The troops had found a short cut back to the camp, and Michael was glad about it. Though he had a first aid box, he did not have the means to do what was needed out here, and the dirt on the child's body obscured any possible injuries. Anxiously Michael pressed on but he did not need to urge Sergeant McCalman to go faster.

Pale-faced, wide-eyed and sweating profusely, the Sergeant hurried on, driven by demons known only to him.

"McCalman?" Michael asked concerned.

"The last time I carried a motionless child was at Lienz. I...I helped to lay them at rest in those mass graves we dug in a hurry. There were so many of them...Their bodies and their eyes –" He sobbed. "Please, Lord, don't make it another one!"

"He's still alive, and I'll make sure he stays that way. Just pay attention to where you are running!"

McCalman swallowed. "Sorry." He slowed and moved with more control.

When they reached the camp, McCalman's expression mirrored the relief Michael felt. Michael quickly led the way to the tent serving as their medical facility. "Put him down here," he ordered, and McCalman placed the limp form onto a blanket.

The Red Cross medical took a knife and handed one to McCalman as well. "Help me undress him." Together they removed the filthy clothing. The child did not stir.

Anxiously McCalman looked at the still face. "He's so quiet now. When I picked him up, he was rather lively. He even bit me." McCalman showed Michael Flat his hand.

Michael glanced at it while he stuffed the rags that had been the child's clothes into a small bag. The back of McCalman's hand was covered with a few rusty brown streaks. The bite had drawn blood. Michael pushed the bag into the Sergeant's hands. "Burn this. And disinfect your hands, especially your injured one." Frowning, Michael Flat looked at the Sergeant and gestured at his uniform. "And change your clothes."

The Sergeant glanced down. His uniform was covered with filth and worse - pieces from the corpses. McCalman swallowed and paled. "Take care of him," he said, leaving the tent to take care of the child's clothes and his own personal hygiene.

When Michael had finished washing the child and had checked him over, he found Captain Morgan standing in front of the tent.

"So how is he?"

Michael sighed and motioned him to enter. "Despite the obvious - fever and exhaustion - he also suffers from dehydration and malnutrition. He was without a proper food source for days, not to forget the general lack of food most refugees were and are faced with. Part of his condition is due to drinking seriously spoiled water. Actually, he should be in a hospital."

"Is he awake?"

"Now and then. You can sit down here if you'd like to, Sir."

As if on cue the boy stirred. His eye lids fluttered open, revealing glassy eyes. The boy mumbled something.

Michael strained his ears but did not understand him. The language was obviously Slavic, most probably Russian. The boy went back to sleep.

"Russian then." Morgan stood and left the tent. He stopped outside of the entrance and was joined by his second in command.

Though Michael's attention was focused on his patient, he still heard most of the conversation. He pressed his lips together when he heard Morgan's deputy ask, "Shall I inform the Russian authorities?"

Morgan's reply was a firm "No."

"But, Sir, our orders -"

"- Are to repatriate everyone who was a citizen of the Soviet Union in 1939. The boy is roughly about four to five years old – definitely born after 1939. Besides, nobody is going to miss a small child. His parents are dead, and chances are small that he has other living relatives."

There was a rather long silence. Then the deputy stammered, "But, Sir...it, well, at Lienz, I mean..." he broke off before blurting out, "nobody checked the nationality of the Cossacks at Lienz!"

"No, and I've the feeling history will not look kindly upon this fact."

The boy stirred and opened his eyes again. Quickly Michael grabbed a bottle of water to get as much fluid into him as long as he was conscious. The boy did not put up a struggle. It made Flat's task easier but he would have preferred a lively child, one that was more responsive to his surroundings.

"At least he would live in the country his ancestors came from..." the deputy continued.

"How do you think they would raise him? If anyone of the Cossacks had believed in a kind welcome in the Soviet Union, they would not have crossed the Alps in the middle of a snow storm in order to get to Lienz to evade capture by eastern troops. So, when we wanted to repatriate them, they refused, went on a hunger strike, offered slave labour to Great Britain and some even committed suicide to escape their fate. And the machine gun firing we heard at Judenburg was hardly a welcoming salute."

Michael gritted his teeth. No wonder no one wanted to talk about Lienz. No wonder the soldiers in this troop grew uncomfortable when he mentioned Lienz. No wonder Captain Morgan had always evaded his questions about what had happened there and why. Michael was furious although his hands stayed completely steady when he prepared several injections which would help to save the child.

"Sir, I don't see an alternative. We have to hand him over. He's ill. No matter where we give him to, sooner or later someone is going to hand him over to the Red Army anyway."

"The International Red Cross has already threatened to withdraw from Austria should the forced repatriations continue."

Michael blinked. His organization had done what? In a very controlled manner he placed the syringe away that he had used. Michael had had no contact with the Red Cross for about two weeks. How long had Morgan known of this threat? Damn, when had Morgan intended to inform him, the man who worked for the Red Cross?! Anger welled up inside of him and extinguished much of the respect he had felt for the Captain.

Obviously Morgan had wanted to avoid the subject. The cynical part of Michael understood that perfectly – the threat was not an idle one, and had he known, he would have had more than one argument about the troop's current orders.

A rustle from the entrance of the tent announced Morgan's return. "Mr. Flat, I'm sure you know someone whom you could contact and who flies home soon."

The inevitable argument would have to wait but Michael promised himself that Morgan would wish he had told him the facts. For now, Michael just turned towards him and regarded him with a cold smile. "Sure. What else did you think?"