璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第184章

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Robin　Zacharias　was　alone。　There　were　others　here。　He‘d　caught　glimpses；　but　there　was　no　munication。　He‘d　tried　the　tap　code；　but　no　one　ever　answered。　Wherever　they　were；　they　were　too　distant；　or　the　building‘s　arrangements　didn‘t　allow　it；　or　perhaps　his　hearing　was　off。　He　could　not　share　thoughts　with　anyone；　and　even　prayers　had　limits　to　a　mind　as　intelligent　as　his。　He　was　afraid　to　pray　for　deliverance　…　a　thought　he　was　unable　even　to　admit；　for　it　would　be　an　internal　admission　that　his　faith　had　somehow　been　shaken；　and　that　was　something　he　could　not　allow；　but　part　of　him　knew　that　in　not　praying　for　deliverance；　he　was　admitting　something　by　omission；　that　if　he　prayed；　and　after　a　time　deliverance　didn‘t　e；　then　his　faith　might　start　to　die；　and　with　that　his　soul。　For　Robin　Zacharias；　that　was　how　despair　began；　not　with　a　thought；　but　with　the　unwillingness　to　entreat　his　God　for　something　that　might　not　e。
He　couldn‘t　know　the　rest。　His　dietary　deprivation；　the　isolation　so　especially　painful　to　a　man　of　his　intelligence；　and　the　gnawing　fear　of　pain；　for　even　faith　could　not　take　pain　away；　and　all　men　know　fear　of　that。　Like　carrying　a　heavy　load；　however　strong　a　man　might　be；　his　strength　was　finite　and　gravity　was　not。　Strength　of　body　was　easily　understood；　but　in　the　pride　and　righteousness　that　came　from　his　faith；　he　had　failed　to　consider　that　the　physical　acted　upon　the　psychological；　just　as　surely　as　gravity　but　far　more　insidiously。　He　interpreted　the　crushing　mental　fatigue　as　a　weakness　assignable　to　something　not　supposed　to　break；　and　he　faulted　himself　for　nothing　more　than　being　human。　Consultation　with　another　Elder　would　have　righted　everything；　but　that　wasn‘t　possible；　and　in　denying　himself　the　escape　hatch　of　merely　admitting　his　human　frailty；　Zacharias　forced　himself　further　and　further　into　a　trap　of　his　own　creation；　aided　and　abetted　by　people　who　wanted　to　destroy　him；　body　and　soul。
It　was　then　that　things　became　worse。　The　door　to　his　cell　opened。　Two　Vietnamese　wearing　khaki　uniforms　looked　at　him　as　though　he　were　a　stain　on　the　air　of　their　country。　Zacharias　knew　what　they　were　here　for。　He　tried　to　meet　them　with　courage。　They　took　him；　one　man　on　each　arm；　and　a　third　following　behind　with　a　rifle；　to　a　larger　room　…　but　even　before　he　passed　through　the　doorway；　the　muzzle　of　the　rifle　stabbed　hard　into　his　back；　right　at　the　spot　that　still　hurt；　fully　nine　months　after　his　painful　ejection；　and　he　gasped　in　pain。　The　Vietnamese　didn‘t　even　show　pleasure　at　his　disfort。　They　didn‘t　ask　questions。　There　wasn‘t　even　a　plan　to　their　abuse　that　he　could　recognize；　just　the　physical　attacks　of　five　men　operating　all　at　once；　and　Zacharias　knew　that　resistance　was　death；　and　while　he　wished　for　his　captivity　to　end；　to　seek　death　in　that　way　might　actually　be　suicide；　and　he　couldn‘t　do　that。
It　didn‘t　matter。　In　a　brief　span　of　seconds　his　ability　to　do　anything　at　all　was　taken　away；　and　he　merely　collapsed　on　the　rough　concrete　floor；　feeling　the　blows　and　kicks　and　pain　add　up　like　numbers　on　a　ledger　sheet；　his　muscles　paralyzed　by　agony；　unable　to　move　any　of　his　limbs　more　than　an　inch　or　two；　wishing　it　would　stop；　knowing　that　it　never　would。　Above　it　all　he　heard　the　cackling　of　their　voices　now；　like　jackals；　devils　tormenting　him　because　he　was　one　of　the　righteous　and　they‘d　gotten　their　hands　on　him　anyway；　and　it　went　on；　and　on；　and　on　…
A　screaming　voice　blasted　its　way　past　his　catatonia。　One　more　desultory　half…strength　kick　connected　with　his　chest；　and　then　he　saw　their　boots　draw　back。　His　peripheral　vision　saw　their　faces　cringe；　all　looking　toward　the　door　at　the　source　of　the　noise。　A　final　bellow　and　they　hastily　made　their　way　out。　The　voice　changed。　It　was　a　。。。　white　voice？　How　did　he　know　that？　Strong　hands　lifted　him；　sitting　him　up　against　the　wall；　and　the　face　came　into　view。　It　was　Grishanov。
‘My　God；‘　the　Russian　said；　his　pale　cheeks　glowing　red　with　anger。　He　turned　and　screamed　something　else　in　oddly　accented　Vietnamese。　Instantly　a　canteen　appeared；　and　he　poured　the　contents　over　the　American‘s　face。　Then　he　screamed　something　else　and　Zacharias　heard　the　door　close。
‘Drink；　Robin；　drink　this。‘　He　held　a　small　metal　flask　to　the　American‘s　lips；　lifting　it。
Zacharias　took　a　swallow　so　quickly　that　the　liquid　was　in　his　stomach　before　he　noted　the　acidic　taste　of　vodka。　Shocked；　he　lifted　his　hand　and　tried　to　push　it　away。
‘I　can‘t；‘　the　American　gasped；　‘。。。　can‘t　drink；　can‘t。　。　。‘
‘Robin；　it　is　medicine。　This　is　not　entertainment。　Your　religion　has　no　rule　against　this。　Please；　my　friend；　you　need　this。　It‘s　the　best　I　can　do　for　you；‘　Grishanov　added　in　a　voice　that　shuddered　with　frustration。　‘You　must；　Robin。‘
Maybe　it　is　medicine；　Zacharias　thought。　Some　medicines　used　an　alcohol　base　as　a　preservative；　and　the　Church　permitted　that；　didn‘t　it？　He　couldn‘t　remember；　and　in　not　knowing　he　took　another　swallow。　Nor　did　he　know　that　as　the　adrenaline　that　the　beating　had　flooded　into　his　system　dissipated；　the　natural　relaxation　of　his　body　would　only　be　accentuated　by　the　drink。
‘Not　too　much；　Robin。‘　Grishanov　removed　the　flask；　then　started　tending　to　his　injuries；　straightening　out　his　legs；　using　moistened　cloth　to　clean　up　the　man‘s　face。
‘Savages！‘　the　Russian　snarled。　‘Bloody　stinking　savages。　I‘ll　throttle　Major　Vinh　for　this；　break　his　skinny　little　monkey　neck。‘　The　Russian　colonel　sat　down　on　the　floor　next　to　his　American　colleague　and　spoke　from　the　heart。　‘Robin；　we　are　enemies；　but　we　are　men　also；　and　even　war　has　rules。　You　serve　your　country。　I　serve　mine。　These　。。。　these　people　do　not　understand　that　without　honor　there　is　no　true　service；　only　barbarism。‘　He　held　up　the　flask　again。　‘Here。　I　cannot　get　anything　else　for　the　pain。　I‘m　sorry；　my　friend；　but　I　can‘t。‘　。
And　Zacharias　took　another　swallow；　still　numb；　still　disoriented；　and　even　more　confused　than　ever。
‘Good　man；‘　Grishanov　said。　‘I　have　never　said　this；　but　you　are　a　courageous　man；　my　friend；　to　resist　these　little　animals　as　you　have。‘
‘Have　to；‘　Zacharias　gasped。
‘Of　course　you　do；‘　Grishanov　said；　wiping　the　man‘s　face　clean　as　tenderly　as　he　might　have　done　with　one　of　his　children。　‘I　would；　too。‘　He　paused。　‘God；　to　be　flying　again！‘
‘Yeah。　Colonel；　I　wish　…‘
‘Call　me　Kolya；‘　Grishanov　gestured。　‘You‘ve　known　me　long　enough。‘　
‘Kolya？‘
‘My　Christian　name　is　Nikolay。　Kolya　is　…　nickname；　you　say？‘
Zacharias　let　his　head　back　against　the　wall；　closing　his　eyes　and　remembering　the　sensations　of　flight。　‘Yes；　Kolya；　I　would　like　to　be　flying　again。‘
‘Not　too　different；　I　imagine；‘　Kolya　said；　sitting　beside　the　man；　wrapping　a　brotherly　arm　around　his　bruised　and　aching　shoulders；　knowing　it　was　the　first　gesture　of　human　warmth　the　man　had　experienced　in　almost　a　year。　‘My　favorite　is　the　MiG…17。　Obsolete　now；　but；　God；　what　a　joy　to　fly。　Just　fingertips　on　the　stick；　and　you　…you　just　think　it；　just　wish　it　in　your　mind；　and　the　aircraft　does　what　you　want。‘
‘The　…86　was　like　that；‘　Zacharias　replied。　"；They‘re　all　gone；　too。‘
The　Russian　chuckled；　‘Like　your　first　love；　yes？　The　first　girl　you　saw　as　a　child；　the　one　who　first　made　you　think　as　a　man　thinks；　yes？　But　the　first　airplane；　that　is　better　for　one　like　us。　Not　so　warm　as　a　woman　is；　but　much　less　confusing　to　handle。‘　Robin　tried　to　laugh；　but　choked。　Grishanov　offered　him　another　swallow。　‘Easy；　my　friend。　Tell　me；　what　is　your　favorite？‘
The　American　shrugged；　feeling　the　warm　glow　in　his　belly。　‘I‘ve　flown　nearly　everything。　I　missed　the　F…94　and　the　…89；　too。　From　what　I　hear；　I　didn‘t　miss　much　there。　The　…104　was　fun；　like　a　sports　car；　but　not　much　legs。　No；　the　…86H　is　probably　my　favorite；　just　for　handling。‘
‘And　the　Thud？‘　Grishanov　asked；　using　the　nickname　for　the　F…105　Thunderchief。
Robin　coughed　briefly。　‘You　take　the　whole　state　of　Utah　to　turn　one　in；　darned　if　it　isn‘t　fast　on　the　deck；　though。　I‘ve　had　one　a　hundred　twenty　knots　over　the　redline。‘
‘Not　really　a　fighter；　they　say。　Really　a　bomb　truck。‘　Grishanov　had　assiduously　studied　A