Shadows of War

“The captain’s.”

“No more fires,” said Jing Yo.

The unit captain was surprised when Jing Yo confronted him. “My invasion orders said I was to fire any building that wasn’t useful,” he said. “So that’s what we’re doing. What’s the problem?”

“Where did those orders come from?”

“Division.”

“I don’t want the house burned,” said Jing Yo. “Don’t burn any more.”

“The order came from division,” said the captain. “That means the general, and your colonel, who’s his chief of staff. If you want to ask them to rescind it, that’s okay with me. But the general has a reputation, and I don’t want to cross him. I’m sure you’re on better terms, being a commando as well.”

Jing Yo knew he could get the order rescinded, but it would take talking to Sun. If he did that, inevitably he would have to say where he was, The colonel would not like the fact that he had disobeyed his orders on where to search.

What difference did it make if the buildings were burned? The people had already run away

“My people will finish searching the houses,” said Jing Yo. “You take the barns. You can burn them after you’ve searched — but only when you’re certain there’s no one inside.”

“I’m not a barbarian,” said the captain, rounding up his men.

* * *

“We’re next!” hissed Josh, running over from the door where he’d been watching the troops search the barn buildings. He dodged the two plows Mara had placed near the opening and ducked onto the steps next to her, sliding the rug over the top of the trapdoor.

“Get down,” she told him. “One, two, three.”

On three, Mara ducked down next to him, closing the door over the space. At the same time, she pulled hard on the rope she had in her hand, dragging the mower over the trapdoor. She had tied a very loose knot, trusting that it would come free as she yanked. The idea was that the mower would roll over the space, making it easy to overlook, just as they had originally.

Except the rope didn’t untie. As Mara flattened herself on the stairs, it got hung up beneath the panel, keeping the door open a crack and practically drawing an arrow toward where they were.

“Jesus.”

Mara put her shoulder against the top of the door and pulled. The mower had rolled over the door, and was just heavy enough to make it impossible to move the rope.

“Here,” whispered Josh, stepping up to help lift the door.

“Easy. We don’t want it to roll off.”

“It’ll be better than what we’ve got,” he said, pushing with his back. The trapdoor went up an inch and a half. Mara pulled again and the rope came free. But now the rug had fallen into the crack.

“Hold the door up just a little,” said Mara, pushing at the rug with her fingers.

“Come on.”

“I’m trying.”

“Give it a good push,” said Josh.

Then he sneezed.

Mara managed to flip the rug out of the space. “Down,” she said.

Josh lowered the door into place, sending them into total darkness. Then he sneezed. Though most of the force was muffled by his arm, it was still loud enough to hear.

“This is a very bad time to sneeze,” she said.

“No shit.”

He sneezed again, then moved down the stairs.

The door to the shed crashed open a few seconds later. The soldiers shouted as they came in, screaming “Surrender or die” in Chinese. Then they went silent, apparently scanning the room.

Mara waited, her finger growing stiff as it hovered above the rifle trigger. The silence extended for ten seconds, twenty thirty a full minute. Then there was another shout — a brief, sharp command — and the floorboards vibrated as the soldiers fanned out around and across the room.

How close were they? Directly above?

She could kill the first one, and the second. If she was lucky, she could grab a weapon.

Still, they’d be overcome eventually. It would probably be more prudent to surrender.

That would just be another way to die. Better to have some say in it.

A heavy heel set down a few feet away, pushing the floor with a squeak. It pounded twice, tapping maybe to see if there was a hollow sound.

Now, thought Mara, getting ready.

The heels moved away. Mara couldn’t believe it — she thought for sure it was a trick of her hearing, her brain unconsciously guilty of wishful thinking.

There was more talk, muffled, indecipherable. And footsteps toward the door.

They’d missed them.

They’d missed them!

* * *

Josh felt as if he were suffocating. He had his nose buried deep in the crook of his arm. He held his breath and bit his lip, doing everything imaginable to stifle his sneeze. But the urge overwhelmed him. He pushed farther into the darkness, past M?, hunkering against a crate and the wall and bowing down just as he lost the struggle.

His entire body shuddered with the sneeze. He sneezed again and again, curling his head as far down into his midsection as he could, pressing his arm against his face.

If the door opened now, he’d run up, he’d throw himself at them, he’d do everything he could to try and save the others.

He held his breath again, wiping his nose with his sleeve. He sniffled lightly. As quickly as it had come on, the fit was over.

M? brushed up against him, then curled herself around his side.

He held her for what seemed like a long while, then got up and went toward the front, looking for Mara.

“Ssshh,” she whispered. “I think they left.”

“How will we know it’s safe to go out?” he asked.

“We won’t. We’ll just have to wait as long as we can.”

“Yes,” he started to say, but his nose suddenly began to tickle. He buried his face in his arm a second before sneezing again.

“Are you okay?” Mara asked.

“Smoke,” he said as another sneeze erupted. “I smell smoke.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph — they’re setting the building on fire!”

13

Hanoi

When General Perry offered to let Zeus scout the reservoir, Zeus accepted, not so much because he wanted to get a better understanding of the tactical situation, but because he knew offers from generals were basically orders. In truth, though, Zeus didn’t particularly like planes, especially the small ones typically used for scouting missions. He couldn’t stand helicopters, either. He felt like one good burst of wind or small-arms fire would take them down.

Larger aircraft didn’t bother him, even when he had to jump out of them. Of course, he had closed his eyes on his very first jump, and on every one since. But frankly, he felt a hell of a lot safer under a parachute than in the cockpit of a Blackhawk or, God forbid, a Little Bird.

Of course, as bad as they were, at least they flew relatively slowly. A Navy buddy had once arranged a