I settle the pack onto my shoulders and push on up the hillside. .... âBarca,â the General is talking to me again. I
Dust puffs up with each fat drop’s impact on the ground. In an instant the moisture is gone. I smell the rain, or rather the dust made wet by the rain. It’s a clean, warm, life-giving smell. It smells like hope. I have to shield my eyes against the sun setting under the heavy clouds as I pick out the path ahead. The moment of respite is welcome, but I can’t stop for long. I’m chased and chasing. If I don’t make it up the mountain in time… I don’t even want to imagine what could happen. But behind me the General’s men are even now finding my trail and zeroing in on me. They won’t be gentle when they find me. Rhythmic thunder pulses in the distance. Most people would call what I did stealing. Most people would also call it justified. I don’t think the General cares about “most people.” But I didn’t have anywhere else I could get to in time, so I had to go to him. He trusted me once. That’s all in the past now. My thieving made sure of that. I chose to disobey him. I chose to leave. I chose a different way. I settle the pack onto my shoulders and push on up the hillside. I have knowledge on my side. The General’s men are new to this mountain and must go slowly. I’ve lived here since I can remember. Trees and stones were my first friends and lifelong companions. I greet them by name as I pass and thank them for guiding me home. I don’t even allow myself to wonder if the home is still there for me. As the sun sets I make out the soldier’s lights in the forest below. They are fanned out in a typical formation groping forward slowly, but sure of their progress. It will take them the rest of the night to get to the top. I hope to be there in an hour. Despite my familiarity, the trees can’t make my legs stronger or my lungs more able to draw in air. I’ve been hiking through the hot, high desert for over thirty hours with little water and no food. The meager drizzle stirred some life in me, but it can’t cover over such a multitude of sins. Steps become stiff, wooden. I will my leg to move and then the other. My world constricts down to only my feet on the darkened path. One step and then another. Stopping would be final, fatal. I keep moving, an animated corpse. But eventually the ground starts to level. It takes my benumbed mind a few minutes to realize the import. I’ve reached the top. I am steps away from the cabin. I am steps away from her and soon she’ll be okay. I break into a trot, using my newfound strength, when I reach the broad clearing around the cabin that had seen every major event in my life. I’ll be by her side in moments and moments after that she’ll start to recover. When I am maybe fifty yards from the front door I notice an odd, dark lump behind the cabin. Dread wells up inside me. That is the General’s helicopter. *** “Why didn’t you tell me she was sick, Barca?” I glare at the General as his men grip my arms. If they weren’t holding me I would be on the general in an instant. He hovers over her bed, leering. My only consolation is that she is asleep. She won’t see me die. “I asked you a question, soldier!” Slowly I fill my mouth with words, choosing them like morsels of ash and loss. “Sir, would you have let me come to her, sir?” I both want to know and am terrified of knowing the answer. “Well, what kind of question is that, Barca?” “Sir, I don’t know. I didn’t think you would let me come to her and I was sure you wouldn’t give me any medicine, sir.” The general leans over and puts his hands on the bed next to my wife. It’s all I can do to keep from wrenching my arms free and tackling him. Not yet, I caution myself, there will be an
keep from wrenching my arms free and tackling him. Not yet, I caution myself, there will be an opportunity, but not yet. He looks down at the pale, sweating form of my world swaddled in blankets and pillows. She breathes shallow, labored breaths. Her lungs are filled with fluid. She needs the antibiotics I stole from the General. “Do you think so little of me, Barca?” “Sir, no sir. I think you have a war to fight, sir. I think you can’t take time to deal with every sick wife in the ranks, sir.” “That’s a very astute observation, Barca.” “Sir, thank you, sir.” “We’re still in a pickle here though. You took something of mine. I know you did it for your lovely wife here, but you still stole from me and then went AWOL.” “Sir, what would you have done for your wife, sir?” I see him look at me suddenly, but I can’t tell what he’s feeling. There’s shock, to be sure, that I would dare to ask him such a question, but there’s something else there too. He quickly looks down at the bed again. She coughs weakly. I hear the gurgle of too much fluid. I may be too late. *** We married foolishly, but isn’t that the case for everyone? In our case it was because we were too young and I was headed off to war. For whatever reason we felt like a marriage would make us strong enough to endure the time we would have to spend apart. It’s worked for so many other couples throughout history; we figured that it would work for us too. I had one week of leave. That’s the entire honeymoon we would get. After basic and before the fighting I had seven days of glory. We wandered through the woods around my cabin. We watched the sun set over the hills. We never stopped holding hands. Even at night. We were one of those couples that waited. Maybe it was the ghost of my mother staring at me with stern warning or that of my father reminding me that women are a treasure. I just didn’t want to disappoint them and I didn’t want to dishonor her. So once we were married we couldn’t get enough of each other. We were awkward, fumbling, clumsy lovers and it was okay because I knew she was safe. I knew she wouldn’t shame me for being too quick or not knowing everything to do. When we went into town so I could join my squad I begged her to stay with my aunt. She dismissed me as a worrier. She kissed me and told me about how she would till up the garden by the cabin, mend the roof, and have it all ready by the time the war was over. She wanted to live there, where I had lived, and my parents before that. She wanted to make it her home too. I loved her more for it. When the war stopped going well I wasn’t able to write her as often. Her letters to me were weeks or months old by the time I got them. We had to keep moving – usually backward – to keep ahead of the enemy. That meant that the letters were running all over the place before they caught up with me. She mentioned her cough in one. In the next she complained about the cold of the cabin. By the time I’d figured out how sick she was there was no choice. The village had been evacuated – including my aunt – so there was no one to go help her. Our encampment was just a few miles away from the cabin and the enemy would be pushing us back again soon. I had to act. I had to save her. *** “Barca,” the General is talking to me again. I force myself to think about what he’s saying, “You wouldn’t know this, but my wife…”
I catch myself leaning forward as his voice lowers to a bare, growling whisper. The guards on either side of me tighten their grips until a voiceless command from the General causes them to release and walk outside. “Do you want to sit, Barca?” I contemplate strangling the General, but decide that I don’t have a hope of dispatching him and the guards without drawing the attention of the main force combing the woods. I grab a chair from the table and sit down across from the General, my wife between us. He sits down in the rocking chair behind him. “The men don’t know this, Barca, but my wife is leading the enemy forces.” “What?” The General looks at me for a long moment before I recall my training and manners. “Sir, what was that, sir?” “It’s true, but I don’t like to broadcast it. She’s as good a tactician as me. Maybe better.” “How did it happen, sir?” I remember respect at the last moment. “How do marriages happen? Barca, I don’t know. We’d been married for twenty years. We led campaigns together. We were great. Then she left.” “Just like that, sir?” I’m enraptured by his story, but still looking for the way to help my wife. I don’t know what to do. “There’s always more to it. What do you want me to say? We drifted apart. It was complicated. She wanted the glory for our successes. It was all of that and none of that. One day she got a letter. She opened it, but wouldn’t let me see it. The next day the letter was still there, but she was gone. It was an invitation to the command school of our enemies. Of course they weren’t our enemies then. That came later.” “I’m sorry, sir.” “Why? Did you send her the letter when you were still a boy? No, I’m the one who’s sorry. If she hadn’t left the enemy wouldn’t know how to beat us. It’s my fault. “Do you know why I followed you, Barca?” The sudden subject change spins my head, “Because I stole from you, sir.” “That’s a part of it, but I wouldn’t have come myself just for some drugs. I have enough people for that. No, Barca, I followed you because I need you.” I try to process the words by looking out the window behind him. The rain that had teased earlier starts to fall in earnest. Heavy drops explode on the ground, pattering the earth with life. I wonder how I could help the General. I turn back to see him with a gun in his hand. He pulls the hammer back and levels the barrel at my chest. “You’ve been with me a long time, Barca. At least it feels like a long time since we’ve been at war. I’ve seen you fight and there are none better,” he holds up his hand to forestall my objection, “It’s true; you are the best. Plus you can do something that I can’t.” “What do you need me to do, sir?” “I need to you to kill my wife.” “What?” My manners are gone completely. “You have a choice, Barca.” My eyes fill with tears and my vision blurs. What choice do I have? My life is lying on a bed dying. When I stole the medicine and left the army I hoped the killing would be done. I wanted it to be done for her. Every time I took a life, and I took many, I felt less for it. Killing them was killing me – my soul at least. The ghosts of my father and mother whispered to me, told me to be
killing me – my soul at least. The ghosts of my father and mother whispered to me, told me to be the man she needs, told me to save the tattered shreds of my soul, mend them, and give them to her for safe keeping. As an AWOL thief I figured the worst that would happen is I would be imprisoned or killed. At least I made a choice to leave the army and the killing. Tears flow freely as I wrestle with the shades of my past. I look up. It’s useless. I can’t see anything but the black barrel of the gun pointed at me. The voice comes from an unknowable abyss. “If I could have done it differently…” the General’s words fall into an abyss of regret, “You have a choice, Barca.” Do I? *** Only after the IV was in her arm would I agree to leave. He promised to bring in his personal doctor to look after my wife while I hunted his down. The General had precious little intelligence to offer me. He knew that his wife liked to lead from the front, so she would be near lines – which were far too close to us anyway – but could be in one of three different encampments. I studied them all and selected the one that I thought I could get to with the least trouble. I’m walking through the night. I didn’t get a chance to rest before the General shooed me out the door of my own home. It’ll be a few days before I get to the first encampment. I’ll have to stop and sleep, but not until daylight. I’m better equipped to evade their patrols at night and just hide during the day. The General outfitted me with a ghillie suit, night vision scope, and specops rifle, not that I figured I’d use them all that much. My chances of actually completing my mission were almost nil. But my wife was getting better. That’s really all I wanted. If I could buy her life with mine, I would do it. I hear something. Instantly I drop to one knee and bring my rifle up to my shoulder. I flick on the scope and scan the area in the green, ghostly amplified light. Nothing. I switch over to the IR scope and re-scan the area. There it is, about a hundred meters away to my right. I sink further to the ground and let my suit drape over me, obscuring my outline and making me look like more underbrush. I line up the heat signature in my scope and then flip it off. I don’t want the light projecting onto my eye to show up in the black forest. I won’t kill if I don’t have to. At first I’m alert and tuned in to hear anything that might indicate movement, but it doesn’t do anything for a long time and I’m pushing forty-eight hours without sleep. I’ve long since learned to deal with the hallucinations that come with sleep deprivation, but after a certain point, I can’t override my body’s instinct to sleep. It’s dark, quiet, and I’m lying down. The next thing I notice is the light of the sun staining the sky. I don’t have time to curse myself for stupidity, I just creep over to where the object was – after checking with the IR scope to be sure it’s not there anymore. I find the head and bones of a salmon chewed thoroughly. A bear likely bedded down here. I war with myself trying to decide if I should risk moving during the day since I slept at night or if I should just find a place to camp and give up the time as lost. I decide to split the difference. The sun isn’t quite up yet and most soldiers are still dreaming of home right now. I’ll have to be extra careful of the patrols, but I won’t run into larger forces – I hope. *** The first encampment was a bust. The General’s wife wasn’t there and I wasted a full day making sure of it, hiding in the trees around the camp watching everyone and comparing them to the photo he’d given me. At least the rains had moved on and the summer dryness returned,
the photo he’d given me. At least the rains had moved on and the summer dryness returned, sitting in a tree isn’t so much fun that I want to do it while soaking wet. More importantly, I cleared one third of the possibilities without hurting anyone or alerting them to my presence. Maybe I can get out of this with only one more death on my hands. I hope. I think of her and I hope. Next I moved on to the camp by the river. The water would give me cover against noise, but also restrict my movement and possible retreat path. It was still better than the third option – in the abandoned village where my aunt used to live. I step up behind the perimeter guard at the river encampment and put my left hand over his mouth while, at the same time, I slip my right arm around his neck and apply pressure to his ceratoid arteries. The loss of blood to his brain causes him to black out in moments. I gently lower his body to the ground. It’s a risk to leave him alive, but it’s more of a risk to kill him. I tie him up and gag him before leaving. I shouldn’t think about her, but I can’t help it. It’s like breathing for me. She’s safe and that’s all I need to know. I shouldn’t consider what her safety is costing. I shouldn’t think about her joy and love of life as I’m hurting people. Distraction is death. I repeat the mantra from training to myself to drown out the beautiful cacophony of memories. What I’m doing is for her, but it cannot ever be of her. She’s better than this. I quell my demons and angels before I approach the next patrol. There are two of them and they face each other to prevent me sneaking up behind them. They are well trained. But we’re close to the river and it’s dusk. I circled to my right, moving with practiced stealth and irregularity so that my movements don’t declare that I am not of the forest. Once I get to the river I find the spot due east of the patrol and wait. Before long he comes. He is majestic and graceful, a lord of his land. The buck strides out, leading his does and their gangly, mid-summer fawns, to drink. I breathe deeply and flex all my muscles before relaxing them. My gun is slung across my back and secured with a strap so it won’t flop around. I must be swift. In an instant I step out of the trees and run at the buck. I see the moment of hesitation in his eyes. He decides to challenge me. I pity him. My knife flashes out and I slide to my left, just out of reach of his outthrust antlers. His throat is slit and I am pursuing his does back down the game trail as fast as I can. They are faster than me, but not by much. The fawns lag behind. I slow to ensure that I won’t overtake them. The deer burst through the clearing with the guards. I hear them swear in shock at the first animal, then the step aside to let them through. They relax before the torrent of life fleeing past them. They are still relaxed as I emerge just behind the slowest fawn. My knife finds another throat, cutting off any cry for help. I pull it out and cast it in an overhand motion at the other guard. He manages a shocked gasp before death steals his voice forever. Too soon, I think, I’ve killed too soon in my hunt. The dam is crumbling. If the General’s wife isn’t here I will have the entire army searching for me now. I figure I’ve got about an hour before the dead guards will miss their check-in. From here the ghillie suit won’t help me, so I discard it and take the clothes of the guard closest to my size. I won’t give up my rifle; I hope the night will hide it enough. I stride into the camp and it feels like home. Not my cabin, but the places I’ve called home during this interminable war. The General’s camps are all laid out the same with clearly organized lanes for foot and vehicle traffic. The General’s wife must harbor the same opinions on orderliness and routine for her troops. I find the main boulevard and trace it to the command
on orderliness and routine for her troops. I find the main boulevard and trace it to the command tent at the center of the encampment. Few people care that I’m walking through the camp. Dinner has just ended and the evening entertainment begun. Anyone not in their bunk or enjoying the show is headed to one of those locations. There are guards outside the command tent, two women. The General’s wife must be inside. I walk past the guards at a brisk clip. They remain stolid without a glance for me. Good. I turn to my left at the next intersection and cut back behind the tents. My IR scope tells me that there is one person inside. I slice open a tiny hole in the tent, just large enough for my scope to see inside. I switch off the IR and scan the interior. There’s a woman sitting at the desk poring over papers. I can’t see her face. It could be the General’s wife or some other woman in the army. I can’t stay here for long with a gun pointed at the command tent. I consider trying to get inside the tent when one of the guards steps inside and addresses the woman at the desk. I pray that she doesn’t see the glint of my scope on the back wall of the tent. Her eyes dart up and look straight at me. Before she can utter a word, I gun her down and then the woman at the desk. When she falls I can see her shoulder with Colonel’s emblems shining in the light of the tent. Death upon death. My soul shrieks out before I stifle its silent cry. I have no time to think. I sprint around the tent and tackle the remaining guard. My knife is in her heart before she can resist. I wipe my blade on her shirt before rising. I shouldn’t look at her face, but I do. She’s pretty, or she was. I can’t think about it. I can’t think about whom she might have at home, about her youth, about her life leaking out into the dirt. Distraction is death. I repeat it to myself until I believe it. *** The raft I stole from the river encampment makes a quick journey down to the village. My sabotage of the other vessels means that I won’t be quickly followed. But the journey requires too little of me. I don’t need to concentrate so the thoughts of life and death keep intruding, haunting. I try to imagine life without her, my wife. I can’t do it. My mind shudders away from the thought, vomits it up like rotten food. Like a dog I consume and reject the same thing, unable to resist the temptation of trying it one more time. Will she take my bloodstained soul? Am I the man she married? More and more I consider that it’s not whether I can possibly live without her, but whether she could possibly live with me. I am damaged, evil, heartless, and corrupt. She was my redemption, now my penance. Can even her love bring me back from this? I’m not a soldier fighting a war; I am death reaping. My respiteless reverie is broken as the raft approaches the village. I cut the motor and let the river current guide me the rest of the way in. There is no more time for stealth. I cannot hide long enough or move slowly enough to evade the search that has already begun. When I killed the first guards I started the clock. Killing the Colonel sped it up considerably. I pull the raft up to the quay; it’s quiet as false dawn stains the eastern sky with the hope of a new day. I grab my bag of pilfered supplies, step out of the raft, and hastily tie it to the cleat. If I survive I will want a way home. If. I scan through my mental map of the village. Where would the General’s wife sleep? I quickly discard the tavern, the gas station, and the post office. Those building would be put to a more utilitarian purpose. Where, I ask myself, would the General sleep? He would want a place that is defensible, yet comfortable. He would want to be centrally located like in his camps, but without taking over anything that might be used by his troops. I
located like in his camps, but without taking over anything that might be used by his troops. I realize where I’m going after my feet are already taking me there: my aunt’s antique shop. It’s on the main street of the small village, but it holds nothing of use for the troops. The small living space above the shop gives a vantage of the entire village and the controlled entrances make it easy to defend. I consider bombing it, but I can’t be sure it would kill the General’s wife and he demanded proof. I ponder a suicide bombing; I might be able to get close enough to her, but I have no way to be sure. No, I must be sure. There is no other way. Silence will aid me. I climb through the back yards and sheds of the villagers who are lucky enough to have a home on the river. My aunt lives across the street. When I get to the house across from hers I unsling my rifle and power on the IR scope. I scan through the rooms and see a few prone bodies, only one is standing and it is by the front door. I slip in the back – the villagers have never bothered to install locks – and knife the guard in the brain before dragging him inside. I kill the rest while they sleep. I stifle the thoughts of what it must be like to die in the middle of a dream. I don’t have the luxury of such thoughts. Across the street I scan my aunt’s shop. There are two guards at the base of the stairs inside the shop, but just one prone body upstairs. This must be the General’s wife. It would be nearly impossible to take out both guards without alerting anyone. They stand at the back of the shop with no end of bric-a-brac between us. I can’t get a clear shot at both of them and if one dies the other will call for help. Reluctantly I leave my rifle behind – after hiding it under a mattress – and find some of the booze that the men have stashed in their bunk. Soldiers are too predictable. I splash the alcohol on my stolen uniform and step out the front door. Across the street I can barely see the guards at the back of the antique store. I stumble over and pound on the door. I gauge it so that the sound should alert the guards but, hopefully, not wake the General’s wife. One guard comes to the door while the other stays at his post. Well trained bastards. I slur my words and lean precariously from side to side. “’Sthis mah bunk?” “No soldier, it isn’t. Off with you.” “Sarge said t’go t’mah bunk. Issat Sarge?” I reach past the guard and point to the other one in the back of the store. “No, soldier, that isn’t your Sergeant. You need to leave now.” “Sarge,” I call to the other guard, “I’mmat mah bunk. I’mma sleep now.” I slump into the arms of the closer guard putting my full weight on him. He struggles to hold me up and grunts over his shoulder to his compatriot. Together they manage to lift me and walk me toward the door. My knife quickly ends them and in a moment I have them dragged inside the shop and the door closed up again. Just one more person has to die. *** She’s waiting for me as I reach the top of the stairs. Her sidearm is drawn and pointed at the doorway as I walk through it. I duck and roll behind the sofa but she doesn’t fire. I move anyway and creep closer to her. I won’t have much time once she sounds the alarm. I have to be as close as possible. “Get up,” she commands me. Her tone sounds so much like his that I nearly obey. Instead I ask, “Why?” “Because he sent you. I know him and I know he sent you. He’s losing and this is the only
“Because he sent you. I know him and I know he sent you. He’s losing and this is the only chance he has to defeat my army.” “That doesn’t really tell me why I should let you shoot me.” “You don’t have a choice. I could shoot you now. A recliner won’t stop a bullet.” I give her credit for knowing my location and stand up. “Come here, soldier.” I walk over into the small sleeping area by the front window. Without taking her eyes off of me, the General’s wife turns on the bedside lamp casting a small circle of light into the darkness. I remember sneaking up here with my cousins when we were supposed to be cleaning the store for my aunt. I remember jumping on the bed and getting in trouble for it. “He sent you, didn’t he,” she spoke it as a statement. “Yes ma’am.” “And you agree with him? I should die?” “No ma’am.” I see her brow furrow. The barrel of the gun drops a fraction of an inch. “Then why are you here? Why have you killed my guards and my Colonel?” My vision blurs with tears. I clench my jaw against the wave of emotion that I’ve been holding back. I’m failing. “He has my wife,” I breathe past the lump in my throat. I see her slouch, though the gun continues to point at me. My tears give me a double vision. I see the General’s wife aiming a gun at me, but I also see the General hovering over the bed of my wife. Both General and his wife have the same implacable stare, demanding obedience. They look at me. I look down at my wife, pale even against the white sheets. Tears flow; the dam breaks. “You don’t have to do this.” It’s the General’s wife, I think. I still see my own wife barely breathing. “What choice do I have? She’s dying.” “You have a choice, Barca,” the General growls at me. I glance up from my reverie to see his worn, tired face desperate for an end. I blink and his wife is before me again. “What’s your name, soldier?” she asks with something that hints at kindness. “They call me Barca.” I can’t stop the tears. I can only keep myself from shaking, wracked with sobs. “You have a choice, Barca.” The words echo through me. I look down at my wife again. She is haloed with tear-refracted light. Do I have a choice? No. “I need you to kill my wife.” The General’s words come back to me, shake me. “Would she want this?” the General’s wife whispers to me, “Would your wife want you to do this for her?” I collapse into the chair behind me as the weight of her words steals the strength from my legs. “I was selfish. I wanted glory. I wanted credit for my genius. I wanted to be known as a great commander, not just the wife of one. I didn’t know they were recruiting me to fight against him. If I had…” I look up. It’s useless. I can’t see anything but the black barrel of the gun pointed at me. The voice comes from an unknowable abyss. “If I could have done it differently…” the General’s wife chokes, stops, and then says, “You have a choice, Barca.”
I smell the rain, or rather the dust made wet by the rain. It’s a clean, warm, life-giving smell. It smells like hope. I have a choice. I make my choice. I reach out to slap the gun aside and take it for my own. I reach out with my choice, my defiance, my hope. My hand is fast. I’ve trained it to be so. I touch the smooth side of the gun just before it fires. The momentum of my arm pushes the gun out of the way as it goes off. My chest feels hot and cold at the same time. In the center is a pit of ice, but it’s surrounded by fire. I look up through my tears and see the blurred images of the room around me. My eyes seek out the bed and my wife. I reach forward again and grasp for her hand; the light fades. I made a choice.
