All My Sins Remembered Page 12

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  Eventually, the sun gained just the right position, and it sent its rays questing through the gap in the curtains hanging over the bedroom window to land right on Dareem’s sleeping face. With a groan, he turned his face to go back to sleep, but then suddenly sat up with a gasp, realizing that he had slept far too long. The first thought that occurred to him was that he had missed morning prayers. While he was of a more liberal belief that Allah was both forgiving and understanding, he never liked missing morning prayers. The second thought that occurred to him was that the house was strangely silent for it being morning. Typically, the sounds of cooking could be heard as Isir worked on preparing a morning meal.

  Curious, Dareem rolled out of bed and padded on bare feet to the kitchen only to find it empty. On the table was a warm cup of Arabic coffee, and a plate of Shashukah, a delicious recipe handed down through the centuries from Mother to daughter in Isir's family. Next to it was a hastily written note. Glancing at it, he saw that Isir had taken Aasif to the village to buy some items from the market. Dareem smiled, knowing that she was probably intending on spending some of the credits she managed to hide away for something. Now that the shop keepers had received a fresh supply of goods, the market would be particularly busy for the next week or so. Isir did not often spend her credits frivolously, and he often turned a blind eye when he noticed a few credits were missing from their expense account from which they paid their bills. After all, Isir had never once complained about marrying out of a wealthy family, into a poor one. If anything, she seemed to treasure the simple things in life, and was less concerned with material goods so long as they had a roof over their head, and food on their table. It was one of the reasons why he loved Isir so much. She was his life and his breath. As he ate, Dareem paused as an idea occurred to him and smiled.

  Finishing his breakfast, not even caring that his coffee was less than hot, Dareem quickly changed his clothes, put on his shoes, and grabbed his new holocorder. After checking in on the flock still in their pen, and noticing that Aasif must have fed them before he left with his Mother, Dareem set out towards the village. At best, they had only been there an hour. He was sure he could catch them before they left. Maybe he would take them to one of the few restaurants for a mid-day meal before returning to sheer the sheep.

  As he neared the village, the smile that had been firmly fixed to Dareem’s face faltered as his pace slowed as he realized that he was missing the sounds of the village that he had always welcomed over the years as he neared it. In its place was silence. It was something that gave him a sense of dread as he realized that something was happening, or that something was wrong. In the distance, as he approached the village, he would always see old man Jawdah either sitting in his chair beside his door, or standing in his door. His porch overlooked the northern approach to the village, and he always enjoyed watching the wildlife passing by in the distance, or watching for travelers coming from that direction, though it was a rare occurrence. He could see Jawdah there, sitting as he always was, but it seemed he was asleep with chin resting on his chest as he leaned against the wall of his abode. Yet something was not right, though Dareem did know what.

  Dismissing the thought, Dareem had a better idea and pulled his holocorder up to record Jawdah sitting there, sleeping as the sun warmed him. Old man Jawdah was a weaver of baskets and hats, though of late he slept more, ate less, and worked less. Many in the village knew that he had begun the slow decline of health that would finally end in his passing, but he was a sweet old man, always ready with a smile or a funny story.

  As he neared Jawdah, though, Dareem’s gentle smile faded as he realized that Jawdah’s chest did not rise and fall with the steady rhythms of life. Disturbed, Dareem called to him, lowering his holocorder as he ran the rest of the distance to Jawdah. As he drew near, Dareem stopped, shocked at what he saw. Dareem’s lips were blue, his eyes open wide in what looked like the desperation. Worst of all was the old man’s expression, which reflected fear.

  “Oh Jawdah, I am sorry.” Dareem whispered sadly as he gently slid the old man’s eyes closed. It seemed that somehow the man may have had a heart attack or something. With a sad sigh, he knew he must bear the news to the rest of the village, so that they may give him a proper burial. Standing, Dareem resumed his walk towards the village, but grew increasingly troubled as he drew nearer. The silence hanging over the village had not lifted. Before, he could always hear the merchants hawking their wares, the loud sound of haggling, the sounds of kids playing, or of goats and sheep passing through the village on their way to market, or to another sparse pasture. If nothing else, he should already be seeing women hanging their laundry to out to dry in the sun on clotheslines draped across adobe roofs. Yet there was nothing. The stillness was only disturbed by a slight breeze coming from the north, and a dust devil that crashed into one of the adobe houses on the edge of the village and dissipated.

  As he continued, Dareem saw well ahead of him another body lying in the middle of the road leading into the village. His breath caught in his throat as his sense of dread deepened. He approached cautiously, and knelt beside the body. It was one of the women of the village who had been carrying her wet laundry from the nearby river where the women typically washed their clothing. The basket, which normally would have been balanced on her head as she walked from the river to her home to hang them out to dry, had been dumped, its top lying where it had fallen. Some of the clothing had tumbled out, and the woman lay on the ground, her hands grasping her throat as if she had been suddenly robbed of the ability to breathe. Like Jawdah before her, her lips were blue and eyes wide in desperation.

  Afraid of what he might find, Dareem left her there and entered a nearby abode only to find a family of four sprawled out on the floor in their dining room. Like the others before, they showed signs of suddenly being unable to breathe. It looked as if, in his desperation, the father had attempted to slam himself on the table, believing that perhaps he was choking on his food. The two children, both beautiful little girls, were both dead as well. One little girl had slumped forward, her face firmly planted in her plate. Aasif was always fond of the slightly older girl, Sarai. Gently, Dareem lifted the girl’s head from her plate and rested it on the table, off to the side. The Mother, he noticed, was laying on her side, on the floor, her hand outstretched towards her husband.

  Dareem staggered from the home in a daze. He was so overwhelmed with emotion, he did not know whether to scream or weep. Instead, he walked down the village street, looking at the faces of the dead, though they barely registered in his mind because he was looking for two very specific faces. He knew, with a dread certainty he would find them, though he hoped against hope that he would not. As he rounded the final bend in the road, a sharp curve really, he came upon the marketplace where many of the villagers were sprawled out on the ground. Some were sprawled out behind market stands, but all were dead. Then he found them, and the daze his mind had been in shattered, along with his life. A long, forlorn scream escaped him as tears flooded his eyes. Running forward, he knelt beside the bodies of Isir and Aasif, gathering them into his arms. Isir was holding Aasif, in their last moments. Now he held them both.

  Time seemed lost to Dareem as he sat there on the ground in the middle of the marketplace, rocking to and fro, with his dead family in his arms. It didn’t matter. He wanted to stay here forever. He wanted to die with them. With a heart wrenching moan fresh tears escaped him, though the morning sun had crept up to mid-day. Dareem began to sweat, and slowly sanity seeped into his consciousness, along with a budding anger. What had caused this? Who was responsible? He would find them, and he would kill them. It was no less their just due. He would make those responsible bury the dead, and then he would kill them. He would make their blood feed the soil of the graves they had dug. No…no, he couldn’t do that. He could not let those murderers bury so many precious people. He would do that, but their blood would still soil the ground of their graves. No…no. Isir
would weep to know what he had become, should he do such a thing. Aasif would not know him. He would no longer be the Father Aasif knew. What would he do?

  Anger grew inside Dareem until he felt as if he were about to explode. His rocking and weeping had ceased. He now sat stiff and erect, his arms now squeezing Isir and Aasif tight as he sought answers within his own mind. Then he saw it. His holocorder was on the ground, not far from where he sat. It must have slipped from his grasp as he ran towards his family. He wanted to document the life of his family, but now a new idea sprang into being as he gently laid his family aside and climbed to his feet. He would record the village as they lay. He would move nothing, touch nothing, and record it all. Let the universe see the atrocity committed here this day. Then the Gadari Republic will act. They will send help. They will find those guilty of this atrocity, and when they do, Dareem hoped they would burn in any hell that may exist. Before he began recording, he knelt once more beside his beloved, and whispered into her ear.

  “Hayati, turn your eyes away for a little while. I am not proud of what I am about to do.”

  Chapter 11

  The ship’s armory was bustling with sound and movement as Marines walked their armor into the alcoves lining the room, waited for their armor to unseal and the back of it to open, and then stepped out of their armor, most with grim expressions on their faces. They were drenched with sweat, and many had some sort of injury from the hazards of combat, ranging from bruises and scrapes to lacerations and minor burns. Stepping out of his own armor, Hawke recognized that look. It was the look of angry Marines still wanting some payback for their losses, and he couldn’t blame them. He felt the same way, but they had a job to do, and didn’t have time for something as petty as revenge. Technicians swarmed in to assess damage to the power armor and begin repairs. The dead had been taken away, though Bardaccio’s body could not be recovered because there were just too many pieces and not enough time. No one talked while in the confines of the small room, though one Marine growled at a technician when the latter failed to move out of his way fast enough as the Marine sought to make his exit and shower real quick before debriefing.

  After recovering fire team Charlie and planting the charges on the Choyo’s main power plant and drive system, the team had made their quick escape to the waiting gator down below. While speeding towards the Black Wave, Hawke could see crew members on board the Choyo running out of the ship as if their butts were on fire, moments before the ship bucked violently upwards, its entire aft section blowing out so forcefully that the docking slings snapped, and the support beams were forcefully bent out away from the ship it was cradling. The Choyo collapsed lifelessly to the dock floor with a thunderous crash, her spine broken. Fire crews scurried to control the fire as giant air scrubbers kicked on to suck in the smoke, and then they were in the cargo elevator being lifted into the belly of the ship as it fired up its engines. As soon as the cargo elevator had sealed, the ship lifted agilely off its docking slings and leapt for the airlocks, exiting the station. In minutes it was racing away from Gitmo as fast as its sub-light drives could take it, heading for the far side of Amazon.

  “Debrief in ten.” Hawke said gruffly before any Marines managed to escape the armory. No one acted as if they heard him, but he knew they had. He worried that their morale might be low. Fire teams Beta and Charlie had both lost a member, as had Fire team Alpha. Though they had taken out about three times their number, even one Marine casualty was difficult, because of how tight knit their teams were. Hawke felt it too, from a commander’s perspective. He knew each one of those that had been killed, and knew he had to live with the fact that he had given the orders that lead to their deaths. Three more lives sacrificed on the altar of service to the Empire. Another piece of his soul stripped away, never to be returned. The worst part of it was, the mission wasn’t over yet. They still had to find the production plant for this bio-weapon, and then there was still the matter of the ship, the Guan Yu. Hawke pushed those thoughts roughly out of his mind as he finally stepped out of his power armor, being the last one out of the armory. It was just his style. When he led a mission, which seemed to happen more infrequently of late, he always made it a point to be the first on the field of battle, and the last off. That included getting unhitched from his power armor. He believed in leading by example.

  As Hawke left the armory with a heavy heart as he made his way to his quarters to shower and change his clothes. Fifteen minutes later found him on his way to LFBR to debrief his Marines. Unable to smile or relieve the grim expression on his face, he stalked through steel corridors, ignoring crew members who leapt out of his way. He kept telling himself that the Gadari Republic would one day be called to account for all the atrocities that had been committed in their name, but in his heart he knew this was just wishful thinking. All four empires were guilty of atrocities committed in their name, and at their requests, but not one would ever be called to account for it. They valued their ignorance. They did the planning, the mercs did the dying. That is just the way it was. His retirement couldn’t come soon enough.

  Entering the LFBR, Hawke moved to stand behind the podium, flanked by Second Lieutenant Raijan on one side, and Nathan on the other. As he looked out over the theatre styled seating, he silently noted that he faced a grim-faced group of Marines. Alpha team looked a bit worse for wear, with cuts and bruises telling the story of their defiance while in the clutches of the Rejai Empire. In fact all of the Marines looked pretty grim. Most looked angry. They wanted more payback than just a blown up transport. Hawke shook his head as he tried to think of where he could start. Should he offer condolences? Tell them things went well, that they had kicked ass? What kind of comfort would that be? No. That would not work. Hawke just didn’t feel it, and as he stood there taking in the sight of his Marines, he could see that they didn't either. His eyes drifted over to meet Nathan’s eyes, a glance asking Nathan for advice. Nathan offered a knowing smile, and then mouthed “Be honest.” Hawke couldn’t help but return Nathan’s smile with his own ghost of a smile. After all these years, or perhaps because of them, the man still had an uncanny ability to know what he was thinking. He knew Hawke’s heart. Squaring his shoulders, Hawke looked again at his Marines, this time with pride.

  “I’m not going to say words that will ring hollow in your ears.” Hawke informed them. “You know we brought the pain, like we always do, but that doesn’t matter. We have members of our family dead, and it weights heavy on our hearts.” That got their attention. Those who had been resting their heads on their desktops sat up, and began to pay attention.

  “But we – all of us – did well. All objectives were met, and we gave far more grief than we have been dealt. Sometimes, that is all you can ask for.” A few Marines nodded in agreement, and Hawke saw his Marines perk up a bit. He felt a bit of relief as he saw that vicious spark return to the eyes of some of them. Grobnak looked as if he was about to leap out of his chair, punch his fist in the air, and roar defiance, but then again it didn't take much to get Grobnak going. As for everyone else, it seemed their morale wasn’t so far gone as he had feared.

  “In the days yet to come we will mourn and remember them, but right now I need to know what each team saw, what each team did, and just what happened so we can put it all together.” Hawke said. With that, he began interviewing each member of fire teams Alpha, Beta, Charlie, and Delta, leaving Tasha towards the end. As they were finished with their debriefing, each Fire team quietly filed out.

  Tasha Altihkova sat slouched in her chair, exhausted. Though the other Marines had filed out, she was simply too tired to move just yet. It seemed that her wounds had finally caught up with her. Though the medical bay was easily able to regenerate her dermal layer, and even the damaged tissue from where her interrogator had sheathed his knife in her body, she was warned that she would require a great deal of rest over the next day or so as her body worked to regain energy expended to heal her. As it was, she barely made it to the LFBR for the d
ebriefing before Hawke had walked in, looking both grim and tired. It took those few moments to gather her wits until she realized that she was the only one left in the room, aside from Colonel Bakore and Commander Schultz. Glancing at Nathan, Hawke lifted his chin towards the Commander’s Door, indicating that he would catch up with him later. Nodding, Nathan let himself out. Alone at last, Hawke walked slowly towards where Tasha was sitting, and took a seat beside her with a tired sigh, then turned so he could meet her gaze.

  “I wanted to tell you, you did well out there.” Hawke said quietly. Tasha rested a steady gaze on him as he seemed to search for the right words to say. “You’ve done enough. If you want to sit the rest of this mission out, I can have you transferred to The Fury when she arrives. After we take out the production facility that is manufacturing Sarin, The Fury will be going back to the station.”

  Tasha blinked a couple of times before Hawke’s words sank in. Oh, how she wanted to go! New nightmares will soon join her old ones, she suspected. It would be a veritable plague of dreams bent on never giving her another good night’s rest again, but even as she thought that she knew she could not. The ghosts of her comrades from the Pripyat demanded resolution. She needed to see that they were able to finally rest in peace, if only in her dreams. Opening her mouth she tried to speak, but could find no voice. Clearing her throat and trying again she said, “Nyet. I must stay.”

  Hawke’s blue eyes met haunted green eyes as he regarded Tasha for a few long moments. He could understand what she was going through, and had to admire her strength. Yet he saw right through her, in some sense. He knew she was holding on by a thread, that she must be at just about the last of her strength. Even the strongest person would be, after all she had gone through. Sooner or later, she would have to stop and mourn. She would have to cry, and let her heart bleed out those emotions, or else she will never be able to mentally cope with what she has been through. Just as he knew that though, he knew that it would be on her terms. It couldn’t be forced. Nodding, Hawke stood and turned towards the Commander’s door.