Same Day

The village was burning. Scores of men lay on the ground. A few hopelessly clutched their wounds as if trying to put their bodies back together. Others were pitifully crawling away, leaving bloody trails in the dust. Leo walked between them, stepping over them, moving slowly, the knife in his hand, flat against his back.

A house had been destroyed; a grenade tossed inside, a wall had collapsed, the timber roof was smoking. Three of the Spetsnaz soldiers were dead. A fourth was shot, unable to hold a gun, resting on the shoulders of the only remaining uninjured soldier. He was holding two guns, firing at the vantage points above them, bullets hitting the ridge. His voice was hoarse, shouting out, furious at the delay:

—Let’s go!

The captain forced the little girl onto her knees in the centre of the village, calling out to the mountains, to the hiding places where the survivors had fled and the fighters had taken up arms.

—Here is your miracle child! Here is the child that cannot be killed!

He put the gun to her head.

Striding up behind the captain, Leo swung the knife, imitating the elder’s line of attack and aiming at his neck. He was no longer as fast as he had been, his skills were diluted by age and opium. The captain heard him and turned, raising an arm to block the knife. The blade was sharp and cut into the captain’s forearm, slicing deep enough to make him drop his gun. Leo brought the blade up, ready to strike him again. The captain, ignoring his injury, kicked Leoo;s feet out from under him. Leo fell back, dropping the knife, staring up at the sky.

The Spetsnaz soldier stepped towards Leo, lowering his gun. Leo rolled towards the girl still kneeling on the ground, called out in Dari:

—Run!

She didn’t move. She didn’t even open her eyes. There was a burst of machine-gun fire. But Leo had not been shot. Unable to understand how the man had missed, Leo looked up. He saw the Soviet soldier topple back, taking with him his injured colleague.

Exploiting the distraction, several armed villagers advanced, firing their weapons. Alone, the captain pulled back, unarmed and under fire. Assessing the situation, outgunned, unable to reach the girl, he fled towards the path down the hill, chased by gunfire. Leo checked on the little girl. Her eyes were still closed. He sat up, crawling towards her. He touched her face. She opened her eyes, burnt lashes twisted together. He whispered:

—You’re safe.

Villagers were returning, armed and closing in. One man was leading them, tall, thin, awkward, armed with a Soviet-made AK-47. He walked up to the fallen soldier, the injured man, and shot him in the head. Turning to Nara, who’d remained motionless, he grabbed her arm, throwing her to the ground beside Leo. The miracle girl was carried away. The leader towered over Leo, regarding him with contempt and confusion.

—Why did you attack your own troops?

—I am not a soldier. I have no allegiance to men who would kill a child.

—What is your name?

—I am Leo Demidov, special adviser to the Soviet occupation. What is yours?

—My name is Fahad Mohammad.

Leo managed to conceal his recognition of the name. Nara failed. He was the brother of the man they’d arrested and killed in Kabul, brother of the bomb-maker shot at the dam, and brother of the boy killed in the village. Fahad turned to Nara.

—You know me, traitor?

Several of the fighters took aim.