Pandora's grave

His fingers trembled as they closed once more on the hilt of the knife. He had never been a religious man, but his actions seemed suddenly obscene.

Thomas raised the knife above the corpse, looking down into the girl’s eyes, wide-open and staring with death. “God forgive me,” he whispered.

And the knife swung down…

3:40 A.M.

There were only two men. Harun could hardly understand it. Their garb puzzled him even more. They were wearing what looked like Western-made biological warfare suits. It was as though they had been prepared.

It would not do to expose the full force of the men under his command to deal with these two. They needed to be taken out quickly.

He turned to the sniper at his side. “Can you take them?”

The soldier nodded. “I could make sure of it closer in.”

“Then do so.”

“Tubes,” Thomas ordered. Sirvan passed the sample tubes over from the bio-kit wordlessly.

Working carefully, Thomas squeezed the syringe in his right hand, filling the tubes with the black blood. The cassettes filled with tissue already lay in their tray of formalin at his feet.

He replaced the tubes in the bio-kit and closed the lid, his fingers trembling at the thought of the death that reposed inside.

“We’re done here,” he announced, his voice flat and void of elation. One glance at the gutted body of the girl-child at his feet robbed him of any joy he might have felt.

Sirvan nodded, touching the girl’s forehead with a gloved hand as he rose. “This is what they have done to my people,” he whispered, anger present in his tones.

Thomas started to speak, started to respond to his friend’s question, when suddenly the report of a rifle shot exploded from the heights to the east.

The young Kurd groaned in almost the same instant, pitching slightly forward and staggering against the side of the house.

He caught himself at the last moment, a hand clutched tightly to his left side. Blood seeped from between his fingers.

Things seemed to slow down. Thomas reached forward, shoving Sirvan to the ground just as the sniper fired again.

Two shots. Harun swore in frustration as he watched the men start to move. They had wounded one, but they were still mobile, running now toward the edge of the village.

All at once, the faint crack of a rifle smote his ears and the sniper beside him collapsed into his arms, the top of his head blown off.

Splattered with blood, the young colonel dove for the cover of the rocks, unslinging his AK-47 as he lay there. His marksman was dead. His fingers felt wooden, clumsy as he toggled his field radio on. They needed fire support…

They reached the edge of the village in a weird, halting run, Sirvan’s arm flung over Thomas’s shoulder as he struggled to support the Kurd.

No more shots followed their footsteps. “Estere,” Sirvan whispered. “She took them out.”

Thomas nodded, then pushed him on, his heart hammering against his chest as they moved across the rocky terrain. No time. Wherever the Iranians were right now, they would be on their heels soon.

The first Katyusha rocket came in at a low trajectory, exploding in the village behind them.

Thomas looked back in shock, watching the village go up in a fireball, the concealed explosives adding to the conflagration.

The Iranians had been waiting for them. He slipped an arm around Sirvan’s waist and pushed on, toward the mountain path. They could still make it, if only…

In the shadow of the mountain, Sirvan pulled away from him, standing there swaying weakly in the pale moonlight. “It’s done, my friend,” he whispered, coughing as he did so. Flecks of blood stained the visor of his bio-suit.

Thomas stared at him, unable to speak, though the protests rose to his lips.

Sirvan put a hand to his side, leaning back against the wall of rock. “Tell me the truth-when the suit is punctured-the bacteria…”

Thomas nodded wordlessly.

“Then there’s nothing to be done,” the Kurd continued, his words more a statement than a question. “Give me an extra magazine.”

“I’m not leaving you here,” Thomas retorted, finding his voice at last.

Sirvan didn’t respond at first, just stared off into the night at the fires lighting up the village. Another rocket slammed into the mountainside above their heads and seemed to goad him into speaking.

“Don’t be a fool,” he said finally, holding out a hand toward him. “One of us needs to live.”

Thomas drew a loaded mag from the pouch at his waist and placed it in Sirvan’s outstretched hand.

“Good luck,” he whispered, the words falling empty and banal from his lips. Good luck, indeed. A meaningless wish to one whose luck had run out.

Sirvan nodded, laying the AK-47 on the rock ledge in front of him. Preparing to do battle. “May Allah go with you, my brother.”

Thomas turned away, picking up the bio-kit and disappearing into the darkness…