Chapter 25? I dunno. I reject the chapter system. I'm more a free-words advocate.
Dave McCormack, former Irish terrorist, current prisoner of the Indian military.
Ziad Jarrah, Lebanese former illegal immigrant in Britain, Wizard, prisoner of Indian military.
A motley crew, to say the least.
McCormack's crimes? Trying to sell Stingers to Pakistani paramilitary forces in Kashmir.
Jarrah's crimes? Aiding in the terrorist attack that left much of the Indian parliament dead or wounded and very well may cause a third world war in South Asia.
The punishment for these crimes? Probably death.
At least, that's what Ziad was assuming. They weren't exactly telling him very much. He'd been in that cell in New Delhi now for several weeks with no contact with the outside world except the two Sikh soldiers serving as guards.
Each morning one soldier entered carrying two trays of food while the other kept his rifle trained on the room to prevent an escape attempt.
Every morning Ziad greeted the soldiers with horrible puns such as, "Shouldn't you two sikh your destiny elsewhere?" or "You guys should send me to PUNjab for PUNishment. Geddit? Hahahaha . . . Oh God."
Each day the soldiers never cracked a smile, but nor did they beat him to death.
The monotony finally broke over a month after Ziad had been imprisoned.
The cell door opened and Ziad's interrogator entered and threw a newspaper on the ground. He looked angry and scared, as did the soldiers behind him.
"Look what you've done."
He spun around and paced out of the cell, the door slammed shut behind him. The lock turned more vehemently than usual.
Ziad gingerly picked up the newspaper and looked at the front page.
INDIA AND PAKISTAN DECLARE WAR SIMULTANEOUSLY
Early this morning, the two countries declared war at precisely the same time, citing the attack on Indian Parliament several weeks ago as the reason. India claimed Pakistan perpetrated the attacks, which killed over a hundred people, while Pakistan claims it was an Indian false-flag attack to garner support for a war with Pakistan. Whichever case is true, war has been declared. Immediately afterward the formal declaration, air force jets of both India and Pakistan engaged in dog-fights and aerial strikes against strategic ground targets. Indian Military forces on the border, including several heavy armored divisions, have begun their invasion of Pakistan, meeting heavy resistance from elite units of the Pakistani army. Indian President Shankar Dayal Sharma declared that he would refrain from deploying India's nuclear arsenal on the grounds that Pakistan ceased its plans to test its own nuclear weapon next year.
The UN security council, led by the United States, urged the two combatants to cease fighting. Russia stayed silent on the matter, while China declared its financial and material support for Pakistan.
Ziad slumped back on the floor and dropped the newspaper.
"Shit."
Dave McCormack read the newspaper.
"You got that right. This, Ziad, is a really fucked up situation. No question about it."
Sighing, Ziad fell back onto his bed.
"Dave?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut the hell up."
"Okay."
Each morning for the next two months the soldiers brought in newspaper clippings along with breakfast. More news of war and death. The war had reached a stalemate, neither side able to break what was rapidly devolving into an Iran-Iraq style trench war in Kashmir and along the border further south. Neither side seemed willing to back down and call for a ceasefire.
Casualty estimates rose by the hundreds each day.
These were the difficult times. Ziad barely spoke, and Dave wasn't very talkative unless the conversation turned to the destruction of British oppression of Northern Ireland, and Ziad wasn't about to bring that topic up for light conversation.
When the monotony broke, the monotony broke hard.
Ziad wasn't sure anymore what the date was- they had stopped bringing newspapers weeks ago- and he had settled into a routine of sleeping pretty much all the time.
He was doing his daily exercise- sleeping- when he was awoken by a huge booming noise accompanied by a lot of shaking.
Quite a few more of these events rocked the cell, shaking dust from the ceiling and jerking Dave from his stupor and Ziad from his slumber.
"Whaszazzamit?" mumbled Dave.
"Idunno..." yawned Ziad.
Ziad swung his legs out of the small cot and stumbled over to the small window in the door.
He was looking out into dust and rubble.
Dave walked up to the door as well.
"There's a dent in the door." he said.
Ziad looked where Dave pointed. There was indeed a dent in the inch-thick steel door.
Dave pushed the door. The door swung open.
On the far side of the door was a three-foot thick piece of reinforced concrete, clearly recently dealing with the wounds incurred by a nasty fight with a cell-door.
Ziad's face turned white. He patted the wounded door. "Thanks, door. You're a real lifesaver."
Dave was climbing the rubble towards a beam of light when he stopped, turned toward Ziad and puked. Ziad climbed after him and saw why.
What was left of the guards was pretty gross.
Ziad swallowed some bile, then continued climbing. Dave followed.
Eventually they emerged from a vast crater in a city street. Corpses, rubble, and general destruction surrounded them. Sirens wept in the distance. Ziad and Dave stumbled listlessly down the street, away from the destruction behind them.
The duo finally reached the edge of the destruction and found live people, but the people quickly ran away when they saw Ziad and Dave.
"I need a wand." said Ziad.
"Could you get us out of here with one?" coughed Dave.
"Yes. And more importantly, I could get Shlomi out of Russia."
"We'll need to get you one, then. I bloody hate India."
"You never did tell me how you got arrested by the Indians, of all people." responded Ziad.
"I'm not telling. Not when I'm sober."
"Fair enough."
Ziad spotted a group of unarmed Indian soldiers helping the wounded.
"I'm going to ask what the hell is happening."
He approached the soldiers, who watched him warily.
"What the hell is happening?" asked Ziad.
"The Pakistanis bombed us! Didn't you hear the air-raid sirens?" responded one of the soldiers.
"Uh, no. Will they be back?"
"I don't know. I hate that bastard who started this war."
The soldier turned back to his work.
After wandering the city for hours, Ziad realized he wasn't about to find a wand on the street.
However, when they wandered into what appeared to be a very high-class neighborhood peppered with custom BMWs, Mercedes, and Bentleys, Ziad asked Dave if he could hotwire a car.
"Obviously," answered Dave.
"Cool."
Ziad gestured at a parking lot.
"Pick one."
Dave gravitated towards a BMW convertible that was absolutely classy as hell.
"Go for it."
Dave grinned and rubbed his hands together.
"Hell yeah."
An hour later (after stopping by a military supply depot and stealing dozens of containers of gasoline and several military maps) they were straight cruisin' out of Delhi towards the East.
Ziad fumbled with a map and told Dave where to go.
"We're heading through Nepal and then to the Chinese border. Do you speak Chinese or Nepalese?"
"Nope."
"Neither do I."
"Well, it's better than nothing."
"It is nothing."
"Stop being such a killjoy. I thought Irish people were supposed to be fun."
Dave didn't respond. He just smiled and let the wind whip his hair back.
Hours and hours later, they approached the Chinese border. Nepal border security had been lax, probably due to the large crater that occupied what had presumably been a checkpoint.
Three soldiers stood at the border, rifles cradled in their arms. Barbed wire and seriousness was all over the place.
"What do you think the max speed on this bad-boy is?" asked Dave, caressing the steering wheel."
"Oh, I dunno. Fast?"
Dave grinned.
Ziad glanced at the checkpoint.
"No. Nonono. They have machine-guns, Dave."
"It's either this or turning around."
Ziad sighed.
"Fine. On the count of three..."
Dave revved the engine.
"Two..."
Dave gunned it towards the checkpoint.
"I SAID COUNT OF THREEEEeeeeee..."
The souped-up car reached over 200 km/h before smashing through the barrier and forcing the Chinese soldiers to dive out of the way. The remainder were left in the BMW's dust, coughing and rubbing their eyes to clear the dirt from their faces.
Dave rounded a corner and left the Chinese helpless to stop him.
"Well, that was fun." he said.
Ziad was slumped in his seet, face white as snow.
"Please wait until I say three next time? Please? I need to mentally prepare myself for these things."
"Shut up and tell me where to go."
"I hope you like mountains and deserts because that's where we're going. We're about to traverse the Himalayas and the Taklamakan desert."
"Good sight-seeing, I suppose."
"You know what Taklamakan means, Dave?"
"Nope."
"The Desert of Death."
"Oh."
Author's Note:
Apologies for the hiatus. Work, blah blah blah, etc.
Anyways, new chapter and stuff. Yay.
The title of the chapter comes from the name of an excellent album by the Belfastian band "Axis Of." Give 'em a listen if you like good music.