The Enemies

Swan Song

Oden

The grey tent has a metal table with two chairs. Melting into the darkness, the dim light comes only from a dying lamp above us. Cartright sits in front of me, chewing on a piece of chocolate. Stolen somewhere in Karm. I watch him. Patiently. It's been several hours after I admired the brainless body of Major Monrow hit the wooden floor of an exceptionally cheerful D80 tent. I added a slight shade of crimson to one of the orange quilts. I still remember the dumbfounded faces of the guards that came rushing seconds later.

'You were going to execute him anyway. I just speed forwarded the inevitable.'

I start the conversation, my lips barely move. I almost tremble of ill-content fury. Why would I do that? I had no intention to kill him.

'Are you out of your mind, Major? I could expect things like that from a Karmian. Not from a well-regarded officer like yourself. This was insubordination.'

'What did you expect from me? The bastard wanted to kill me. I held a grudge.'

Cartright takes another piece of chocolate and I imagine how I shove the barrel of my gun into his mouth together with it. He hates Karmians, alright. I hate them too. But he is completely fine with eating their food while I would be scrubbing the Karmian dirt from my body for weeks when I am back to Ovtorn.

'Did he tell you something?' he finally asks after he swallows. His shirt is white, not grey-white like the melting snow around us. It is blindingly white. As new. Ironed, too. His blue army jacket is clean and has a scent of expensive detergent. The onset of the wind makes the material of the tent shiver and lamp sways from side to side.

The eerie feeling starts spreading through my veins like venom.

'He told me Flint will leave the country in a short while. But he didn't have the slightest idea where she could go.'

'Well. It's good I know where she will be until she leaves the country.'

I tense, putting my arms on the table.

'You do?'

'Yes. Sunbright, 8 in the morning. The day after tomorrow. Council ordered you to do the job. Just to make sure she is dead. You take two of your men as a precaution.'

'Such an honor,' I tell him, settling back on my chair.

I fidget uncomfortably as wind rages outsides. It hits the tent over and over again, making me feel a little paranoid.

'Candreds are regarded highly in the army. The council is sorry for your loss.'

I bet they are. Intelligence loves personal. They are eager to use an officer who lost someone close. The council views the loss as a motivation, which is highly unethical and immoral.

Another piece of chocolate. Another onset of wind. The lamp screeches with an unpleasant noise and I rub my face with my hands.

'Intelligence does not have much to work with. The opportunity is slim to none. We are not even sure how many people will be there.'

'Fine.'

'You will take M50s.'

Taken aback, I stare at him.

'What?'

'You heard me.'

'So Council decided to make A9 from hitmen into the torturers?'

'It'd prefer to call it payback.'

Lightweight, fast and silent, QM50 riffles would be considered good weapons, if only for the bullets. They are made of harsh material that brutally collides with the human body. But I will not miss. The shot will be clean and precise. The death will be quick. She will not feel a thing. It is Rhea, who enjoys inflicting pain. Not me. Not even after what she has done to my nation. Not to her.

'Don't screw it, Major. Otherwise, your record will no longer be spotless and your future in Drellian forces will no longer be promising.'

Cartright smiles at me good-naturedly.

I stand up, still in my old army jacket.

'What future, Cartright? We all will clean the shit from Karmian boots after this is over. Drellians who took over Karm are now in rags. And Council will try them on quite soon as well.'

His smile fades, replaced by the look of honest dismay. I walk out without giving him a chance to reply. The pride is still in us, though we will die of starvation. We will pay for this war a very high price.

I make my way back to the medical tent and devote the rest of the day to planning. I scan the map inspecting the buildings we could use and discover the one that might work. To examine it from different angles, I check the schemes, turning the drawing around on my communicator. Ozias and Brat will be the ones for the mission. Apart from me.

One sky jet. Three men. We land on the outskirts at midnight, get to the location and wait. The building will be empty and when they arrive, we will already be there. The airforces will partially secure our flight. Brat is a good pilot. We might have a chance to get through to Sunbright with him.

We will be on the Karmian territory without back up or support. But we'll manage.

All night the wind relentlessly assaults the tent, the moans and cries of the wounded mix with the hissing sound from outside. And I catch myself thinking that I may have ended up in hell.

Sometime during the unbearable mayhem, I take out the Karmian communicator. I doubt I could trace her with it. Could she trace me though? It is probably a bad idea keeping it.

One of her questions still gnaws at me.

Will the result be worth the cost? And like last time, I do not know the answer to that.

The battle of Moneree moved into my head and would never end.