Chapter 28 chapter eight

There were no lights on the Starblind.It crouched in the gray darkness that seemed to be dawn, and only the stacked pine cones revealed in the dim outline suggested layers of decks and armaments stacked on top of each other.The swamp fog was between him and the ship's tower, and that part of the effect made it seem as if the dark figure had never been connected to land at all, but floated above it like some menacing dark cloud. He watched with weary eyes and stood on weary feet.So close to the city and the ships, he could smell the sea, and - on his nose so close to the concrete fortress - a sailor smell, acrid and bitter.He tried to recall the garden and the scent of the flowers in it, and sometimes every time a battle started to seem trivial and cruel and meaningless, but this time he couldn't conjure up the faint, interestingly strong fragrance of the memory, or Thinking of anything good from the garden (he did see the tanned hands on his sister's pale hips, the ridiculous little chair they had chosen to commit adultery...he also remembered the last time he saw the garden, the last time he was in the mansion with the chariot troop, he saw the chaos and devastation that Eltheomus had brought to the cradle in which they both grew up; The loathed summerhouse was last seen, and he fought the brutal memory with his vengeful deed; the chariot rocked beneath him, and the clearing already lit by fire was blindingly blazing, and his ears echoed There was a soundless sound, and the hut...was still there; the shell went straight through it, exploding somewhere in the woods behind him, and he wanted to cry and scream and tear the house to pieces with his own hands... But then he remembered the man sitting there and wondered what he was going to do with something like this, so he decided to laugh it off and ordered the gunners to aim at the topmost steps of the hut, and finally saw it blown up into the sky. Debris Landing around the chariot, throwing dirt, lumber, and torn straw bundles at him sparingly.)

The night outside the bunker was warm and oppressive. The heat of the day on the land was picked up by the weight of the clouds above and pressed to the ground, clinging to the skin of the earth like some kind of sweaty shirt.Maybe the wind had changed, because he thought he could smell grass and hay in the air, old aromas beginning to rot from the wind sweeping the prairies hundreds of kilometers inland until they were exhausted.He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the rough concrete wall of the bunker, under the long opening he used to look out; The metal sticks to the skin.

Sometimes all he wanted was for it to end, and it didn't really matter how it ended.Stopping is enough, simple, demanding and inviting, worth trading for almost anything.Then he thought of Dakens, who was imprisoned in the ship by Ilesiomos.He knew she didn't love their relatives anymore; it was just a fleeting and immature thing, something she'd gotten back at her family in adolescence out of imaginary neglect, protesting that they favored Livuetta over her.It might have seemed like love at the time, but he figured she'd know it wasn't now, too.He believed that Dakens was an involuntary hostage; many were caught off guard when Ilsiomo attacked the city, only because the speed of the attack trapped half the inhabitants, and Dakens was unfortunately caught trying to get out of the chaos at the airport; Ilesiomo sent agents to look for her.

So for her, he had to continue to fight, even though the hatred for Elsioma in his heart was almost worn out, and that hatred kept him fighting these past few years, but now that was gradually exhausted, worn out by the long war. The road is polished. How could Elsioma do this?Even if he still hadn't loved her (the beast declared Livuetta his real desire), how could he use her like another shell in the cavernous ammunition magazine of a battleship? And how should he respond?Taking Livretta against Elsiomo?Cruelty trying to achieve the same level of cunning? Livuetta had already blamed him, not Elsiomo for what had happened.What should he do?surrender?Swap sister for sister?Launch some kind of crazy, doomed rescue operation?Or simply launch an attack?

He tried to explain that success could only be ensured by a siege beforehand, but he argued so many times that he began to wonder if he was right at all. "Sir?" He turned around and looked at the dim figures of the commanders behind him. "What's the matter?" he scolded angrily. "Sir,"—it was Swells—"Sir, maybe we should retreat and go back to headquarters. Clouds are parting from the east, and it will be daylight soon... We can't be caught within range." "I know," he said.He looked out at the black silhouette of the Starblind and felt himself shudder, as if anticipating that the cannons would burst into flames and come straight at him.He put metal shutters over the concrete slits.It was very dark in the bunker for a moment, and then someone turned on the harsh yellow lights; they were all still standing there, blinking in the glare.

They left the bunker; the slender figure of the armored staff car waited in the night.Various attendants and junior officers jumped up and stood at attention, straightened their hats, saluted and opened the car door.He climbed into the car and sat on the fur-covered rear sofa, watching the other three commanders follow and sit in a row opposite.The doors of the armored car clanged shut; the car roared and moved, bumping over the uneven ground, back toward the forest, away from the black figure sitting behind it in the night. "Sir," Swales said, exchanging glances with the other two commanders. "I discussed with the other commanders—"

"You want to tell me we should attack; with bombs and shells until the Staplelinde is a flaming husk, and then a massive attack with soldier airdrops," he said, holding up a hand. "I know what you discussed, and I know... what decisions you think you're going to make. But I'm not interested in that." "Sir, we all know you're feeling the pinch of having your sister held hostage on board, but—" "It's totally irrelevant, Swales," he told another. "You're insulting me by implying that I would want to delay with that reason. My reasons are all valid military reasons, the most important of which is that the enemy has managed to create a fortress that is, at present, nearly indestructible. We Have to wait until the winter floods and let the fleet deal with the estuaries and waterways so they can attack the Staplelinde at the same level; it's just stupidity to send fighter planes to try to counter artillery."

"Sir," Swales said. "As much as we hate to disagree with you, we—" "Be quiet now, Commander Swales," he said dryly.The other party swallowed. "I have more to worry about than worrying about what nonsense is being exchanged between my senior officers for serious military planning, or, should I add, whether I should replace any of the senior officers." For a while the only sound was the distant rumble of the vehicle's engines.Swales looked startled; the other two commanders stared at the carpeted floor.Swales flushed brightly.He swallowed again.The rushing car bumped and jolted the four people behind it, as if to intensify the silence; They leaned towards him one after another.

"Sir, I'm ready from—" "Does this have to go on?" he grumbled, hoping to stop Swales. "You can't even lighten this little piece of my burden? All I ask is to do what you have to do. There is no difference; we will fight the enemy together, not fight among ourselves." "...from your staff, if you so wish," Swales continued. Now it seemed that not even the sound of the engine could penetrate the passenger compartment at all; there was a total silence—not just in the air, as if someone had said that winter was still half a year away.He really wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't show such weakness.He kept his eyes on the man directly opposite him.

"Sir, I have to tell you that I disagree with the path you're pursuing, and I'm not the only one. Trust me, sir; I and the other commanders love you as our country with all our hearts. But because of our love, We cannot tolerate you throwing away everything you defended, and all we believed was defending a bad decision." He saw Swales' hands clasped tightly, as if in prayer.No well-bred gentleman, he thought almost dreamily, would begin a sentence with such an unfortunate word "but"... "Trust me, sir, I hope I'm wrong. I and the other commanders have tried everything to accommodate your views, but we can't. Sir, if you still love any of your commanders, we beg you Think twice. Remove me, court-martial me, demote me, execute me, ban my name if you hear this and think it necessary, sir; please think again while you still have time .”

They sat stiffly as the car continued to hum across the road, turning corners now and then, dodging boxes left and right, and... while we all had to watch, he thought, sitting here in the faint yellow light like stiff dead men . "Stop," he heard himself say.His fingers had pressed the intercom button.The vehicle rumbled all the way, shifted gears and stopped.He opens the door.Swales' eyes were closed. "Get out," he told him. Swales suddenly looked like an old man who had been hit with a series of fists.He seemed to have shrunk and collapsed from within.A warm wind tried to close the door; he propped it with one hand. Swales bent forward and slowly got out of the car.He stood for a moment on the dark side of the road; the lights of the staff car swept across the man's face, and then he disappeared. Zarqawi locked the door. "Drive," he said to the driver. They stayed away from Dawn and the Starblind, fleeing before her guns could find and destroy them. They think they have won.Already in the spring they had more men, more materials, and especially more heavy artillery; the Staplelinde by the sea was a lurking threat but not a presence, short of making it effective The fuel for the attacking troops and fleet is almost closer to the burden.But Elciomo hauled the boat through dredged seasonal waterways, through ever-changing shores to dry dock, and they blew up extra space, somehow stuffed the boat in, closed the gates, pumped out the water and replaced it with irrigation. Concrete, otherwise those half-meter caliber cannons would have shaken the entire ship to pieces.They suspected that Ilsioma had used rubbish; he had made use of rubbish for his side of the fort. He almost thought it was funny. The Starblind isn't really indestructible (although it's really unsinkable now); it can be captured, but that's at great cost. And of course, since there was still room to breathe, and time to rearm, perhaps the ship and the ships, the troops around the city, might break out; that possibility was also discussed, and Elsiomos knew it well. But no matter what he thinks about it, no matter what path he takes to solve the problem, it always comes back to him.The men would listen to him; the commanders would, or he'd replace them; the politicians and the Church had his back and backed him for anything he did.He felt safe about it; it was as safe as any commander could ever feel.But what should he do? He had expected to inherit a well-trained peacekeeping force, illustrious and impressive, which would eventually be handed over to another young scion of the court on equally admirable terms, so that the traditions of honor and obedience and duty could live on. continue.But he found that the enemies against which his army was preparing to fight fiercely consisted mostly of his own countrymen, and was led by a man whom he had once considered a friend, almost a brother. So he had to give orders to kill his men, sometimes hundreds, if not thousands, knowing that they would almost certainly end up in death, just to capture some important point or objective, or to defend some key point. zone.And as always, whether he liked it or not, civilians had suffered; the very people they both claimed to defend made up perhaps the vast majority of the casualties in their bloody battles. He tried from the beginning to stop the war, he tried to negotiate, but neither side wanted peace that was not on their terms, and he had no real political power, so he had to fight.His success surprised him as much as it surprised others, perhaps at least not to Ilesiomus.But now on the brink of victory—maybe—he just didn't know what to do. And more than anything else, he wanted to save Dakens.He had seen too many dead men, too many withered eyes, too much blood blackened in the air and too many bodies blasted to pieces, to reconcile these ghostly truths with what they claimed to be fighting for, A hazy honor is linked to the notion of tradition.Only the well-being of a loved one was really worth fighting for at present; and that all seemed so real as to save his sanity.Responding to whatever interests millions of people have projected here would be putting too much of a load on him; he must admit by implication that he is at least partially responsible for the hundreds of thousands who have died, if no one else The same goes for being able to fight in a more human way. So he waited; he withdrew his commander and squadron leader, and waited for Elsioma to respond to his signal. The two commanders said nothing.He turned off the lights in the car, lifted the blackout curtain on the door, and looked at a dark forest, speeding past in the metallic darkness of the morning sky. They passed vague bunkers, dark ditches, motionless figures, stationary trucks, sinking tanks, taped windows, covered guns, raised poles, gray clearings, ruined houses, and cracks. open lampshades; all equipment outside the headquarters camp.He watched it all—as they approached the center, to the old castle that had been his residence in recent months, though unnamed—and wished that he would never have to stop, and could continue driving through morning, day, and again forever. It is night, into the trees that finally refuse to give in, toward the nothing, the unknown, the uninhabited—albeit in icy silence—securely at the lowest point of misery, obstinately content Things couldn't get any worse; he just wanted to keep going like this, never have to stop, make a decision that couldn't wait, which meant he could make mistakes that he would never forgive himself, and never be forgiven... When the car arrived at the castle courtyard, he stepped out of the car.Surrounded by his entourage, he strode into the great house that had once been the command headquarters of Ilesiomus. They pestered him with a hundred details of logistics, intelligence reports, engagements, small territorial gains or losses; pleas from civilians and foreign media everywhere.He drove them all away, leaving junior commanders to deal with them.He walked up the stairs from the stairs to the office in two steps, handed the coat and hat to the aide-de-camp, then shut himself in the dark study room, closed his eyes, leaned against the double doors with his back, his hands still clenched yellow Brass handle.This quiet, dark room was a relief. "Going out to look at the beast again, isn't it?" He was startled, and then recognized Livietta's voice.He saw her shadowy figure standing at the window.He relaxes. "Yes," he said. "Close the curtains." He turned on the light in the room. "What are you going to do next?" she said, approaching slowly, hands folded, dark hair curled up, troubled face. "I don't know," he admitted, going to the desk and sitting down.He buried his face in his hands and rubbed it. "what do you want me to do?" "Talk to him," she said, sitting at the corner of her desk, hands still folded.She wears a long dark robe and dark coat.She wore such gloomy attire these days. "He doesn't want to talk to me," he said, reclining in the ornate chair he knew the junior officers called his throne. "I couldn't get him to respond to me." "You must not have said the right thing," she said. "Then I don't know what to say," he said, closing his eyes again. "Why don't you come and write a message?" "You don't make me say what I want to say, or you make me say it and you don't take it." "We can't just lay down our arms, Lily, and I don't think there's any other way; he doesn't care." "You can meet him face to face; that should do the trick." "Xiaoli, when the first messenger we personally sent came back, everything was still on him, except the skin!" He screamed and yelled the last word, suddenly losing all patience and self-control.Livietta shivered, then walked away from the desk; she was sitting on a sofa with a decorative armrest, and her slender fingers touched the gold thread sewn on one armrest. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to yell." "She is our sister, Charedian. There must be something more we can do." He looked around the room as if looking for some new inspiration. "Lily; we've talked about this over and over again; won't you... can't I just finish it? Isn't that clear enough?" His hands slapped the table. "I've exhausted everything. I want to get her out as much as you do, but now that he has her, there's nothing I can do; the only way is to attack, and that could be her death." She shook her head. "What is the relationship between the two of you?" she asked. "Why don't you talk? How can you forget everything about us as children?" He shook his head, stood up from the table, turned to the wall lined with books behind him, glanced at hundreds of titles, but didn't really look at them. "Oh," he said wearily. "I haven't forgotten, Livuetta." Then he felt a terrible sadness, as if the scope of his feelings had been lost and only became real when someone admitted it. "I haven't forgotten anything." "There must be something you can do," she insisted. "Liveta, please believe me; there is none." "I believed you when you told me she was going to be all right," the woman said, looking down at the arm of the sofa, her long fingernails picking at the precious threads.Her mouth was drawn into a tight line. "You were sick then," he sighed. "What difference does that make?" "You might die!" he said.He went to the curtains and began to straighten them. "Livetta; I couldn't tell you then that they got Dakens. Scared—" "Scare the poor, weak woman," said Livuetta, shaking her head, still tugging at the gold thread on the arm of the sofa. "I'd rather you tell me that insulting nonsense before I learn the truth about my sister." "I'm just trying to do what's best for me," he told her, starting to walk towards her, then stopping and retreating to the corner of the table where she had been sitting. "I think so," she said succinctly. "I suppose the habit of taking responsibility comes from your exalted position. No doubt I am expected to show gratitude." "Xiao Li, please, do you have to—?" "What must it be?" She looked at him, her eyes sparkling. "Do I have to make your life difficult? Is that so?" "I hope so," he said slowly, trying to control himself. "It's just that you can try to... understand. We must now... be of one mind and support each other." "You're saying I have to support you, even if you don't support Dakens," Livuetta said. "Damn it, Lily!" he yelled. "I've tried my best! It's not just her, I have a lot of my people out there to worry about. All my subordinates, the civilians in the city, and even this whole damn country!" He stepped towards her and knelt in front of the armchair , put her hand on the same armrest where she picked up the silk thread with her slender nails. "Please; Livretta. I'm doing what I can. Help me in this matter. Support me. The other commanders want to attack; I'm the only one standing between Dakens and—" "Maybe you should attack," she said suddenly. "Maybe that's one thing he didn't expect." He shook his head. "He imprisoned him in a ship; we must destroy the city before we can take it." He looked into her eyes. "Even if she didn't die in the attack, would you believe he wouldn't have killed her?" "Yes," said Livretta. "I believe." He continued to look at her for a moment, sure that she would back off or at least look away, but she still looked directly back at him. "Okay," he said finally. "I can't take that risk." He sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head on the arm of the sofa. "There's...too much pressure on me." He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. "Liveta, haven't you thought about how I feel? Haven't you thought that I really care about Dakens' safety? You think that apart from the soldier they created, I'm no longer the brother you used to know ? Do you think I won't feel lonely when I have an army at my beck and call, and the idea of ​​aides-at-arms and junior officers obeying everything?" She stood up suddenly without touching him. "Yes," she said, looking down at him while he looked at the gold thread on the arm of the sofa. "You are lonely, I am lonely, Dakens is lonely, he is lonely, everyone is lonely!" She turned around quickly, her long skirt puffed up briefly, and walked out through the door.He heard the door slam, but stayed where he was, kneeling before the abandoned sofa like some rejected suitor.He pushed his little finger through a gold coil that Livrietta had ripped from the arm of the sofa, and kept pulling until it snapped. He got up slowly, walked to the window and passed through the curtains, looking at the gray dawn.People and machines move slowly through a blurry wisp of morning mist, a trail of ash like nature's own gauzy camouflage net. He envied those he could see.He's also sure that most of them envy him; he controls things, he has a soft bed, and he doesn't have to walk through the mud of a ditch, or kick his toes on rocks to stay awake on sentry duty...but he still envies them, Because they just do what they're told.And—he admitted to himself—he envied Elsioma. Many times, he thought it would be nice if he could be more like the other person.Ruthless treachery, impromptu cunning; he wanted it badly. He went back inside through the curtains, feeling guilty at the thought.He went to the desk and turned off the light in the room, and sat back in the chair.His throne, he thought, and smiled for the first time in days, because it was that image of authority that left him completely helpless. He heard a truck pull up outside, and that shouldn't do it.He sat quietly and suddenly wondered: Could it be a bomber, just outside... and suddenly freaked out.He heard a sergeant yelling, someone talking, and then the truck moved a little, but he could still hear the engine. After a while, he heard a raised voice coming from the hall stairwell.There was something in those voices that made him shudder.Then there was a scream that seemed to be cut off suddenly.He shuddered.He pulls out his pistol, hoping for something more deadly than the weapon that's worn with his skimpy military uniform.The voices sounded weird; some raised their voices, others were clearly trying to keep quiet.He opened the door a crack and went through it; his aide-de-camp stood at the far door leading to the stairs, looking down. He holstered the pistol.He walked over to the military attaché and followed his gaze into the hall.He saw Livette staring back at him with wide eyes; several soldiers were nearby, and one of their commanders.They stood by a small, white chair; Livrietta scowled.He walked quickly down the stairs.Livietta jumped towards him suddenly, her skirt fluttering.She pushed him hard, pressing her hands to his chest.He staggered back in surprise. "No," she said.Her eyes were bright and staring; her face was paler than he had ever seen it. "Go back," she said.Her voice was heavy, as if it wasn't her own. "Livietta..." he said, disgusted, pushing himself away from the wall, trying to get around her to see what was going on behind the little white chair in the hall. She pushed him again. "Go back," said the thick, strange voice. He took her wrists with both hands. "Lifeetta," he said, his voice low, his eyes blinking at the people standing down the hall. "Go back," said the eerie, frightened voice. He pushes her away, annoyed at her, tries to go around her.She tried to grab his hand from behind. "Go back!" she gasped. "Stop it, Livueta!" He shook her off, beginning to feel embarrassed.He ran down the stairs quickly before she could catch him again. But she still caught up, clutching his elbow. "Go back!" she cried. He turns around. "Get the hell out of here! I want to see what's going on!" He was much stronger than she was; he tore her hands away and pushed her down the stairs.He went down, across the flagstones, to the silent group of people standing around the little white chair. The chair was so small, so fragile that a grown man could break it.It was small and white, and when he took a few steps closer, the rest of the people, halls, castles, worlds, and universes dissipated into blackness and silence.He approached the chair slowly, and found that it was actually made of the bones of Dakens Zarqawi. The femur became the back leg, and the tibia and some other bones made up the front leg.The arm bones form the seat; the ribs form the back.Beneath them were the pelvis; the pelvis had been broken years ago on the stone ship, and the pieces had been rejoined, the dark material used by the surgeons clearly visible.Above the ribs is the collarbone, also broken and healed, a memento of a riding accident. They tan her hide for the little cushion above; a tiny plain button just above her navel, and one in the corner, alluding vaguely to the dark, but reddish hair that stretches there . The stairs, the Livretta, the aide-de-camp, the adjutant's office, it was all here and there; and as he stood at his desk again he found himself thinking about it. He tasted blood in his mouth and looked down at his right hand.He seems to remember hitting Livueta hard on the way up the stairs.It's horrible to do that to one's own sister. He looked around, distracted for a moment.Everything looks blurry. He tried to rub his eyes, but when he raised a hand he found that it was holding a pistol. He put the muzzle of the gun to his temple. Of course, he understood that that was exactly what Elsioma wanted him to do, but what chances did a man have against such a monster?After all, there is only so much a person can take. He smiled at the door (someone was banging on it, shouting words that might have been his name; he can't remember now).How stupid. "Do the right thing"; "the only way out". "Exit with honor".What a load of nonsense.All that was left was desperation, just one last burst of laughter, opening his mouth through the bones against the direct word: here. But such terrific skill, this ability, this adaptability, this insensitivity, this use of a weapon, when anything can be a weapon... His hands were shaking.He could see the door begin to abandon; someone must have slammed it very hard.He thought he must have locked the door; there was no one else in the room.It occurred to him that he should have picked up a bigger gun; the one in hand might not be enough for the task. His mouth was very, very dry. He pressed the gun hard to his temple and pulled the trigger. The besieged troops around the Starblind broke out within an hour, while doctors still fought for his life.It was a great fight and they almost won it too.