璇玑之心刃·冷血悍将-第163章

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mirror　before　heading　to　the　bedroom；　and　his　last　decision　of　the　day　was　to　sleep　on　the　floor。　He　couldn‘t　dirty　up　new　sheets。
C15
　　　　CHAPTER　15
Lessons　Applied
Hell　began　promptly　at　eleven　that　morning；　though　Colonel　Zacharias　had　no　way　of　knowing　the　time。　The　tropical　sun　seemed　always　to　be　overhead；　beating　mercilessly　down。　Even　in　his　windowless　cell　there　was　no　escaping　it；　any　more　than　he　could　escape　the　insects　that　seemed　to　thrive　on　the　heat。　He　wondered　how　anything　could　thrive　here；　but　everything　that　did　seemed　to　be　something　that　hurt　or　offended　him；　and　that　was　as　concise　a　definition　of　hell　as　anything　he‘d　learned　in　the　temples　of　his　youth。　Zacharias　had　been　trained　for　possible　capture。　He‘d　been　through　the　survival；　evasion；　resistance；　and　escape　course；　called　SERE　School。　It　was　something　you　had　to　do　if　you　flew　airplanes　for　a　living；　and　it　was　purposefully　the　most　hated　thing　in　the　military　because　it　did　things　to　otherwise　pampered　Air　Force　and　Navy　officers　that　Marine　drill　instructors　would　have　quailed　at　…　things　which　were；　in　any　other　context；　deeds　worthy　of　a　general　court…martial　followed　by　a　lengthy　term　at　Leavenworth　or　Portsmouth。　The　experience　for　Zacharias；　as　for　most　others；　had　been　one　he　would　never　willingly　repeat。　But　his　current　situation　was　not　of　his　own　volition　either；　was　it？　And　he　was　repeating　SERE　School。
He‘d　considered　capture　in　a　distant　sort　of　way。　It　wasn‘t　the　sort　of　thing　you　could　really　ignore　once　you‘d　heard　the　awful；　despairing　electronic　raww　of　the　emergency　radios；　and　seen　the　‘chutes；　and　tried　to　organize　a　RESCAP；　hoping　the　Jolly　Green　Giant　helicopter　could　swoop　in　from　its　base　in　Laos　or　maybe　a　Navy　‘Big　Mutha‘　…　as　the　squids　called　the　rescue　birds　…　would　race　in　from　the　sea。　Zacharias　had　seen　that　work；　but　more　often　he‘d　seen　it　fail。　He‘d　heard　the　panicked　and　tragically　unmanly　cries　of　airmen　about　to　be　captured：　‘Get　me　out　of　here；‘　one　major　had　screamed　before　another　voice　had　e　on　the　radio；　speaking　spiteful　words　none　of　them　could　understand；　but　which　they　had　understood　even　so；　with　bitterness　and　killing　rage。　The　Jolly　crews　and　their　Navy　counterparts　did　their　best；　and　though　Zacharias　was　a　Mormon　and　had　never　touched　alcohol　in　his　life；　he　had　bought　those　chopper　crews　enough　drinks　to　lay　low　a　squad　of　Marines；　in　gratitude　and　awe　at　their　bravery；　for　that　was　how　yon　expressed　your　admiration　within　the　munity　of　warriors。
But　like　every　other　member　of　that　munity；　he‘d　never　really　thought　capture　would　happen　to　him。　Death；　that　was　the　chance　and　the　likelihood　he‘d　thought　about。　Zacharias　had　been　King　Weasel。　He‘d　helped　invent　that　branch　of　his　profession。　With　his　intellect　and　superb　flying　skills　he‘d　created　the　doctrine　and　validated　it　in　the　air。　He‘d　driven　his　F…105　into　the　most　concentrated　antiair　work　anyone　had　yet　built；　actually　seeking　out　the　most　dangerous　weapons　for　his　special　attention；　and　using　his　training　and　intelligence　to　duel　with　them；　matching　tactic　for　tactic；　skill　for　skill；　teasing　them；　defying　them；　baiting　them　in　what　had　bee　the　most　exhilarating　contest　any　man　had　ever　experienced；　a　chess　game　played　in　three　dimensions　over　and　under　Mach…1；　with　him　driving　his　two…seater　Thud　and　with　them　manning　Russian…built　radars　and　missile　launchers。　Like　mongoose　and　cobra；　theirs　was　a　very　private　vendetta　played　for　keeps　every　day；　and　in　his　pride　and　his　skill；　he‘d　thought　he　would　win；　or；　at　worst；　meet　his　end　in　the　form　of　a　yellow…black　cloud　that　would　mark　a　proper　airman‘s　death：　immediate；　dramatic；　and　ethereal。
He‘d　never　thought　himself　a　particularly　brave　man。　He　had　his　faith。　Were　he　to　meet　death　in　the　air；　then　he　could　look　forward　to　staring　God　in　the　face；　standing　with　humility　at　his　lowly　station　and　pride　at　the　lifе　he　had　lived；　for　Robin　Zacharias　was　a　righteous　man；　hardly　ever　straying　from　the　path　of　virtue。　He　was　a　good　friend　to　his　rades；　a　conscientious　leader　mindful　of　his　men‘s　needs；　an　upright　family　man　with　strong；　bright；　proud　children；　most　of　all；　he　was　an　Elder　in　his　church　who　tithed　his　Air　Force　salary；　as　his　station　in　the　Church　of　Jesus　Christ　of　Latter…Day　Saints　required。　For　all　of　those　reasons　he　had　never　feared　death。　What　lay　beyond　the　grave　was　something　whose　reality　he　viewed　with　confidence。　It　was　life　that　was　uncertain；　and　his　current　life　was　the　most　uncertain　of　all；　and　faith　even　as　strong　as　his　had　limits　imposed　by　the　body　which　contained　it。　That　was　a　fact　he　either　did　not　fully　understand　or　somehow　did　not　believe。　His　faith；　the　Colonel　told　himself；　should　be　enough　to　sustain　him　through　anything。　Was。　Should　be。　Was；　he‘d　learned　as　a　child　from　his　teachers。　But　those　lessons　had　been　taught　in　fortable　classrooms　in　sight　of　the　Wasatch　Mountains；　by　teachers　in　clean　white　shirts　and　ties；　holding　their　lesson　books；　speaking　with　confidence　imparted　by　the　history　of　their　church　and　its　members。
It‘s　different　here。　Zacharias　heard　the　little　voice　that　said　so；　trying　to　ignore　it；　trying　his　best　not　to　believe　it；　for　believing　it　was　a　contradiction　with　his　faith；　and　that　contradiction　was　the　single　thing　his　mind　could　not　allow。　Joseph　Smith　had　died　for　his　faith；　murdered　in　Illinois。　Others　had　done　the　same。　The　history　of　Judaism　and　Christianity　was　replete　with　the　names　of　martyrs　…　heroes　to　Robin　Zacharias；　because　that　was　the　word　used　by　his　professional　munity　…　who　had　sustained　torture　at　Roman　or　other　hands　and　had　died　with　God‘s　name　on　their　lips。
But　they　didn‘t　suffer　as　long　as　you；　the　voice　pointed　out。　A　few　hours。　The　brief　hellish　minutes　burning　at　the　stake；　a　day　or　two；　perhaps；　nailed　to　the　cross。　That　was　one　thing；　you　could　see　the　end　of　it；　and　if　you　knew　what　lay　beyond　the　end；　then　you　could　concentrate　on　that。　But　to　see　beyond　the　end；　you　had　to　know　where　the　end　was。
Robin　Zacharias　was　alone。　There　were　others　here。　He‘d　caught　glimpses；　but　there　was　no　munication。　He‘d　tried　the　tap　code；　but　no　one　ever　answered。　Wherever　they　were；　they　were　too　distant；　or　the　building‘s　arrangements　didn‘t　allow　it；　or　perhaps　his　hearing　was　off。　He　could　not　share　thoughts　with　anyone；　and　even　prayers　had　limits　to　a　mind　as　intelligent　as　his。　He　was　afraid　to　pray　for　deliverance　…　a　thought　he　was　unable　even　to　admit；　for　it　would　be　an　internal　admission　that　his　faith　had　somehow　been　shaken；　and　that　was　something　he　could　not　allow；　but　part　of　him　knew　that　in　not　praying　for　deliverance；　he　was　admitting　something　by　omission；　that　if　he　prayed；　and　after　a　time　deliverance　didn‘t　e；　then　his　faith　might　start　to　die；　and　with　that　his　soul。　For　Robin　Zacharias；　that　was　how　despair　began；　not　with　a　thought；　but　with　the　unwillingness　to　entreat　his　God　for　something　that　might　not　e。
He　couldn‘t　know　the　rest。　His　dietary　deprivation；　the　isolation　so　especially　painful　to　a　man　of　his　intelligence；　and　the　gnawing　fear　of　pain；　for　even　faith　could　not　take　pain　away；　and　all　men　know　fear　of　that。　Like　carrying　a　heavy　load；　however　strong　a　man　might　be；　his　strength　was　finite　and　gravity　was　not。　Strength　of　body　was　easily　understood；　but　in　the　pride　and　righteousness　that　came　from　his　faith；　he　had　failed　to　consider　that　the　physical　acted　upon　the　psychological；　just　as　surely　as　gravity　but　far　more　insidiously。　He　interpreted　the　crushing　mental　fatigue　as　a　weakness　assignable　to　something　not　supposed　to　break；　and　he　faulted　himself　for　nothing　more　than　being　human。　Consultation　with　another　Elder　would　have　righted　everything；　but　that　wasn‘t　possible；　and　in　denying　himself　the　escape　hatch　of　merely　admitting　his　human　frailty；　Zacharias　forced　himself　further　and　further　into　a　trap　of　his　own　creation；　aided　and　abetted　by　people　who　wanted　to　destroy　him；　body　and　soul。
It　was　then　that　things　became　worse。　The　door　to　his　cell　opened。　Two　Vietnamese　wearing　khaki　uniforms　looked　at　him　as　though　he　were　a　stain　on　the　air　of　their　country。　Zacharias　knew　what　they　were　here　for。　He　tried　to　meet　them　with　courage。　They　took　him；　one　man　on　each　arm；　and　a　third　following　behind　with　a　rifle；　to　a　larger　room　…　but　even　before　he　passed　through　the　doorway；　the　muzzle　of　the　rifle　stabbed　hard　into　his　back；　right　at　the　spot　that　still　hurt；　fully　nine　months　after　his　painful　ejection；　and　he　gasped　in　pain。　The　Vietnamese　didn‘t　even　show　pleasure　at　his　disfort。　They　didn‘t　ask　questions。　There　wasn‘t　even　a　plan　to　their　abuse　that　he　could　recognize；　just　the　physical　attacks　of　five　men　operating　all　at　once；　and　Zacharias　knew　that　resistance　was　death；　and　while　he　wished　for　his　captivity　to　end；　to　seek　death　in　that　way　might　actually　be　suicide；　and　he　couldn‘t　do　that。
It　didn‘t　matter。　In　a　brief　span　of　seconds　his　ability　to　do　anything　at　all　was　taken　away；　and　he　merely　collapsed　on　the　rough　concrete　floor；　feeling　the　blows　and　kicks　and　pain　add　up　like　numbers　on　a　ledger　sheet；　his　muscles　paralyzed　by　agony；　unable　to　move　any　of　his　limbs　more　than　an　inch　or　t