“The Stalkers are dead.”
“Leave that gung-ho bullshit for a second,” the blue-eyed warrior says. “I’m not sure it’s the scavengers behind the attacks.”
“Those bastards this morning certainly were, Joe.”
“Why would they attack our patrols?” asks the Lieutenant with the shaven skull. “Stalkers might be unthankful scoundrels but it just doesn’t add up. They know we can crush them easily. Why would they provoke us?”
“The big man’s right, José,” Collins says, scrubbing his stubble as if his hand was itching. “If it had been two, three uncoordinated attacks, I’d also say it were some renegades doing crazy shit on their own. But that ain’t the case.”
“Dunno,” Bauer says staring at his cigarette. “I’m with you about us being overstretched, Joe. The whole thing sounds to me like a good idea executed at the wrong time.”
“That’s right, but would you tell this to the big man?”
“The only man who could talk the Colonel out of this is the Top, and only heaven knows when he will be back. Damn!”
“Maybe Tarasov could reason with the Stalkers,” says Ramirez.
“It’s not about reasoning with the scavengers, José. It’s about killing them as a training exercise.”
“And all this mess just when both of them are away!”
“Look at the bright side,” Bauer says tossing his cigarette into the wind. “The plan is good. We take Ghorband first — that place had been a thorn in our flesh long enough. Shouldn’t be a problem. Then we wait. Maybe even the big man suspects that there’s more to these attacks than meets the eye.”
“Good point, Charlie. Too bad I won’t be seeing any of that. If I get the same shitstorm upon my head in the southern passage like the Stalkers got at Bagram, it’s anyone’s guess how long I can hold on with everyone else gone east.”
“Till death, or so it’s expected.”
“Hopefully the ragheads’ deaths.”
“Don’t worry, José. I’ll be in the Alamo. Just drop me a line if you can’t handle the situation.”
“Don’t get too bored back here, huh.”
“I won’t. Gonna be flirting with Saria and busily praying for you for my conscience’s sake.”
“If you approach my woman you’ll need to pray for your dick’s sake. Saria is all fire and brimstone, hermano!”
All three laugh. José Ramirez eventually heaves a sigh of concern. “This will be tough and I got the shittiest mission like always. Why, God why? Anyway, the big man has spoken and we follow. The Spirit be with us.”
“It will be,” Collins says. “Let’s get ready to kick ass.”
The three Lieutenants make fists and bump each other with their knuckles.
13
Standing with his back to the wall with a cigarette in mouth, Sergeant Major Hartman appears like any ordinary guest who would enjoy a smoke on the veranda overlooking the courtyard, escaping his uninspired room.
He stares at the pool in the courtyard and slowly shakes his head. It is vacant at this late hour but the water is still illuminated by lamps below. To him who calls a desert fortress his home the sight of so much pure water, used for nothing, is an incredible waste of one of the most precious resources.
The room door opens and Tarasov appears. “Mind if I join you, Top?”
“Hell no,” Hartman says and kills his cigarette in an ashtray.
“I’m worried about the boy,” Tarasov says.
“Giving him lots of water and cigarettes is all we can do. He’s going cold turkey.”
“Meaning?”
“Ain’t no time for rehab. He either manages to live without that shit or I don’t wanna know his other option.”
“What worries me is that the kid might be a walking virus container—HIV, hepatitis and who knows what else he could’ve infected himself with.”
“He’s all FUBAR,” nods Hartman. “That’s why we brought Nooria along. She should know how to deal with things beyond any doctor’s science.”
Tarasov sighs. “All we can do is to wait. The first few days are the worst during drug deprivation.”
“Your folks back in Ukraine, they too got a drug issue?”
“You’ve got no idea. One day I caught a few of my rookie soldiers preparing stuff from painkillers, iodine and lighter fluid. They called it Krokodil. A very cheap substitute for heroin. Invented by Russians, of course. When I asked the medics about it, they were looking at me as if I came from the moon. Turned out that in the Big Land even school kids use that shit.”
“Looks like your country too could use a big and thorough clean-up.”
“Which place on earth doesn’t, nowadays? Anyway, about Pete… when we bring him back to the Colonel, what then?”
“He will probably take the kid down to the Spirit to make a real warrior out of him.”
“What? I thought I had bound it with Nooria’s stone! You know, the last gem from the big Buddha statue’s crown or whatever it was!”
“See this wall? The rain has stopped an hour ago but it’s still moist. Same with the City of Screams — the worst might be over but the Spirit’s power still lingers around.”
“I don’t understand. I blew the tunnels leading to those cursed catacombs. How could anyone get in there now?”
“There’s a passage from the northern side of the hill. Only the Colonel, I and Driscoll know about it. Nooria too, of course.”
“Gospodi…”
“Come again?”
“Oh my God. Anyway—now that you mentioned Driscoll, what’s the matter with him? I’ve never met a crueler man.”
“He has been difficult to deal with even before we met the Spirit. Driscoll was the first to enter that chamber and probably got the most of it. If he hadn’t been a brainwashed jarhead like that worthless little junkie called my Marines, he would have gone mad. But our discipline… it goes into one’s nervous system. And into that of our enemies’ too, because they get very nervous when we come for them.”
“What was his problem?”
“It’s a sad story. Maybe I’ll tell you another time. Anyhow, the man has a death wish, just can’t make up his mind what death he wishes for more—his own or that of our enemies. The only death he wants to avoid is that from the Colonel’s hands. It would mean the big man has lost his trust in him for whatever reason, and the Colonel’s trust is all Driscoll has. Many more of us, too. I’d say, if the Colonel was the Godfather, Driscoll would be Luca Brasi.”
“Krestniy Otets. I know that film,” Tarasov smiles. “And who would you be?”
“Something between Clemenza and a consigliere. I mean the Abbandando sort, not that pussy Tom Hagen with his queer hairdo. Before you ask—you could make a good Albert Neri. Pete would be Fredo, as I see him now. Glad you know that movie. It’s outstanding, simply outstanding.”
“Pete might have a Michael Corleone in his heart. He’s got his father’s blood after all.”
“Right now anything useful in him is hidden under thick layers of shit. We’ll peel that off, though, with a KA-BAR knife if necessary.”
“Part of it will be to clear up at least part of the truth about his father.”
“I doubt it will make any difference.”
“It will, for him.”
“Maybe. The truth about his father alone will not make him a better man. What if it does, anyway? Soon we’ll be back to the Alamo and everything will go on as it always does, who knows how long and where it will take us.”