“Trying to calm the two streets where it is the worst,” Samar relayed. “But not enough manpower. Add to this local Police’s non-cooperation…”
“How serious?”
“Can turn into a riot.”
“Can or will?”
“Will.” This had the makings of one.
“We are moving then,” Atharva ordered, as Samar knew he would. He had already marked a tentative route of places they needed to raid first.
“Senior members in the team, we leave in twenty, Noora you stay here and coordinate. Fahad, inform our wing in Jammu to mobilise able-bodied volunteers, tell my assistant that I want Khatriji on the phone ASAP and after that connect me to DCP Sharif of Kishtwar.”
Samar shut the laptop and got to his feet. He was going to get things lined up to leave. After all, this was his area. But even as they were gearing up to run into a riot, Samar noted Atharva was busy looking at Iram Haider.
His teeth ground together.
18. The more you push a Maverick, the more he does not budge…
“The more you push a Maverick, the more he does not budge.” Captain Kaul stated, standing in the deepest centre of the marsh where all of them had been dropped. The mud was claiming them, the marshy ditch sucking them in from the waist down. Some were as deep as their chests.
“That is this marsh. Worse than a Maverick. The more you push it, the more it does not budge, and the harder it pulls you in. So, do not push it,” Captain Kaul instructed, whiling time and getting them even deeper. “Deep breath.”
Samar wanted to pull out a sword from somewhere and tear through the weight that was engulfing him. He lifted one leg to cut through a step, and the mud pulled him in deeper.
“Samar, steady.”
He held steady, feeling the mud touch his bare neck. His hands and feet felt frozen. The sun was warm on his face, but everything else was cold in mud. He could feel the movements of the Mavericks around him. One more move and his face would go under. His throat began to tighten.
“Moving through a marsh in panic is guaranteed death. Do not lift your foot or arm breaking suction. Wiggle it free. Like this.”
Samar craned his head to get a better view of Captain Kaul. He was the only one who had remained steadfastly over the mud, his body only buried to his waist, even though he was in the centre of it all. He now held his hand out and deliberately buried it in the marsh by his side. His body went down a few inches, and they all felt the vibration. Samar’s heart leapt. But he kept his eyes on Atharva’s face. Not even a hint of panic there.
Samar kept that expression in the focus of his vision and worked to control his own breathing. Atharva moved his shoulder in a wiggling motion, letting them all see how his arm was rotating — like a corkscrew.
Slowly and steadily, they saw it release from the thick mud, completely soiled.
Samar tried to move his arm and was pulled in deeper. His chin touched the marsh and everybody yelled.
“Samar!” Atharva’s voice was the hardest. He peered to look up, and got pulled in even deeper. “Steady. Help him!”
A tether came his way from the team manning the drill area.
“Do not pounce on it,” Atharva’s angry, clipped command sounded. “You are safe. You will be picked up if you go any deeper. Now move your arm slowly. Rotate from left to right, then right to left.”
Samar moved it.
“Slowly.”
He panted, eyeing the mud touching his mouth.
“Almost there. Slowly. The slower the better…” Atharva’s calm voice became his tether. Samar forced himself to relax, following his word to the T. “Don’t pull it yet. Just move.”
Samar moved, feeling like a child.
“Is it getting free?”
“I think so,” he managed without getting mud into his mouth.
