CHAPTER TWO

1982

The bathroom stall door crashed open.

The figure yelped as she was hauled forth and slammed with a breath taking thump against the moldy wall. Her head rolled about as she tried to determine who the bulkily clad attackers were, but the flickering light gave no clue. Their eyes were hard beneath the fur hats they wore against the cold.

"Corporal," Sofiya said. "I think we found the deserter. Take a look around. Find out if an old man's about, or at least the nearest janitor. Move quickly, there's very little time before the convoys move out."

"Yes, Warrant Officer," snapped the corporal and ran from the bathroom.

The captive found her voice. A stream of shrill curses poured forth, echoing loudly in the small space.

Sofiya moved swiftly, her arm whipped up so that the inner part of the hand met the captive's throat. The curses stopped with a gurgle.

"Do you want them to hear you?" Sofiya said softly. The restrained figure shook her head rapidly. The eyes were open so wide they looked like marbles.

"My soldiers are going to release you," said Sofiya. The words were wrapped in a cloud of condensation in the cold air. "Then you're going to talk. Play dumb or keep talking in that gypsy babble – and I'll tell the guards you resisted arrest. And do you know what they'll do to you?"

"I'm no gypsy," gasped the woman. "I'm Private Mirela Colibrescu, assigned to Bagram Air Base as a radio operator for the Romanian forces assigned to the limited contingent…"

"Shut up," said Sofiya tonelessly. She pressed her hand slightly into the woman's throat once more and the smaller woman stopped talking instantly. Suddenly Sofiya bent over so the two were almost nose to nose. A tight smile hinted at a private joke only the Russian was enjoying. The Romanian shivered.

"Well, Private Colibrescu," Sofiya said. "They've given up looking for you already these last few days, or so I've heard. Already listed as missing in action, snatched up by the Afghan bandits, which means you're a non-person and in terrible danger."

"What do you mean?" the woman whispered. The unexpected smile unnerved her more than anything else.

"Let her go," commanded Sofiya. "I want to talk to this one."

Mirela slumped to the cold tiles as the assailants stepped back. Some moved to the broken mirrors and sinks lining the wall. When they took off the fur hats and made unenthusiastic attempts at fixing their hair, Mirela realized these were all women.

Sofiya poked Mirela with the rounded tip of her steel shod boot.

"What I mean is this," said Sofiya speaking to gathered women. "The bandits are the least of it. If the garrison finds our international friend skulking about, at this point they won't turn you over to the local policeman – there aren't any. These sex starved maniacs will hang you up in the cellar and use you like meat. That'll be the end of little Private Colibrescu."

There was an outburst of cruel laughter from the women.

"I can't do it," gasped Mirela. "I can't go into the hell mouth. They told us stories – I thought they were trying to scare us. I didn't believe it until we came up to the entrance and they were taking out five men on stretchers. A tank crew, they choked on diesel fumes when they got stuck in the tunnel. Against regulations to shut down the engines, so they left the engines running… I hid as best I could. There's a storage closet down the hall…"

"So you hid," nodded Sofiya. Her eyes were dispassionate as she examined Mirela. The Romanian's lips were blue, she was shivering uncontrollably. "Poor little fool. So the Hummingbird lost her nerve. You always were all talk."

"What!" Mirela looked up. "How do you know – who are – you're that Pavlovena bitch, oh shit!"

"I couldn't find anyone, Warrant Officer – they're all outside working," said the corporal, tucking in a strand of mousy brown hair beneath the ear flap of the hat. "So what do we do with the deserter?"

"I'll meet you outside," said Sofiya. The group filed out without a look spared for the huddled figure in the corner.

Sofiya pulled the great coat tight around her tall body.

"This is simple," said Sofiya looking in a triangular shard of mirror, barely hanging on the wall. She adjusted the thick wool scarf about her neck. Only one side of her face could be viewed in the remaining sliver, for some reason it bothered her. "Get up and we'll get through the tunnel together and down to Bagram Airbase with an explanation for your absence. Otherwise, take your chances. I won't waste time reporting we found you."

Sofiya stepped out into the hallway and let the door swing shut. She didn't have long to wait. Mirela burst through the door moments later.

"Please," the Romanian begged. "Don't leave me here."

- 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Get her a coat," ordered Sofiya and strode off.

The northern approach to Salang Tunnel was a chaotic scene. Long lines of oil tankers, trucks, and the low slung silhouettes of the armored personnel carriers curved out of sight in the blowing snow. The wind howled without relief, buffeting the crowd with gusts of diesel exhaust from the running engines. Work crews ran frantically about, the group of women had to step aside as a dump truck went by in in reverse, the back tilted so the men on the truck bed could shovel dirt off with greater speed.

"Why the hell are we supposed to get this deserter a coat?" complained one of the women. They trudged up the incline away from the barracks nestled against the jagged mountains, chins tucked into the collar of their coats, only another group among the many streaming in both directions.

"Because the old lady said so," snapped the corporal. They stopped to pick up backpacks and rifles left in a row on a muddied snowbank. "Her rules are the only rules. Everyone gets a chance, no one gets left behind."

"Who are you people?" stammered Mirela, gratefully taking the offered long coat pulled out of a pack. The women huddled together for warmth and lit up cigarettes. "Are those guns?"

"Of course they're guns. It's a fucking war, you idiot," said the corporal intent on the comforting taste of her cigarette. "Rear service support, assigned to the Kabul Southwest Camp to do the fucking paperwork. We're supposed to fly in from Takshent, everything got screwed up – they kept pushing us back. So the old lady decides to go cross-country across Afghanistan and who are we to argue with her? She's says go and you go. She's been trying to get down here since it started."

The old lady was obviously Sofiya, decided Mirela – though she seemed too young, how long had her former competitor been in the service? But she was baffled. Who in their right mind would volunteer for service in this cesspit of a country? What kind of woman could lead a squad of women into a war-zone with their complete confidence?

"Can I have a cigarette?" she asked tentatively.

"No," said the corporal and blew smoke towards Mirela. They stood in silence and watched the commotion. Engines were beginning to rev, officers were shouting. The crowd was dispersing to their vehicles.

"Let's go," Sofiya came running out from between the vehicles and waved vigorously. "Move it! Move it! The snow's been cleared. We've got a ride up front. We're going through."

They piled into the rear of a rusted GAZ-66 troop carrier, parked in a small gravelled area at the rear of the decrepit concrete slab of a guardhouse flanking the tunnel entrance. Mirela was last, no one offered her a hand, but before she could scramble up the back gate, Sofiya grabbed her by the shoulder. The fingers dug in with the strength of iron and Mirela winced.

"You're with me in the front," Sofiya said. "My soldiers don't have the patience. They'd toss you out halfway through the tunnel and enjoy the screams. Wouldn't you, girls?"

Mirela turned red at the jeers. She was dragged to the side door and flung into the cab which was thick with smoke and wailing music.

"Driver, girl, girl, driver," shouted Sofiya as way of introduction and pushed the Romanian in. Mirela was squeezed in between the driver and the Russian. Sofiay shoved a long heavy case on top of the smaller woman and slammed the door shut. "Hold this. Hey! Her legs aren't the gear shaft – no touching."

The Uzbek driver pulled back his upper lip, perhaps it was meant as a smile. The man was unshaven and his thick coveralls were caked in mud and oil. A cigarette dangled from his what remained of his stained teeth..

"What do you have in this thing?" complained Mirela slapping away the Uzbek's wandering hand. "It weighs a ton."

"Four and a half kilos – plus the ammo and accessories," said Sofiya absently. She was looking out the side window. Her gloved hand left a clear trail through the ice crystals on the window. "There they go – blue berets, the only ones I've seen since Takshent – those are Sokolov's boys, the 138th Airborne. I knew they'd been deployed at last."

"What's so important about them?" asked Mirela and instantly wilted under the glare.

"Because I'm Airborne," Sofiya said proudly and pulled back the collar of her coat to reveal the blue and white striped paratroopers vest underneath. "But I got assigned to the regular infantry after graduation, women auxiliaries don't get combat assignments, no matter how good they are. Driver! I don't care who you cut off, even if it's a general. Get behind that last BMD."

Mirela poked her head about the rucksack and looked. It was a mistake. So far she had avoided looking, keeping her head down all the way from the barracks. A whine rose involuntarily from deep within her.

The entrance of the Salang Tunnel curved up before them in a soaring arch of concrete, painted a faded blue. At that moment the cloud cover broke and the soaring, white peaked tips the Hindu Kush blazed with the reflected light of the sun, all except the devouring maw of blackness carved into the depths of the mountain.

Sofiya heard and pulled away from the window. She pulled off her glove. Mirela felt the strong hand take hers by her side, unseen to the driver.

"It's the mouth of hell," Mirela said.

"Then let's go to hell together," said Sofiya.

- 0 - 0 - 0 -

"Did you qualify?"

"What?" Sofiya felt Mirela start, the rapid pattern of breathing that had been audible even over the loud music halted as the Romanian struggled for words.. "Oh, I qualified for the Moscow Olympics – as an alternate. But Nicu found out I had a lover – and it wasn't him."

"Nicu," said Sofiya. The truck heaved from one pothole to the next, the headlights bounced across the tunnel walls. "Ceauşescu's boy? I thought he liked gymnasts?"

"He liked me," said Mirela after a long pause. There was a light ahead, they were near the end of the tunnel "Suddenly I tested positive for steroids and I was off the Olympic team with no future. It was the army for me. What about you?"

"Not athletics," said Sofiya promptly. "I qualified first for the Soviet team in sport pistol and rifle. But the review board said I didn't display proper devotion to the study of Marxism, I wasn't quite a proper role model for the youth of the nation. I lacked a proper upbringing in a loving Leninist home, all sorts of lies like that. Oddly enough there were no slots on the team… even though I passed ALL the drug tests."

"You could try again," offered Mirela, passing over the implied insult. "There's always '84 in America. As for me, I'm done. I'll never get another chance."

"Be quiet," Sofiya snapped. The driver was cursing. He slammed on the brakes and they were tossed forward against the dashboard as the BMD in front of them slewed to a stop. Angry shouts came from the back of the truck as the women were thrown about.

The diesel laden air of the tunnel pressed down upon them with the full weight of the mountain, there was a roar and a bright flash that filled the cab like lightning.

Sofiya pulled the shrieking Mirela out the side door and thrust her up against the tunnel wall. The truck behind their vehicle tried to pull around and caught the bumper of the GAZ-66 with an ear breaking screech of metal on metal. Inches away from where they were pressed against the tunnel side the front of the truck slammed into the wall. The headlights went out.

Sofiya's soldiers were screaming. The foul air filled her lungs and she retched, she pressed her mouth into the wool scarf. There were more explosions, waves of hot air slammed into them. This was no time to hesitate, they would die if she didn't move.

One hand dragged the Romanian along like a sack of potatoes, the other slid along the side of the truck as she moved to the rear of the truck. Out of the darkness other hands grabbed hers, the corporal shouted and Sofiya shouted back. The meaning of the words were lost, the women threw themselves out of the truck.

She led them forward in a chain towards the light, the light of the tunnel exit. They did not look back at the fiery, beating red heart of the beast behind them, did not listen to the rising screams of men engulfed in the flames.

They were outside. The cold fresh air was a blessing, Sofiya let go and the line of women careened into a snowbank without her guidance and collapsed in a sprawl of shuddering limbs. She looked and like a good commander counted who was left.

"Where's Tatiana," Sofiya shouted. Mirela rolled over blinking stupidly, she still clutched Sofiya's case. "Where the hell's Tatiana?"

Black oily smoke coughed out in waves from the Salang Tunnel with each new explosion.