H.R.H.

“I know it must be very difficult.” She had seen press feeding frenzies like it before, and agreed with Christianna that if no one knew, it would be simpler for them all.

“Thank you for allowing us to work with you. What can we do to help? You must be exhausted,” she said sympathetically as the woman nodded.

“If you go to the second truck, we need someone to help make coffee. I think we're almost out. And we have a stack of boxes we need to move, with medical supplies in them, and bottles of water. Maybe your men could help us with that.”

“Of course.” She told Max and Samuel what was expected of them, and they quickly disappeared toward where the boxes were, as Christianna headed to the second truck, as directed by Marque. Her bodyguards were reluctant to let her go alone, but she insisted she would be fine. There was so much armed protection in the area that she was certainly not at risk, whether they were with her or not.

Marque thanked her again for her help, and then walked away to check on some of the women she had been talking to before Christianna arrived.

It was hours before Christianna saw her again, while she was handing out coffee, and later bottles of water. There were blankets for those who were cold. Some people were sleeping on the ground. Others sat rigid or sobbing, waiting for news of their loved ones inside.

As Marque had predicted, the terrorists' demand for prisoner exchange had a violent outcome within almost exactly three hours. Fifty children were shot and thrown from windows of the school by hooded men. The bodies of the dead children flew to the courtyard below like rag dolls, as people screamed, and finally the soldiers were able to retrieve them under heavy fire to cover them. Only one child was still alive when they brought her back, and she died in her mother's arms, as soldiers, locals, and volunteers alike stood by and sobbed. It was an atrocity beyond measure. And it wasn't over yet. By then nearly a hundred children had died, almost as many adults, and the terrorists were still in full control. A rabid Middle Eastern religious group had taken responsibility for the attack by then, with ties to Chechen rebels. It was a joint effort to have thirty terrorists released from prison, and the Russian government was standing its ground, much to the anger of the crowd. They preferred to have thirty terrorists released, and spare the lives of their children. There was a sense of despair and helplessness around them everywhere in the crowd, as Christianna stood with the other Red Cross workers and sobbed. What was happening was beyond imagining.

She had done very little since she arrived, other than hand out water or coffee, and then suddenly she saw a young Russian woman standing next to her crying inconsolably. She was pregnant, and holding a toddler by the hand. Her eyes met Christianna's then, and as though they were long-lost relatives, they fell into each other's arms and cried. Christianna never knew her name, and they shared no language in common other than the bottomless sorrow caused by watching children die. Christianna learned later that she had a six-year-old in the school, who had not as yet been seen or found. Her husband was a teacher there, and he had been one of the first fatalities of the previous night. She was praying that her son was still alive.

The two women stood side by side for several hours, alternately hugging and holding hands. Christianna brought some food for the two-year-old, and a chair for the pregnant woman to sit down, while she continued to cry. There were so many others like her that it was hard to distinguish them in the crowd.

It was after dawn when soldiers in commando uniforms told them to clear the area. The entire group of waiting people and workers had to move well back. No one knew what was happening, but the terrorists had just made what they said was their final demand. If that one was not met, they said they were going to blow up the entire school, which seemed entirely plausible by now. They were people without conscience or morality, with no value whatsoever for human life, apparently even their own.

“We need to get in the trucks,” Marque told her quietly as she passed by, rounding up her troops, and Christianna was now counted among them. “They haven't told us, but I think they're going to go in, they want everyone as far away as we can get.” She had been moving among the locals and telling them the same thing. People were walking and running across a field behind newly formed riot police lines. It made the parents' hearts ache to put even more distance between them and their children trapped inside. But the soldiers were pushing the crowd back now with force, as though they were running out of time.