Last of the Breed

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The soldier placed the flat, skin-wrapped package on the table before Colonel Zamatev and stepped back, standing rigidly at attention. Before diverting his attention to the package, Zamatev studied the soldier.

Hunger, cold, and the exhaustion of long trails had sapped the man’s strength and drained him of feeling. Gaunt and hollow-eyed he awaited orders.

“You saw nothing of Alekhin?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“And the American? You saw him? He spoke to you?”

“We were told to kill him, to shoot on sight. I glimpsed him through the trees and started forward. To kill him was my duty. He moved again and I saw an opening between two trees. I rushed forward.”

“And then?”

“It was a trap. There was a rope of branches between the two trees, hidden by undergrowth. I tripped and fell.” The soldier put a hand to his forehead where the remains of the bruise could still be seen. “My head hit very hard. When I awakened he was standing over me.”

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