Six Actual.
Dark.
“. . . Six Actual.”
Someone nearby was talking.
This was something important, he told himself. He found it hard to maintain interest.
You should listen.
He listened. It was gone.
Someone else was talking. That wasn’t the voice.
“. . . near the connexes by the north wall of the compound.”
Oswalt.
“There are three or four there and on the far side, and no friendlies.”
Over a radio speaker. He proceeded as blandly and methodically as if he were reading off serial numbers in the arms room.
That’s good. Oswalt will take care of everything.
“Roger that,” came the pilot’s easy reply. “Coming around.”
It troubled him that he couldn’t hear the other thing. He felt sure it was important.
Well, he would rest a moment instead then.
“. . . Six Actual, how copy?”
Oh, it was coming back. Good.
“Vega X-Ray, this is Vega Six Actual, how copy?”
This was something he knew.
“Vega X-Ray, this is Vega Six Actual, Cyclone Mobile is three minutes out, how copy?”
Now he understood.
“Vega X-Ray, how copy?”
It was odd. He was sure he had been lying on his back.
He seemed to be standing now, though he wasn’t certain he could feel his feet. Moving past piles of stone intermingled with disheveled radio equipment.
“Sorry,” he heard himself mumble to the motionless form behind what was left of Hubbard’s desk, “but I had to throw the book at you.”
Hubbard didn’t laugh.
Nobody gets my jokes.
It was tough going, climbing over the rubble between him and the door.
“. . . X-Ray, how copy?”
The sound faded behind him as he crossed the threshold.
He was vaguely aware, as he traveled the corridor, of the air vibrating, throbbing around him. He could feel it on his face, pulsing, returning, but the sounds seemed distant. Mostly he heard his boots scuffing along the floor.
Brennan ran up to him.
Not Brennan. A soldier, mouthing words at him that he knew he could hear. He just couldn’t muster the interest in what the kid was saying.
There was smoke ahead. Probably from the door he was heading toward.
He passed through an open space between two buildings, noting the great flames soaring above him to his left as he went. To his right he was sure there had been a wing of the building where now there was empty air. Maybe there hadn’t been. Maybe it had always been rubble.
He thought he might be coughing. He passed indoors again and was pleased to see Fultz pressing on at his side.
Not Fultz. A soldier passing by, screaming something to him. Neat trick, Fultz.
It would be right down this passage, then through another open area. That’s the way. Then there would be one more tunnel.
He felt air on his face again. Cold air. Then heat. Cinders washed across his vision in an artificial wind.
It was dim. Nearly the end of twilight. He saw light and looked up mutely to the black mountainside looming above the compound’s buildings.
A lateral scrum of orange sunbursts rolled side by side, descending its face. There must have been dozens, all at once, a carpet of fire unfurling.
Someone invited bombers. It looked as though the mountain were crumbling down on top of them in flames.
He scuffled forward. The cinders stung his face. No, they weren’t hot.
Cold.
Not cinders. Cold pinpricks. Frozen.
Snow.
It fell silently through the pressing din around him as he dragged his booted feet through the dirt yard. An early snow.
He loved the snow.
The tunnel approached, pressed in close and dark, but he kept moving. Almost there.
He hadn’t passed half its length before he saw it, framed by the rectangled opening ahead. Right there beyond the end of the tunnel, like sighting the promised harbor in a spyglass. Like it was meant to be.
Six Actual.
—
Corelli raised his bare head in the shadows and watched the first flakes fall past the door.
Christmastime soon, back home.
He shifted his weight against the stone. It helped to move sometimes, let a different part go numb. Ease the pressure from the bindings on his hands.
The snow was barely visible in the deep pale of the gloaming sky. He thought he could hear the sound it made as it fell, even over the distant rumble of violence from beyond the mountain passes. From where his friends were.
Weighed in the balances.
He felt himself shiver beneath his uniform. The chill from the stone. He lowered his head and sang quietly to himself while he awaited what he deserved.