down in pity at the rebel, clearly in delirium from the combination of shock with the loss of his legs.
“He keeps mumbling something about his brother and the end of the war will soon be coming,” the Corporal said, kicking the body to have him repeat the words. “Say it again comrade before you pass on to your God, tell me more about the end of the war. What do you know?”
Rufa Miliruid lay in a state of delirium, passing in and out of consciousness as he lay in the fresh bed of snow looking up at the two figures clad in white standing over him. Maybe the Christians are right, angels do exist! Thinking for a moment he must be dead, for he felt no pain.
Rufa suddenly screamed deliriously: “Find my brother; he is the Commander of our unit! I need to say goodbye to him one last time. He has to fulfill the mission for us. We must end the war victorious.”
Captain Isinov looked over to where he had left his prisoner in the hands of Private Krimiv, signaling for him to come over. “Private, bring the prisoner over here with you and hurry we don’t have much time.”
Captain Isinov removed his field pack, unclipping his medical kit, extracting a needle containing morphine. He tapped it a few times with his forefinger shooting a small dose into the air before jabbing it into the legless rebels arm. He hoped the morphine would extend the man’s life long enough to obtain additional information. The morphine might also loosen his tongue.