The trucks turned sharply into a narrow street with tall brick buildings. Pandi announced: “We’re here, men.” Pedestrians turned away, shielding their eyes from the dazzling headlights. One truck stopped, and a long telescopic antenna shot up above the cab.
“All out!” barked the leaders of the Second and Third Platoons. The legionnaires hopped out.
“First Platoon, stay where you are!” ordered Guy.
Pandi and Maxim, about to jump out, sat down again.
“Fall into threes!” yelled the corporals on the sidewalk. “Second Platoon, forward! Third Platoon, follow. Forward, march!”
Hobnailed boots thundered along the pavement, and someone shrieked ecstatically: “Long live the Fighting Legion!”
“Hurrah!” shouted the pale-faced figures who had pressed against the wall to clear the way for the men. The pedestrians were used to legionnaires.
Candidate Zoiza, on Maxim’s right, was still a kid. The lanky youngster, with yellowish fuzz on his cheeks, poked Maxim in the ribs with his sharp elbow and smiled happily. Maxim smiled back. The other platoons had already vanished through the entrances; only the corporals, standing staunchly at the doors with impassive faces, remained behind. The door of a truck cab slammed and Captain Chachu barked: “First Platoon, out of the trucks and fall in!”
Maxim leaped over the side. When the platoon was lined up, the captain, with a wave of his hand, stopped Guy, who was running over to report. Then he planted himself in front of the formation.
“Put on your helmets!”
The regular privates had expected this command, but the candidates were slow to respond. The captain waited impatiently for Zoiza to adjust his chin strap. Then he shouted: “Right turn” and “Forward, on the double.” He ran in front of them, waving his crippled hand, leading the platoon through a dark archway and into a narrow courtyard. Then he turned under another archway, just as gloomy and foul, and halted before a chipped door.
“Attention!” he barked. “The first team and Candidate Sim will follow me. The rest of you stay here. Corporal Gaal, when I whistle, send another team up to me on the fourth floor. Don’t let anyone out. Take them alive. Shoot only when absolutely necessary. First team and Candidate Sim, follow me!”
He pushed the door open and disappeared. Maxim passed Pandi and followed the captain. Behind the door was a dimly lit, steep stone staircase with steel handrails. Taking three steps at a time, the captain dashed upstairs. Maxim caught up with him and saw the pistol in his hand. On the run, Maxim slipped the gun from around his neck. For an instant he felt sick at the thought of having to shoot people. Then, remembering that these weren’t people, just animals, he felt relieved. The repulsive slime beneath his feet, the bleary light, the spit-spattered walls, all served to confirm his conclusion.
Second floor. Kitchen odors. The terrified face of an old woman showed through the slit of a slightly opened door. A half-crazed cat leaped from under Maxim’s feet with a loud meow. Third floor. Some blockhead had left a bucket of slop in the middle of the landing. The captain knocked it over and the slop flew into the stairwell. “Massaraksh!” roared Pandi from below. “Out of the way. Downstairs!” barked the captain at a couple embracing in a dark corner. Fourth floor. An ugly brown door. A scratched tin plaque: “Hobbi, Dentist. No appointment necessary.” A drawn-out cry behind the door. The captain stopped and grunted: “Locked!” Sweat rolled down his dark face. Maxim didn’t understand. Pandi ran up, pushed him aside, aimed his gun at the door, below the doorknob, and released a burst of machine-gun fire. Sparks and pieces of wood flew through the air. Instantly, shots rang out from behind the door, through a prolonged scream. More chips started flying. Something hot and solid whizzed over Maxim’s head. The captain flung open the door.
The room was dark; yellow flashes illuminated puffs of smoke. “After me!” yelled the captain, and he dove headfirst toward the flashes. Maxim and Pandi tore after him. A hall—stuffy heat, powder smoke. Danger on the left. Maxim threw out his hand, caught a hot muzzle, jerked the weapon away. Someone’s dislocated joints crunched softly but distinctly, and a large soft body stiffened as it fell. Ahead, in the smoke, the captain barked: “Don’t shoot. Take them alive!” Maxim threw down his gun and rushed into a lighted room. It was filled with books and pictures, and there was no one to shoot. Two men were writhing on the floor. One was screaming. A woman lay unconscious in an easy chair, head flung back. Pale, almost transparent. The captain stood over the screaming man, looked around, jammed his pistol into his holster. Pandi gave Maxim a powerful shove and burst into the room. Behind him were legionnaires, dragging the stocky body of the man who had been shooting.
Sweaty and excited. Candidate Zoiza handed Maxim his abandoned gun. The captain turned his frightening, dark face toward them. “Where’s the other one?” he snarled, and instantly a blue curtain fell and a lanky man in a stained white smock jumped from the window ledge and headed straight for the captain. Slowly he raised two enormous pistols to eye level. His eyes were glassy with pain. Zoiza screamed.
Maxim was standing sideways and didn’t have time to turn. He sprang as hard as he could, but the man managed to pull the trigger once. Face singed, choking from powder fumes, Maxim grabbed his wrists and the pistols clanked to the floor. The man fell to his knees, and his neck went limp. When Maxim released him, he collapsed to the floor.
“Well, well, well,” said the captain. “Set this one over here,” he ordered Pandi. “And you,” he said to pale, perspiring Zoiza. “Run downstairs and tell the platoon leaders where I am. Have them report what they’ve done.” Zoiza clicked his heels and rushed toward the door. “And tell Gaal to come up here... Stop yelling, you scum!” he shouted at the man groaning on the floor and kicked him lightly in the side with the toe of his boot. “Useless. No-good trash. Search them!” he ordered Pandi. “Line them up. Right here, on the floor. That woman, too.”
Maxim went over to the woman, picked her up gently, and carried her to the bed. He was confused and disturbed. This wasn’t the sort of thing he had expected.
“Candidate Sim!” barked the captain. “I said on the floor!” He looked at Maxim with his unnaturally transparent eyes; his lips twitched almost convulsively. Maxim decided that it was not for him to prescribe what was right or wrong. He was still a stranger in this country; he had yet to learn what they chose to love or hate. He lifted the woman and placed her on the floor next to the stocky man who had been firing in the hall. Pandi and another legionnaire turned the prisoners’ pockets inside out. All five were unconscious.
The captain sat down in the easy chair, threw his cap on the table, lit a cigarette, and beckoned to Maxim. Maxim clicked his heels smartly and went over to him.
“Why did you throw down your gun?” the captain asked in a low voice.
“You ordered us not to shoot.”
“Sir.”
“Yes, sir. You ordered us not to shoot, sir.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed as he blew a stream of smoke toward the ceiling.
“If I had ordered you to stop talking, I suppose you would have bitten off your tongue, eh?”
Maxim remained silent. This exchange irritated him, but he remembered Guy’s instructions.
“What does your father do?”
“He is a scientist, sir.”
“Is he alive?”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain looked hard at Maxim.
“Where is he?”
Maxim realized what he had blurted out. Now he would have to extricate himself.
“I don’t know, sir. Rather, I don’t remember, sir.”
“But you remembered that he was a scientist. What else do you remember?”
“I don’t know, sir. I remember many things, but Corporal Gaal believes that my memory is deceptive.”