There were ten tanks in all, and I wondered why they felt that so many were necessary. It was probably because they weren’t needed anywhere else any more. And a radio station would be a perfect place to stage a show of force.
The crowd parted in front of the tanks as they advanced in single file toward the gate. Thousands of people were on hand to watch, many with tears in their eyes. Some revolutionary banners were waved, but in a halfhearted fashion. Somehow, we had moved so that we were right in front of the main gate, and the tanks would pass right in front of us. I covered my ears as they approached: the noise of their engines alone was enough for me.
They bellowed forward, enormous and invincible. I reflected with pity on the idealism of the Thusbamannan people who thought they would have something powerful enough to stop those tanks.
The leading tank was approaching, and began accelerating to smash through the barricade. The noise of the engine was deafening even with my ears covered. This is it, I thought sadly. This is where it ends.
I saw a quick movement beside me, and Anya slipped out of the crowd. Before we knew what was happening, she was standing alone in front of the gate. Marina gave a cry of terror and tried to dart out to Anya, but Chantlo held her back.
The tank was accelerating loudly, and the driver was as taken by surprise as the crowd. It jerked sharply—the engine sputtered—and it screeched to a halt only six feet from the girl.
There was a dead silence for a moment, broken only by Marina’s sobs.
The tank gunned its engine: a challenging bellow that echoed and reechoed off of the surrounding buildings.
Anya looked up at the tank without a single trace of fear. She held the little bouquet of daffodils just below her throat, and she gazed steadily at the tank, her scarred face looking slightly distorted, but totally devoid of fear.
The tank lurched forward, and jerked to a stop only two feet from her. I stood rooted to the pavement. Oh God, oh God, oh God, I thought feverishly as I watched, transfixed in terror. Oh God, the poor little girl!
The tank activated a siren, almost rupturing my eardrums. I bent over halfway, trying to cover my ears, trying to shut out the noise.
Anya didn’t even flinch. She just looked calmly up at the tank as it towered above her.
The tank jerked into reverse, and backed up ten feet or so. Then its two machine gun turrets ratcheted downward and to the center, both homing in on the girl.
Anya lifted her bouquet of daffodils, as if offering them to the machine guns.
There was a deathly silence.
Marina tore herself from Chantlo’s grasp. She rushed to her daughter, and threw her arms around her from the side. Then, instead of trying to drag her away, she turned her head and looked up at the tank, tears flowing down her face.
“Will you shoot your children?” she cried. “Will you shoot your mothers?”
The tank loomed ominously above them. Then, finally, the machine guns swiveled away and pointed at the sky.
The cheer from the crowd began more as a gasp, but grew in size and volume into a roar. It crescendoed as the door on the top of the tank opened, and an army officer climbed out. He jumped down from the tank, walked into the crowd, and said something I couldn’t hear. The crowd near him cheered even louder, and he took a revolutionary banner from someone. He walked back to the tank, and draped it across the turret, and the crowd screamed and cheered, and I thought I would yell my throat out.
He walked up to Anya and Marina. Marina was still sobbing, now with relief, but Anya remained cool and collected. She smiled at the officer, and offered him a flower from her bouquet. When he took it, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek.
The officer leaped back up onto his tank, and shouted something down inside. The tank turned around and took the lead again as it headed back into the city. The other tanks followed, with people throwing revolutionary banners up to the crews, who draped them over the turrets. The crowd, thousands strong, accompanied the tanks, singing and cheering as they went. I watched them go, and it seemed like every side street disgorged a hundred more people who joined the crowd.
Anya stood still, with an exalted glow on her face. We surrounded her, all quietly crying, hugging and kissing her. We didn’t move until we were disturbed by a rattle of small-arms fire in the distance. It was quickly answered by the heavier sound of a tank’s machine gun.
Chantlo disengaged himself from the little group. “This city is yet a dangerous place,” he said. “We must find the American embassy quickly.”
We hurried through the city streets, sometimes struggling through crowds of people, sometimes finding the area eerily deserted. Troop trucks and tanks passed us occasionally, many with revolutionary banners draped across them. We heard sustained gunfire in many areas, although we managed to avoid being in the vicinity.
Long after I was completely exhausted, we reached the American embassy gates. There was a contingent of Marines inside the walls, armed and on alert. I hurried up to the guard.
“I’m an American,” I said quickly. “These are my friends. I need to get inside.”
He looked at me with startled recognition. “You’re the lady from CNN! The one that caused all the trouble!”
“What?” I asked, startled.
“The ambassador wants to talk to you! Get inside, quick!”
“Whattaya mean, ‘caused all the trouble’?!”
“Come on.” He grabbed my hand, and dragged me after him. Another Marine stepped forward to take his place at the gate, allowing Chantlo, Marina and Anya to follow me uncertainly.
The American embassy in Thusbammanna wasn’t all that big, but I was so tired that it seemed like a long trek before we were allowed to collapse into cushy chairs in the ambassador’s outer lobby. Seconds later, I was called into the ambassador’s office. I paused before going in, looking at the armed Marine hovering menacingly over my compatriots.
“You saw me on CNN?” I asked him.
He nodded.
I indicated Anya. “This is the girl I was carrying. The woman next to her is her mother. And this man,” I indicated Chantlo, “is the man who found us and saved our lives. Be nice to them.”
He grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
I went inside, and was presented to the American ambassador. She looked like she hadn’t slept for awhile, but her gaze was piercing as she looked at me. “So,” she said, “you’re the woman who started a revolution.”
“What? How?” How could she have known about my hacking into the Thusbammannan computer server?
“That clip of you on CNN really stirred things up in the States,” she informed me. “It galvanized public support, and got the government involved. What was it you said: ‘you can drop the fucking camera and help the wounded people’? Something like that?”
“I really don’t remember,” I said truthfully. “I was in bad shape.”
“So it appeared. I have to say that I’m surprised to see you still alive, considering how bad you looked on the news.”
“That’s what I’m here about,” I said urgently. “My family sent a telegram. They ’re terribly worried about me. I need to contact them and tell them I’m OK.”
“That can be arranged,” she said. “But more to the point, you’re going to be leaving for the States in a few hours.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. We want yo u out of this country as soon as possible. You have, unwittingly, sparked something chaotic and violent in Thusbammanna. It serves neither your interests, nor the interests of the United States, to keep you here. You’ll be driven to the US airbase and shown onto a transport plane in a few hours.”
“Thanks,” I said gratefully, “but if I can just contact my family, I don’t need to leave right away. I’d like to see this thing through.”