璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第164部分

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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　American　pilot‘s　slang。
‘That‘s　all　right。　It　will　get　you　out　of　trouble　in　a　hurry。　You　sure　don‘t　want　to　dogfight　in　one。　The　first　pass　better　be　a　good　one。‘
‘But　for　bombing　…　one　pilot　to　another；　your　bomb　delivery　in　this　wretched　place　is　excellent。‘
‘We　try；　Kolya；　we　surely　do　try；‘　Zacharias　said；　his　voice　slurred。　It　amazed　the　Russian　that　the　liquor　had　worked　so　quickly。　The　man　had　never　had　a　drink　in　his　life　until　twenty　minutes　earlier。　How　remarkable　that　a　man　would　choose　to　live　without　drink。
‘And　the　way　you　fight　the　rocket　emplacements。　You　know；　I‘ve　watched　that。　We　are　enemies；　Robin；‘　Kolya　said　again。　‘But　we　are　also　pilots。　The　courage　and　skill　I　have　watched　here；　they　are　like　nothing　I　have　ever　seen。　You　must　be　a　professional　gambler　at　home；　yes？‘
‘Gamble？‘　Robin　shook　his　head。　‘No；　I　can‘t　do　that。‘
‘But　what　you　did　in　your　Thud　。。。‘
‘Not　gambling。　Calculated　risk。　You　plan；　you　know　what　you　can　do；　and　you　stick　to　that；　get　a　feel　for　what　the　other　guy　is　thinking。‘
Grishanov　made　a　mental　note　to　refill　his　flask　for　the　next　one　on　his　schedule。　It　had　taken　a　few　months；　but　he‘d　finally　found　something　that　worked。　A　pity　that　these　little　brown　savages　didn‘t　have　the　wit　to　understand　that　in　hurting　a　man　you　most　often　made　his　courage　grow。　For　all　their　arrogance；　which　was　considerable；　they　saw　the　world　through　a　lens　that　was　as　diminutive　as　their　stature　and　as　narrow　as　their　culture。　They　seemed　unable　to　learn　lessons。　Grishanov　sought　out　such　lessons。　Strangest　of　all；　this　one　had　been　something　learned　from　a　fascist　officer　in　the　Luftwaffe。　A　pity　also　that　the　Vietnamese　allowed　only　him　and　no　others　to　perform　these　special　interrogations。　He‘d　soon　write　to　Moscow　about　that。　With　the　proper　kind　of　pressure；　they　could　make　real　use　of　this　camp。　How　incongruously　clever　of　the　savages　to　establish　this　camp；　and　how　disappointingly　consistent　that　they‘d　failed　to　see　its　possibilities。　How　distasteful　that　he　had　to　live　in　this　hot；　humid；　insect…ridden　country；　surrounded　by　arrogant　little　people　with　arrogant　little　minds　and　the　vicious　dispositions　of　serpents。　But　the　information　he　needed　was　here。　As　odious　as　his　current　work　was；　he‘d　discovered　a　phrase　for　it　in　a　contemporary　American　novel　of　the　type　he　read　to　polish　up　his　already　impressive　language　skills。　A　very　American　turn　of　phrase；　too。　What　he　was　doing　was　‘just　business。‘　That　was　a　way　of　looking　at　the　world　he　readily　understood。　A　shame　that　the　American　next　to　him　probably　would　not；　Kolya　thought；　listening　to　every　word　of　his　rambling　explanation　of　the　life　of　a　Weasel　pilot。
The　face　in　the　mirror　was　being　foreign；　and　that　was　good。　It　was　strange　how　powerful　habits　were。　He‘d　already　tilled　the　sink　with　hot　water　and　had　his　hands　lathered　before　his　intellect　kicked　in　and　reminded　him　that　he　wasn‘t　supposed　to　wash　or　shave。　Kelly　did　brush　his　teeth。　He　couldn‘t　stand　the　feel　of　film　there；　and　for　that　part　of　the　disguise　he　had　his　bottle　of　wine。　What　foul　stuff　that　was；　Kelly　thought。　Sweet　and　heavy；　strangely　colored。　Kelly　was　not　a　wine　connoisseur；　but　he　did　know　that　a　decent　table　wine　wasn‘t　supposed　to　be　the　color　of　urine。　He　had　to　leave　the　bathroom。　He　couldn‘t　stand　to　look　in　the　mirror　for　long。
He　fortified　himself　with　a　good　meal；　filling　up　with　bland　foods　that　would　energize　his　body　without　making　his　stomach　rumble。　Then　came　the　exercises。　His　ground…floor　unit　allowed　him　to　run　in　place　without　the　fear　of　disturbing　a　neighbor。　It　wasn‘t　the　same　as　real　running；　but　it　would　suffice。　Then　came　the　pushups。　At　long　last　his　left　shoulder　was　fully　recovered；　and　the　aches　in　his　muscles　were　perfectly　bilateral。　Finally　came　the　hand…to…hand　exercises；　which　he　practiced　for　general　quickness　in　addition　to　the　obvious　utilitarian　applications。
He‘d　left　his　apartment　in　daylight　the　day　before；　taking　the　risk　of　being　seen　in　his　disreputable　state　in　order　to　visit　a　Goodwill　store；　where　he‘d　found　a　bus