Читать книгу Seeds of the Bitter Harvest - John Sheppard - Страница 11

He could sense the presence of death. It was strong and pervasive here. Jeremy felt it to the core of his being. He remembered the first time he was aware of feeling it; it had come when he was a young child at his grandfather’s funeral many, many years ago. At the time he couldn’t put what he was feeling into words, and wasn’t sure he could now. He just knew death was here.

Cold, unwelcome, maybe even sinister; it was here like he had never felt it before. Yes, he had been in several major campaigns since the start of the war, but this was pure evil. Perhaps he felt it so strongly because he knew the recent history of where he was. He, his team, and the resistance fighters were at the outskirts of the International Airport, the sight of what was arguably one of the most horrific atrocities of a war filled with atrocities.

At the beginning of the year, the Enemy forces started marching down the coastline. Panic within the Capital rose with every mile gained by their foe. Evacuations began at a fever pitch in April, and by May the International Airport was booking flights out of the country as fast as they could get flights in, loaded, and back in the air.

At first it looked as if the Enemy was going to head for the Port City, and bypass the Capital altogether. Suddenly their forces turned west and lay siege to the airport without warning. There were only a token number of defenders, and they were quickly overwhelmed. The tarmac and terminal were at capacity. Thousands of lives were taken, without mercy.

The event taught Jeremy a lesson about geopolitics. His homeland didn’t matter to the international community. Russia blocked any attempts by the UN Security Council to save this little country because the Enemy had once been a communist state aligned with the former USSR. While Russia’s move didn’t surprise the Major, lack of support from the world’s democracies was appalling. France, England, even the United States, turned away.

Granted, there were about a dozen wars currently taking place. Several civil wars raged in Africa, some of those had been going on for decades. Muslim extremist were trying to overthrow the governments in a couple of non-Muslim countries. Pakistan and India was sword rattling again.

The war here was different. It was an unprovoked attack against a tiny nation. It was dictatorship versus a freely elected government, and there was no aid or protection coming from America, or any other land which claimed to value freedom. Jeremy was bitter and disillusioned.

The band of resistance fighters and Jeremy’s team were finishing their hike from the fishing village to the airport just before dawn. He had placed his trust in these strangers to guide the team, even though there were questions in his mind about the wisdom of making the trek at night. While he knew it was supposed to keep the Enemy from seeing them, the reverse was also true; they couldn’t be certain where the Enemy was.

The airport had lacked electricity since the Enemy’s conquest, at least so Jeremy thought. Only the stars and the full moon illuminated the facility this cold winter’s night. The area was reduced to shadows in varying hues of light grey to black. Some metal objects reflected back the soft natural light. Jeremy could make out the shape of the airport terminal, and assorted support buildings.

He could also distinguish the profiles of broken aircraft. Some had been hit while preparing for take-off, others on the concourses. Here and there, only tail sections were visible, or a lone wing pointing towards the sky. There was also a rotten smell. He knew what that was, but said nothing. At least it was winter; the odor had to be so much worse in the heat of summer.