Рами Юдовин – Wind in the Hands (страница 2)

“Is it so?” he was both surprised and anxious.  “Let’s check once again.”

The result was the same, and his finger stopped at the same spot. He recollected a computer game, where a hero had overcome many barriers, left the tunnel, a collapse occurred directly behind his back, and he had to move forward to ominous monsters.

“It is high time,” he thought, looking in the mirror. “And nothing has changed but the heart is worried. I have been waiting for this time to come, and now everything is as it has always been before!”

The point, where his finger happened to be by will of fate (or game of luck), was the place for disarmament of mobile rebel gangs. There were checkpoints, mobile patrol units, and military observers in the area.

He was quizzically watching the map when there was a memory flash, bringing out the last year’s newspaper article, which described how an army pathfinder found a mobile-triggered powerful bomb in the road ditch. The explosive was in a hard case camouflaged as a stone slab. Its form and color made it identical to many stones scattered near a death weapon. Its finding prevented a powerful explosion, cynically triggered at a school bus, touring historical places.

The Stranger understood whom he needed and was getting ready to embark on his journey. Leaving his home, he glanced at shabby walls of the building, his window with a heavy curtain, indifferently shrugged his shoulders, and strolled to the bus stop.

Chapter 2. The Soldier

Since early morning the Soldier had taken his position and was sure that he would see unwelcome “guests” soon. He had been in the ambush for three hours when he suddenly felt that an object was nearing. He blinked, making his tense eyes comfortable, and closed his eyelids for several seconds. His finger smoothly touched the trigger. Less than ten minutes later, a traveler appeared from behind the hill. He did not have a gun or a bag but was wearing a tight sleeveless T-shirt. “Nothing on him,” the Soldier thought. “But he is neither a farmer, nor a worker. He has a fighter gait: he is looking around and peering. No doubt, he is a warrior but I cannot shoot, he is not the main aim. I need to wait not to frighten off others. Still, they will show up soon, nearly close, and the first one here is a dummy, their scout, a straw. A cheap trick.”

Much time elapsed but “guests” did not appear. Strange, could there be mistaken? He doubted if his decision was correct: maybe he should have liquidated the terrorist. The Soldier lived by simple principles as any other warrior would: if I did not destroy my enemy, they would destroy me, my dear ones, children, women, and innocent people. He never said ‘killed’. ‘Liquidated’, ‘destroyed’, sometimes ‘wiped off’; these words seemed to confirm the need of physical extermination of enemies.

The value in a war is not only cunning or valor. It is also ruthlessness to your enemy. You differentiate between your people and others, friends and enemies. People who do not know each other join their efforts and are willing to sacrifice themselves to save their comrades whom in the peacetime they would hardly lend money to. The Soldier thought that the war revealed the best qualities in humans, meaning self-sacrifice, which conflicted with the strongest instinct of survival. Still, we should not forget the pressure of society, which sometimes pushes people to sacrifice their life to benefit humankind. Others spew their accumulated aggression and hatred. Sadistic inclinations and cruelty, hidden deep down, are easily vented in a battle. Some people break in extreme situations, and others grow stronger.

The Soldier could tell a real danger from the assumed one. His feelings never failed him, although he had contributed much effort and had bitter experience when he was trying to tell that difference. Despite the nature of his work, he believed in God in his own way. Before each business trip or after a battle, he visited the sanctuary, listened to religious singing, and always donated to church. That helped the Soldier to find an inner balance for at least a short time. Unlike his colleagues he did not get drunk, did not take drugs, trying to relieve stress. But still he felt that burden deep down in his soul which even grew heavier. And yesterday, while in church, he promised to quit his job, retire, and move somewhere to live in the quiet.

A mobile phone vibrated. The Soldier took it out from the coat sleeve fast and read an encoded message saying “Leave immediately. Cleaning pending.” The area will be searched and cleaned. The specified area will be cordoned off and searched for all suspicious persons. “Thank you for warning”, but it was not dark yet, and it was hard to move unnoticed. You could encounter rebels or, still worse, fire of the cleaners, shooting from all directions at all who look suspicious or just didn’t like.

A cleaning operation implies the use of the so-called ‘fifty’ device which scans the area and responds to living objects. Camouflage is of no avail in this case. If cleaners see him holding a gun, they will never investigate and just start fire without warning. Nobody will risk and act slowly: an armed person is a danger. It is a reflex with an index finger, bending and unbending on the trigger.

Cleaners are contract soldiers who carry out the dirtiest work. Battle is their elements where they can slop their aggression and instead of being punished, receive gratitude. Usually they cover their face with a scarf or a mask not to be seen. There were many complaints against cleaners but legal proceedings were never started as it was hard to find witnesses to testify against their comrades or ‘masks’. A legal action was taken only when the suffering party presented a video or in case of a favorable public opinion.

The Soldier was against cleaning operations as they resulted in the death of innocent people. Thus, cleaners who took a drill for a gun in the dark killed a young electrician, a father of three kids. After he had learnt about that, the Soldier challenged the reason of war, which entailed suffering of the civilian population. Can kind deeds be evil, although unintentionally or by mistake? Why are professional soldiers, who would never kill an electrician, unmistakably see fighters, and destroy them, mobilized for liquidation so rarely? The Soldier was the master of surgical strikes and was confident that his work did not require an excuse as he was wiping killers off the Earth. When he saw innocent victims of fighters, beautiful women and strong men torn to pieces by explosions, or slaughtered babies, he stopped to doubt and was ready to shoot all those who were connected with rebels: militants with guns and explosives or ideologists inciting killing. The Soldier considered himself a hunter for wolves that were ruthless to sheep…

Chapter 3. Meeting

The Soldier hid his shoulder arm. It was much safer to go unarmed in that case not to raise any suspicion. He took out earlier prepared clothes from his bag, changed and then looked like a pilgrim on a tour around famous sights. Warriors lower their arms when they see such weirdoes, joke and insult them but never shoot.

Slowly and carefully, and slightly clumsily the Soldier was going down the steep mountain. Having walked about three hundred steps along the path towards the nearest settlement, he saw a man approaching him. He carefully looked around trying to understand where to run in case of shooting but did not feel danger. He inhaled and exhaled slowly and listened to his feelings again: “Definitely no danger. Who dares walk here? People warned of a cleaning operation do not leave their settlement.”

When they met, the travelers glanced at each other. The Soldier seemed to feel that the yearning, which was with him all the time, was evaporating without any church singing. He wanted to speak with the stranger who spoke first.

“Be in peace. I am glad I’ve found you. It was not easy.”

He was wearing simple comfortable clothes, had a beard and long hair but did not look like a rebel and spoke without any perceptible accent typical to local residents.

“Who are you?” the Soldier asked the man who was penetrating him with his kind and slightly ironical eyes.

“I am your friend.”

The Soldier felt the traveler’s geniality.

Have you seen a couple of people with bags or sacks nearby?

“Yes, I have seen them and spoken with them and warned them of a deadly peril.”

“Do you know them?” the Soldier grew suspicious.

“No more than you,” a Stranger answered calmly.

“Then why have you helped them?” the Soldier ground his teeth.  “They are killers, enemies. How do you know?” he checked himself. “Who are you?”

“They have not killed anyone, but you killed a lot.”

“They are killers,” the Soldier reiterated stubbornly, but suddenly under the changed glance of his companion, he felt limp and slightly dizzy.

“You don’t know how killers are made. You can see only a small fragment of a large mosaic and not the big picture. You are digging in earth looking for worms for your hook, but not catching large fish with a net. You have a talent but you are wasting it.”