11.

They had to crawl from the edge of the woods to the barbed wire. Green crawled ahead, dragging a pole with a linear charge and swearing at the barbs pricking his hands. Behind him crawled Maxim with a sack of magnetic mines. Clouds covered the sky, and it was drizzling. The grass was wet; within a few minutes they were drenched. Green followed his compass faithfully, never once straying off course. As the odor of damp rust drifted toward them. Maxim saw three rows of barbed wire and beyond them the dim outline of the tower's massive girders. Raising his head slightly, he could make out a squat triangular structure at the tower's base. The guardhouse. Three legionnaires were sitting there with a machine gun. Indistinguishable voices drifted through the patter of the rain; then a match was lit and the long gunport glowed with a faint yellow light.

Green, on all fours, shoved the pole under the barbed wire. "Ready," he whispered. "Back!" They crawled back ten paces and began to wait. Green looked at the luminous hands of his watch. The detonator was clenched in his fist. He was trembling. Maxim could hear his chattering teeth and labored breathing. Maxim was trembling, too. He put his hand into the sack and touched the mines; they felt rough and cold. As the rain grew heavier, all other sounds were drowned out. Green rose slightly on all fours and kept whispering something: he was either praying or cursing. "OK, you bastards!" he shouted suddenly as he made a sharp movement with his right hand. The click of the blasting cap was followed by a hissing, and up ahead a sheet of red flames spouted from the earth. And far to the left, another broad sheet leaped up, blasted their ears, and scattered hot wet earth, clumps of smoldering grass, and chunks of red-hot metal. Green darted forward. Suddenly a blinding light lit up the entire area. Maxim squinted. A cold shiver ran down his spine as a thought flashed through his brain: "We've had it." But there wasn't any shooting, and only rustling and hissing broke the silence.

When Maxim opened his eyes, he saw the gray guardhouse, a large gap in the barbed wire, and small solitary figures on the vast empty expanse surrounding the tower.

The figures were running as fast as they could toward the guardhouse, silently, soundlessly, stumbling, falling, jumping up and running again. Then Maxim heard a plaintive groan: Green was sitting on the ground behind the barbed wire and rocking from side to side with his head in his hands. Maxim rushed to him and pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes bulged and saliva bubbled on his Ups. Still no firing. An eternity had passed, but the guardhouse was silent. Suddenly a familiar song rang out.

Maxim turned the slobbering Green on his back and fumbled in his pocket with his other hand. Lucky thing that the General had been overcautious and had given Maxim a supply of painkillers. He pried open Green's mouth and forced him to swallow them, Then he grabbed Green's submachine gun and turned around, looking for the source of the blinding light. Still no firing, and the solitary figures continued to run. One was now quite close to the guardhouse, another not far behind him, and a third, running from the right, suddenly flung his arms out as he fell and tumbled head over heels. "Oh, how the enemy weeps!" bellowed the singing voices. And the light beat down from above, from a height of some dozen meters, probably from the tower, which he couldn't make out now. There were five or six blinding blue and white disks. Maxim raised his gun, aimed at the disks, and pulled the trigger. The homemade weapon, small, awkward, and unfamiliar, trembled in his hands. As if in reply, red flashes sparked in the gunport. Suddenly Green tore the gun from Maxim's hands, rushed forward, stumbled, and fell.

Maxim got down and crawled back to his sack. Behind him guns crackled away rapidly. Then, at long last, a grenade exploded, then another, then two more simultaneously, and the machine gun fell silent. Only the submachine guns kept clattering. Explosions boomed again. An inhuman scream rent the air and it became quiet. Maxim grabbed the sack and ran. A column of smoke rose above the guardhouse. There was a smell of gunpowder, and the surrounding area was bright and deserted except for a dark round-shouldered figure trudging alongside the guardhouse, hugging the wall. The figure reached the gunport, tossed something into it, and dropped to the ground. The gunport glowed red. Then came a loud bang. And everything was quiet again.

Maxim stumbled and almost fell. After several more steps he stumbled again and noticed short stakes protruding from the ground. Triggers to booby traps concealed in the grass. "So that's it! God, am I a damn fool! If the General had let me have my way and I had gone out alone, I would have lost both legs and would be lying here as good as dead. Me and my big mouth!" Now the tower was quite close. He ran cautiously, avoiding booby traps.

When he reached one of the tower's enormous iron paws, he put down his sack of magnetic mines. Oh, how he would have loved to plaster one of those pancakes on this wet steel. But he still had the guardhouse to worry about. The steel door was slightly ajar, and lazy tongues of flame rolled out from behind it. A legionnaire lay on the steps -- it was all over with here. Maxim circled the guardhouse and found the General. He was sitting on the ground, leaning against the concrete wall; his eyes stared vacantly, and Maxim realized that the pills had lost their effect. He glanced around, lifted the General, and carried him away from the tower. About twenty steps away, Ordi lay in the grass, with a grenade in her hand. She was lying face down, but Maxim could tell that she was dead. Searching further, he found Forester, also dead. Green, too. Who could he leave the General with?

Stunned by all the deaths, he walked around the field. Only minutes ago he had thought himself prepared to face this eventuality. Now he was no longer eager to return and blow up the tower, to finish the job they had started. First he must see how Memo was doing. He found him lying alongside the barbed wire. He had been wounded, probably had tried to crawl away and lost consciousness. Maxim placed the General beside him and ran toward the tower again. How strange to think that these two hundred miserable yards could be crossed so easily now.

He attached the mines to the tower's supports, two to each, to be doubly sure. Although he had time, he hurried; the General and Memo were losing blood. And probably, somewhere along the highway, trucks loaded with legionnaires were on their way. Guy had most likely been called out, and he and Pandi were now bouncing along the cobblestones. In neighboring villages, people were waking up: men were grabbing their guns; children were crying; and women were cursing the bloodthirsty spies who had deprived them of their sleep. He sensed the drizzly darkness stirring, springing to life, coming alive with danger.

Maxim set up the five-minute fuses, activated them, and started to run back to the General and Memo. Feeling that he had forgotten something, he paused, looked around, and remembered. Ordi. He returned to her, lifted her light body onto his shoulder, and broke into a run again toward the barbed wire. He headed for the north breach in the wire where the General and Memo were lying. Halting next to them, he turned around to look at the tower.

There it was. At long last the terrorists' senseless dream had been fulfilled. In rapid succession the mines detonated, and the tower's base was shrouded in smoke. The blinding lights went out and it suddenly became pitch dark. In the darkness the earth rumbled and leaped up again and again.

Maxim glanced at his watch. Seventeen past ten. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the shattered barbed wire and the tower again. The tower lay to one side of the guardhouse, its girders spread out and twisted by the explosion.

"Who's there?" said the General hoarsely.

"It's Maxim." He bent over. "Time to leave. Where did you get hit? Can you walk?"

"Wait! What about the tower?"

"The tower's finished."

Ordi still lay over his shoulder. How could he break the news to the General?

"Impossible," said the General, rising slightly. "Massaraksh! The tower's really finished, eh?" He laughed and lay down in the grass.

"Listen, Mac, I'm kind of confused. What time is it?"

"Ten twenty."

"So, everything's all right. We've finished it off. Pine job, Mac. Wait a minute -- who's that lying next to me?"

"Memo."

"He's breathing," said the General. "Hold on, who else is still alive? Who's that you've got there?"

"Ordi," said Maxim with difficulty.

The General said nothing for several seconds.

"Ordi," he repeated hesitantly and rose, swaying. "Ordi," he repeated again and placed his palm on her check.

They were silent for a while. Then Memo asked hoarsely:

"What time is it?"

"Ten twenty-two."

"Where are we?"

"We must leave now," said Maxim.

The General turned and walked through the gap in the barbed wire. He was very wobbly. Bending over. Maxim raised Memo, slung him across his other shoulder, and followed the General. When he had caught up with him, the General stopped.

"Only the wounded," he said.

"I can manage her, too."

"It's an order! Only the wounded."

Stretching out his arms and groaning with pain, he took Ordi's body from Maxim's shoulder. The weight was too much, and he placed her on the ground.

"Only the wounded." His voice sounded distant. "Let's go! On the double!"

"Where are we?" asked Memo. "Who's here? Where are we?"

"Hold onto my belt," Maxim instructed the General. They began to run.

Memo screamed and went limp. His head wobbled, his arms dangled, and his feet kept jabbing Maxim in the back. Gasping loudly and holding tightly onto Maxim's belt, the General followed close on his heels.

They ran into the woods. Wet branches lashed their faces. Dodging the trees rushing toward him and leaping over the stumps springing up from the ground was much tougher than Maxim had expected. He realized he was in rotten shape. And the air here was foul. And everything seemed all wrong. The whole mess seemed so unnecessary and senseless. In their wake lay a bloodstained trail of broken branches. He was sure that by this time the road had been cordoned off, that the bloodhounds were straining at their leashes, and that Captain Chachu, pistol in hand and barking orders, was running pigeon-toed along the road. Chachu would be the first to plunge into the woods. Behind them lay that idiotic tower, toppled. And incinerated legionnaires. And three dead comrades. With him now were two wounded men, half dead, with scarcely a chance of escaping alive. All for the sake of a tower, an idiotic, senseless, dirty, rusty tower. One of thousands like it.

"I'll never let myself get involved in anything so stupid again. I'll tell them no. All that blood for a pile of useless rusty steel; a young, foolish life sacrificed for rusty steel, and an old foolish life for the hope of living like a normal human being for a few days, and a love ended by bullets. Listen, I'll say to them, you people keep talking about wanting to survive. If that's what you want, then why die, and die so cheaply? Massaraksh! Well, I won't let them die. I'm going to make sure they live; I'm going to teach them how to live! What a blockhead I am! How could I have done such a thing? How could I have let them do it?"

Dragging the General under the arms, and with Memo on his shoulder, he leaped onto a road and looked around. Shorty was running toward him, wet and frightened.

"Is that all?" He was horrified, and Maxim was thankful for his reaction.

They dragged the wounded to the motorcycle and stuffed Memo into the sidecar. Then Maxim set the General on the rear seat and fastened him to Shorty with a belt. It was quiet in the forest, but Maxim wasn't taken in by the stillness.

"Get going," he said. "Don't stop. Break through."

"I know," replied Shorty. "What about you?"

"I'll try to divert them to me. Don't worry. I'll get away."

"It's hopeless," said Shorty sadly. He pushed the starter and the motorcycle roared. "Did you blow up the tower?"

"Yes," replied Maxim. Shorty sped away.

Alone now. Maxim stood immobile for several seconds and then dashed back into the woods.

At the first clearing he tore off his jacket and flung it into the bushes. He returned to the road on the double, and ran as fast as he could toward the city. Then, halting, he unhooked the grenades from his belt, scattered them on the road, forced his way through the brush on the other side, trying to break as many branches as possible, and threw his handkerchief behind the bushes. Only then did he continue through the forest, trying to maintain a steady pace for another ten or fifteen miles.

As he ran he concentrated on holding his course to the south-west and avoiding obstacles. He crossed roads twice: first a deserted road, then Route 11, also deserted. Here he heard the barking of dogs for the first time. Unable to determine if they were bloodhounds, he decided to play it safe and make a large detour. Half an hour later he found himself jogging between warehouses in the city's freightyard.

Lights glowed, locomotives whistled, and people scurried. News of the incident had probably not reached here yet, but he had better stop running before he was taken for a thief. He slowed down to a walk, and when a heavy freight train plowed past him toward the city, he hopped into the first sand-filled car he spotted; he lay there until it reached a cement plant. Then he hopped off, shook off the sand, and considered his next move.

It would be pointless to make his way to Forester's house, although it was the only safe hideout in the vicinity. He could try to spend the night in Duck Village, but that would be dangerous. Captain Chachu knew that area well. Besides, the thought of appearing suddenly at old Illi's home and confronting her with the news of her daughter's death was too much for him. Where else could he go? He entered a shabby little tavern frequented by workers, ate some sausages, drank some beer, and dozed off, leaning back against the wall. All the other customers were as grimy and tired as he; these were workers who had come off the night shift and missed the last streetcar home.

He dreamed about Rada. Guy was out on a raid. Good! Rada loved him, welcomed him warmly, let him change his clothes and wash. The civilian clothes Fank had given him were still there. Then, in the morning, he would head east where a second safe hiding place was located. At that point he woke up. Throwing a crumpled bill on the counter, he left.

It was a short safe walk to her place. The streets were deserted except for a man stationed at the entrance to the apartment house. The porter. He was asleep on his stool. Maxim tiptoed past him, walked upstairs, and rang the bell. It was quiet behind the door. Then he heard something stirring, footsteps, and the door opened. It was Rada.

She stifled a cry. Maxim hugged and kissed her. It was like coming home after having been given up for dead. He closed the door behind him and they entered the room quietly. Rada burst into tears. The room hadn't changed, except that his little sofa was missing. Guy, sitting on his bed in his pajamas, stared at Maxim, stunned and frightened. Several minutes passed as Maxim and Guy looked at each other and Rada cried.

"Massaraksh!" Guy said weakly. "You're alive!"

"Hello, Guy. I'm sorry you're home. I didn't want to get you into trouble. Say the word and I'll leave."

Rada clutched his arm.

"No, you won't! You're not going anywhere. Just let him try... if you go, I go, too!"

Guy flung off the blanket, hopped out of bed, and walked over to Maxim. He touched Maxim's shoulders and grimy hands, and wiped his own brow, smudging it.

"Impossible! I can't believe it! I give up," he said. "You're alive. Where did you come from? Rada, stop howling! Are you wounded? You look awful. And there's blood on you."

"It's not mine."

"I give up," repeated Guy. "But you really are alive! Rada, make some tea! No, wake up the old man and ask him for some whiskey."

"Be careful," warned Maxim. "No noise. They're looking for me."

"Who is? Why? What nonsense. Rada, let him change his clothes. Come, Mac, sit down. Or do you want to lie down? What happened? How come you're alive?"

Seating himself carefully on the edge of the chair, and placing his hands on his knees to avoid soiling anything, he looked at them, looked at them with affection, for what might be the 1ast time. And with a certain curiosity, too. How would they react to what he was about to tell them?

"My friends. I'm a criminal now. I just blew up a tower."

He wasn't surprised that they understood him immediately, understood what tower he was talking about, and did not question him about it. Rada only clenched her fists and could not tear her eyes from him. Guy grunted and, with a familiar gesture, ran his hands through his hair and looked away.

"You blockhead! So you decided to get revenge. Against who? Oh, Mac, you're still as crazy as ever. You're like a little kid. But remember, you didn't say anything and we didn't hear anything. I don't want to know anything more. Rada, make some tea. And no noise. We don't want to wake anyone. Take off your clothes, Mac. What a mess. Where the hell have you been?"

Maxim rose and undressed. He stripped off his dirty wet shirt (Guy saw the scars and swallowed hard) and pulled off his filthy boots and trousers. All his clothing was covered with dark stains.

"Well, that's a lot better." He sat down again. "Thanks, Guy. I won't be staying long. Only till morning, and then I'll leave."

"Did the porter see you?" "He was sleeping."

"Sleeping?" Guy was dubious. "Well, maybe he really was. He has to sleep sometime."

"What are you doing home?" asked Maxim.

"I'm on leave."

"What do you mean--on leave? The whole damn Legion is probably out there scouring the countryside."

"But I'm no longer a legionnaire." Guy smiled wryly. "Mac, I've been kicked out of the Legion. I'm just an ordinary army corporal now. I teach the country bumpkins how to tell their right foot from their left. Then off they go to the Khonti border, into the trenches. So, Mac, that's the way things are with me now."

"On account of me?"

"Well, yes."

They looked at each other and Guy looked away. Suddenly it struck Maxim that if Guy turned him in immediately, he could probably return to the Legion and the Officer's Independent Study Program. He also realized that such an idea never would have crossed his mind two months ago. He felt uneasy and wanted to leave, but Rada ordered him to go and wash. While he cleaned himself up, she prepared something to eat and a pot of tea. Guy sat in his usual place, propping up his downcast face between his fists. Apparently fearful of hearing something devastating, something that would pierce the last line of his defenses and sever the last link of his friendship with Mac, he asked no questions. Nor did Rada. Perhaps she was still too upset. But her eyes never left him, and she held on to his hand tightly, sobbing from time to time, afraid that he might suddenly disappear. Disappear forever. Realizing that time was growing short, Maxim pushed away his unfinished cup of tea and began to tell them his story.

He told them how a terrorist's mother had helped him after Captain Chachu had wounded him, how he met the degens, what kind of people they were and why, about the towers' real function, and what a cruel invention they were. He described what had happened during the night, how people had charged a machine gun and died one after another, how the steel pile had collapsed, and how he had carried on his shoulder a dead woman whose child had been taken from her and whose husband had been executed.

Rada listened greedily. Eventually Guy displayed interest and began to ask questions. Sarcastic, hostile questions. Stupid and cruel questions. Maxim realized that Guy did not believe him, that he did not want to believe him, that it was all he could do to keep himself from interrupting. When Maxim finished, Guy said with a smirk: "They sure twisted you around their little finger."

Maxim looked at Rada, but she turned away. Biting her lip, she said hesitantly: "I don't know. Of course there might have been one tower like that. Mac, believe me, what you're telling me can't be true."

She spoke in a soft faltering voice, obviously trying not to hurt him. Guy suddenly flared up and insisted that the story about the towers' real function was a lot of nonsense, that Maxim had no idea of the number of towers throughout the country, how many were built each year, each day, and that it was insane to think that billions would be spent for the sole purpose of inflicting misery on a lousy bunch of freaks!

"Can you imagine how much money is spent on security alone?" he added after a brief pause.

"I've thought about it," said Maxim. "I'm sure it's not all that simple. But Khonti money has nothing to do with this. Listen, Guy, I saw for myself how their pains vanished when the tower collapsed. As far as the ABMs are concerned -- look, Guy, you have far too many towers for air defense. Your air space could be protected with many fewer towers. And why do you have ABMs on your southern border? Do you really believe that those wild degens have missiles?"

"There's a lot more to it than you think," replied Guy hostilely. "You don't know anything and you believe everything you're told. Pardon me for saying so, Mac, but if you weren't you... oh, we're all too gullible," he added bitterly.

Maxim didn't feel like arguing any longer. How were they getting along, he wanted to know. Where was Rada working? Why hadn't she enrolled in school? How was Uncle Kaan? And their neighbors? Rada grew animated and began to talk freely. Suddenly she broke off, rose, cleared away the dishes, and went into the kitchen. Guy ran his hands through his hair, frowned at the dark window, and finally summoned up the courage for a serious talk with Mac.

"Mac, we're very fond of you. I like you. Rada likes you, even though you cause a lot of trouble and things have gone badly for us because of you. Rada not only likes you, but -- well, she loves you. When you disappeared, she cried the whole time; in fact she even got sick the first week. She's an attractive, practical girl and has many admirers. I don't know how you feel about her, but let me give you a piece of advice. Forget all this nonsense. It's not for you; it will foul you up, destroy you, and you'll wreck the lives of many innocent people. And all for nothing. Go back to your mountains, find your own people. Even if your head doesn't remember, your heart will tell you where your home is. No one will look for you there. You'll settle down and put your life in order. Then, come back for Rada and you'll both be very happy. Maybe by then we'll have finished off the Khontis. We'll clamp down even harder on Pandeya. Peace will come eventually and we'll begin to live like people."

If he were from the mountains, thought Maxim, he probably would take Guy's advice. He would return to his homeland and live peacefully with his young bride and forget about all the complicated problems here. Hell no, how could he forget about them? He knew what he would do: he would organize a defense system in his homeland that would be so effective that the Creators' officials wouldn't dare stick their noses over the frontier. And if the legionnaires dared to come near them, he would fight them on his own doorstep until he had wiped out every last one.

"The only problem is that I'm not from the mountains. So that takes care of that," thought Maxim. "My work is here, and I don't intend to sit around and do nothing. And Rada? Well, if she really cares for me, she'll understand. She must. Damn it, I don't want to think about it now. This is no time to get involved."

Something was happening in the building, but he was so caught up in his thoughts that he was not aware of it. Someone was walking along the corridor; someone was whispering behind the wall. Suddenly there was a commotion in the corridor and a desperate cry: "Mac!" It was Rada. Then, abrupt silence -- as if someone had put a hand over her mouth. He leaped to his feet and rushed to the window, but it was too late. The door flew open and Rada appeared in the doorway, her face drained white. There was a familiar barracks odor and the stomping of hobnailed boots. Rada was shoved into the room. Behind her crowded men in black jump suits. Pandi trained his gun on him, and Captain Chachu, his usual cunning and clever self, stood next to Rada. With one hand he held her by the shoulder; with the other he jammed his pistol into her back.

"Don't move!" he shouted. "One move and I shoot!"

Maxim froze. It was too late.

"Hold out your hands!" ordered Chachu. "Corporal, handcuffs! Two sets! Get a move on, massaraksh!' '

Pandi, whom Maxim had tossed around many times during training exercises, approached him cautiously, unhooking a heavy chain from his belt. His ferocity had quickly changed to concern for his safety.

"Don't try anything," he warned Mac. "One wrong move and Captain Chachu will give it to your girifriend."

He snapped the handcuffs on Maxim's wrists, then squatted and tied his feet. Maxim prepared to break out, but he had underestimated the captain, who refused to release Rada. Together they descended the stairs, together they climbed into the truck, with the captain's gun constantly at Rada's back. Guy, shackled, was shoved into the truck. Dawn was a long way off and it was still drizzling. The legionnaires plopped down on benches in the rear of the truck. At the entrance to the building, the porter stood leaning against the door jamb, hands folded on his stomach. He was dozing.