Tarasov warily enters the tunnel. Pete, who is walking behind him on the rails, begins to croon.
“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine, I keep my eyes wide open all the time, I keep the ends out for the tie that binds, Because you’re mine, I walk the line…”
“Cut it!” Tarasov snaps at him.
“Sorry man. It just came to my mind, with us walking the line and keeping our eyes open.”
“Then just walk and look but don’t make noise, Pete. There might be mutants here keeping their ears open.”
35
“Cigarette?”
Ramirez gladly accepts the Lucky Strike offered by the Colonel. Drawing on it, he continues to tell the account of the lost battle.
“We were doing good but then the smiters came. Still, the fifties and automatic rifles would’ve given us the advantage but then… when I saw they were wielding machine guns, it was clear that all is lost.”
“What type of machine guns?”
“Russian-made heavies. I saw two with DShKs and maybe three with DPKs.”
“Jesus Christ.”
The Colonel, who had so far been listening to Ramirez’s account with sadness but no fear, now turns pale.
“They got us pinned down, crossed the creek and breached our defenses. The assaulting ragheads used them for tanks. The smiters’ fire wasn’t too accurate but one doesn’t need much accuracy with a hip-fired AA gun… in short, we had no chance. At least that’s how I see it, sir.”
“No, you didn’t,” the Colonel agrees. “Any suggestions?”
“The only good news is that Staff Sergeant Rush’s report can be confirmed — those bastards can take a heavy beating before they fall but appear to be vulnerable to fire. Heavy automatic weapons with incendiary rounds, flamethrowers, portable miniguns with incendiary rounds… maybe the witch can concoct something from a swag to coat our small-arms ammo. I had actually hoped she’d be back with the Top in the meantime.”
The Colonel exhales the smoke of his cigarette. “I made a mistake,” he slowly says. ”Before the recent trouble began, I let them go with Tarasov to the Zone in Ukraine. Let’s hope they find their way back soon.”
“We all wish Sergeant Major Hartman and Nooria were here now.”
“Indeed.”
“Until Nooria comes up with some witchcraft, Molotov cocktails could be useful too. Frankly, sir, those would be my choice against smiters and not rifles, not even the newest ones, should I ever face them again.” Ramirez holds his words for a heartbeat. “But then, I won’t.”
“You gave them your word of honor to return with my answer, and then be executed?”
“That’s correct, sir. They promised to let the dozen men return who they’ve captured.”
“How wicked of them. Well, if they want to martyr themselves en masse — so be it.”
“Will that be your answer, sir?”
“You will return, Lieutenant Ramirez, and show them that my warriors keep their word of honor. Just like anyone in the Tribe would.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Tell them that going to our knees is no part of our Code. That will be the answer of the Tribe. Are you ready to do this for us?”
“I am, sir.”
”Sometimes I regret that we have no medals and decorations, José.”
“I’ve had enough awards during old times,” Ramirez replies, referring to the period when they were still Marines. “I don’t care about those. I let Saria turn even the Bronze Star into a pendant. Looks better on her neck than on my chest—anyway, what counts is the privilege to have served with you, sir.”
“Nevertheless, there is something I can give you as a sign of my appreciation.” The Colonel takes an unopened box of cigarettes from his field table. “It’s my last pack. Enjoy as many as you can on your way back.”
“Thank you, sir. But… if you agree, sir, we could use their own weapons against them. I could put explosives on myself or hide a gun and…”
The big man interrupts Ramirez. “No, Lieutenant. This is not the way to do it. Besides, don’t forget about the POWs they have. But you can be sure as hell that we’ll get them soon enough.”
“I couldn’t hope for more.”
A moment of silence descends on the two men. Then Ramirez crushes his cigarette. ”Permission to leave, sir?”
“May the Spirit be with you, José. Thank you and Semper Fi.”
Rumor has spread fast and when the Colonel and Ramirez appear at the tower entrance, the off-duty fighters have already gathered to see what they would otherwise not believe.
“Form a line!” Lieutenant Bauer shouts. ”Ten-hut!”
The Colonel stands at the tower with his arms folded. Not as much as muscle stirs on Lieutenant Ramirez’s face as he walks down the line of his comrades.
Bauer looks at the Colonel who gives a slight nod. He, Nelson and the few senior warriors who had once fought as Marines and experienced the City of Screams together walk up to Ramirez. Handshakes are exchanged, accompanied by a few words of respect and encouragement.
“That’s awesome, brother,” Nelson says, “just awesome.”
“Don’t worry, José. We’ll kick their ass with your name written on our boots.”
“Be proud and strong, brother.”
“Hey! What the hell are you whining about?” Ramirez asks.
“You’re going to die, José,” Bauer replies.
Ramirez gives him a grim smile. “What’s so bad about dying, anyway? Come on, brother! You can’t deal out death if you’re not ready to accept your own.”
Bauer bows his head.
A woman appears; her colorful Hazara garbs fly in the wind as she runs down the alley from the living quarters to the fighters giving their farewells, screaming what sounds like horrible curses in the staccato of her hard-sounding language. Bauer and the Lieutenants respectfully step back — it is Saira. Toughness vanes from Ramirez’s face.
Amid tears, she throws herself into his arms. Ramirez holds her tight with his eyes closed, then pushes her away. Before Saria lets go of him, the Lieutenant feels her slip something heavy into his pocket.
Saira draws a curved blade from her belt and cuts a shallow wound in her own forehead. She touches the wound and draws her bloody fingers across her face.
“Badal!” she screams. “I will not wash my face until I revenge you! ”
Then she steps to the Lieutenants. “You! Warriors! You will be brothers of my own blood until we revenge him!” Standing on tiptoe to reach the tall warriors’ faces, she smears a little of her blood over their forehead. They let her and their stone-hard faces tell that they are more than willing to take revenge. Saira then falls on her knees, crying and throwing dust over her head.
Led by the Beghum, more women appear and drag the hysterically crying Saira away. The Beghum puts her hand against Saira’s forehead where blood is still trickling from the self-inflicted wound. The woman’s screams slowly calm down to a silent weep.
“Let me get this over with at last,” Ramirez coldly says. He salutes for a last time. “May your revenge come soon, my life,” he adds in a much lower voice. He gives the Colonel and his comrades a nod of farewell and steps out of the stronghold gate.
With Ramirez gone, all eyes are fixed on the Colonel.
“Let the courage of Lieutenant Ramirez be an example of what honor means in our Tribe,” he says loud enough so that everyone around can hear him. “Mark his words—only those ready to die themselves are worthy of dealing out death to others. We have always been ready but must be even more so now. Man the defenses!”