Chapter Fourteen
One day in the early days of Dicta (October), dozens of volunteers gathered in front of the command room where Sobaker resided. Of course, I joined them, as they were all demanding leave to visit their families.
We had been here, especially my batch, for three months, and no one had left the camp to go home except the dead. We only communicated by sending and receiving letters and money to and from our loved ones.
Finally, Makar came out in his striped undershirt and said, "What's the problem, folks?"
"Sir," said one of the volunteers, a man with a medium-length beard.
"I am Camille Hedran… and I've been here for three months. Can you tell me why we are not allowed to take leave to see our children and wives? I'm willing to give up my salary for the month just to see my son."
He spoke politely, and some of the other volunteers agreed. After the voices calmed down, Makar said, "I understand how you feel, but I'm sorry, I have to say no… there's no one to replace you."
"By the right of the sacred dragon?"
"My friend, listen. We're in an unstable and dangerous situation, with an imminent attack. We can't afford to give leaves right now."
Voices of protest and objection filled the air, but at that moment, Sobaker came out of his office, looking displeased. It seemed like he hadn't shaved his beard in nearly a week. The crowd quieted down a bit as Sobaker stared at each of them with his narrow eyes. He turned to Makar and asked, "Is this about the leave request again?"
"Yes, sir."
Sobaker straightened up, looked at Camille, and said, "You want to go back home?"
Camille hesitated a little and then answered, "Y-Yes, sir, I do."
"Great… then go back." He said it simply.
"Re-really?"
"Yes… there's the camp gate. You can leave."
Camille fell silent as Sobaker walked around him, clearing a path and saying, "Anyone can leave if they want… the gate is open. Go ahead!"
Some of the volunteers glanced at each other.
"But there's one small thing… I can't guarantee that I won't order the machine guns on the watchtowers to fire at anyone who runs away… yes, the law of executing deserters is still in effect."
"But sir, we're not deserters!" one of the volunteers replied. Sobaker responded,
"Even worse… let's say one of you manages to get out without being shot… let's say you make it across those distant hills filled with the savage rebels, thirsty for Oshbik blood… what then? Will you cross the Cherniya Sea? I just want to know… what's the point of surviving the impossible escape, only to bring home the shame of defeat? What will you tell your children if they ask you, 'Father, why did you leave the short, difficult path of glory and choose the long, easy road of disgrace?' How will you answer?"
Camille remained silent, his head lowered.
Sobaker paused, then continued, "The situation is unstable… and only the Lord knows when we might be attacked. We haven't completed our mission here… and we need every man."
"What exactly is our mission?"
The words slipped from my mouth without thinking. Boris slapped his forehead, and I felt embarrassed.
Sobaker looked at me and approached. That's when I realized I had made a mistake I'd regret.
It was all Boris's fault for not stopping me from speaking in situations like these.
Sobaker stared at me with sharp eyes. Boris was about to say something, but Sobaker gestured for him to stop and then asked me, "What's your name, son?"
"S-Sir, Adam Schober, sir," I stammered, my voice barely audible, and my hands trembling.
"Wait, aren't you the boy who survived the ambush a month ago?" Sobaker asked, then looked toward Boris, who confirmed it.
"Alright, Adam… can you tell me why you survived?"
(As if I wanted to!)
I was puzzled and unsure how to answer, my gaze shifting between the ground and his black leather shoes. I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Sir, survival instinct."
"Hmm… so you didn't fight for your country?"
"N-No, sir, that's why I'm here."
He laughed and said, "You've answered yourself, Adam."
'No, I didn't!' I thought.
Looking around, he added, "The mission isn't over. Those people back home… we are the obstacle that prevents them from spreading and thriving in northern Koropostia."
"How, sir?" Boris asked. Sobaker replied, "They want to rule this land… to expand further. Unfortunately, our country is the first target."
Sobaker stood next to Makar again and continued, "As for leave… trust me, and take my word of honor. We're here for only a few more months. Our stay won't be long. Once the Gaganian government forces are re-formed as they were, our mission will end, and you'll be free to return to your families or fight in the North."
The crowd fell silent and began to disperse gradually as Sobaker went back inside and Makar returned to his post.
"Bullshit," Boris said, walking beside me, then added, "We were promised the same thing four months ago… and some in my batch remember it."
"You mean since you arrived?"
"Yes."
"Why won't they let us go?"
'Damn it, I miss Reem so much.'
"Isn't it obvious?" Boris interrupted my longing for Reem.
"What?"
He said, "Do you really think that if you leave, you'll come back?"
"Why not?" I replied.
Boris stopped, stared at me with a dead expression, and then walked away.