Samar stared at him, surprised. The man’s eyes smirked — “They don’t commission a doctor who is not extraordinary to 4 Vikas.”
“I didn’t even know such a Force existed,” Samar chuckled, holding his palms open under his eyes. The blood had dried, seeped into his skin, the lines of his palms darkened. Nothing new.
“Then you have been pushed in blind here, my friend.”
A full laugh spouted out of his mouth — “I see that now, sir.”
“What is thissir-sir? Do I look that old to you?”
“Oh, no.” It was then that he realised — he didn’t even know the name of this soldier, forget his designation. Samar was shocked to hear his next words.
“Lieutenant Atharva Singh Kaul,” the soldier held his fist out, seeing as his hands were bloodied. “If anything, you trump me in ageanddesignation.”
Samar grinned. “Captain Dr. Samar Dixit, Regimental Medical Officer.” He fisted his bloodied right hand and bumped it with Atharva’s.
“Welcome to the land of Mavericks. We always need a doctor here.”
“Doctor!” A soft, panicked screech turned the orange dusky sky green. Scrubs. His own? Samar breathed, feeling the beat of his own heart in his ears. The pain was searing now, excruciating. Burning. A fortress on fire. The green in front of him set ablaze and suddenly all was white. Cool. Cold. Snow. The chopper blades were making a whirring sound behind him and his footsteps were heavy, quick, wading over stuck snow.
“Atharva!” He yelled, the dawning sun and his torch guiding their way.
“Atharva Bhai!” Fahad yelled.
“Atharva!”
“There!”
They ran to an alcove, framed by fronds of pine, Atharva climbing his way out.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! You are ok, Bhai!” Fahad launched himself at him. “Fuuuck!”
“I’m alive.”
His voice was crusty.
“Where’s Iram?” Fahad asked.
That name. It made Samar feel his entire body lock up. Iram. Haider.
The Trojan Horse.
The woman out to destroy not only his party but his party president.
“She is safe.”
Samar gaped in horror as Atharva cleared the leftover pines. Iram, buried in ice, face pale as ice.
“We need a stretcher. She has broken her thigh,” Atharva ordered.
Samar stepped closer, closer and closer. The Trojan Horse. Their enemy’s daughter. Handprints on her face. Purple. Her mouth was cut. Dried blood on her chin. Smoke charred on her cheeks.
Shock paved way for training.“Get her blankets, someone!” He shouted back. He reached her forehead. Cool to the touch. Pulse was low.
“Water too,” Atharva coughed behind him.
“Promise me…” she mumbled. Samar’s eyes widened. “Go… go.”
“What? What did she say?”
