XIII - Scars

Their bumpy, dusty journey continued for another two hours. Because it was too difficult to be heard in the moving vehicle, it was not convenient to talk. Kamon simply surveyed the countryside. There was little to see. It was very dry land, practically desolate.

"Just over this hill is the village of Purus!" Jasmine finally shouted over the roar of the engine and the wind. "It is our destination!"

They crested the hill. A scene of destruction greeted them. Plumes of smoke were rising from heaps of debris where buildings of stone, concrete, and mud bricks had once stood. Several military assault vehicles were scattered throughout the area, but no shelling nor firing was in progress at the moment. As Jasmine drove closer, it was apparent that the military detachment was regrouping. The company was preparing to leave. The soldiers moved crisply but without urgency. No organized opposition was in evidence.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to go in there?" Kamon asked. The jeep had slowed. It was much easier to speak and hear. "This might be rather dangerous."

"Don't worry, Kamon," Jasmine assured him. "We'll be alright."

"I'm not worried. But they might not want us here."

"You have a history of entering places where you are not wanted," Jasmine said.

The remark struck Kamon as odd. How would she know? "Is that another fact you picked up about me from reading the Council Journal?"

"Yes." Jasmine paused, then glanced at him and said, "I think I should have chosen my words more carefully. You might have thought I was implying you were an outcast. I apologize."

"It's alright," Kamon said. "I am an outcast........But I think I should pay more attention to the Council Journal. I never realized there could be so much about the personalities of the Council members in it."

There couldn't be, he thought to himself. Where was she getting all this?

They reached the outskirts of the city. The assault vehicles were forming a convoy. "What do you think this is all about?" Kamon asked.

"A reprisal raid," was Jasmine's somber answer.

The village was filled with Clemens survivors milling about. Many appeared dazed. An organized effort to deal with casualties had not yet begun. Chaos still reigned.

The Fraus soldiers were a different matter. They moved crisply and with purpose.

Jasmine drove straight for a soldier who seemed to be directing the withdrawal efforts. The uniformed woman was obviously of some rank, but Kamon was not familiar enough with the Kefar military to know what it might be, although he guessed it must be quite high. Those in command have an air of confidence and authority, and this woman certainly had that. Jasmine stopped the vehicle next to her and jumped out. Kamon followed his companion's example.

The officer did not point her rifle at either of the newcomers, but she did hold it in readiness as she regarded them warily. "Who are you?!" she barked. "What are you doing here?"

"My name is Jasmine." She calmly pointed in Kamon's direction. "This is Councilman Kamon from the state of Marmot. We have come to visit this village."

Kamon would have preferred not to be announced, especially his title. He wasn't looking for attention.

"Do you have any identification?" The officer was cautious. The presence of these two foreigners was most odd.

"Of course." Jasmine handed the uniformed woman her identification folder. Kamon silently followed her lead.

As a sitting Councilman of Marmot, a staunch ally of the ruling Fraus in Kefar, Kamon had identification papers which would allow him to travel anywhere in Kefar. But where had Jasmine gotten hers?

The soldier studied each compact folder carefully, glancing up at the pair often to make sure they did not move unexpectedly and to match each of the two faces with the pictures in the folders. Finally, reasonably convinced that they were who they claimed to be, she handed each of their identification folders back to them. "This isn't exactly a tourist stop you know. Why are you here?" Then, as an afterthought, she must have decided it would be proper protocol to acknowledge a visiting foreign dignitary although she could not imagine why he had come to this place. "And welcome to our country, Councilman."

"We have simply come to visit this village," Jasmine responded. "Our traveling papers allow us to journey anywhere in the state of Kefar, as you probably noticed when you examined them."

The uniformed officer had noticed. She was smart and very thorough about such matters. "Yes I did. I must caution you, however, that we cannot be responsible for your safety in this area. I suggest you leave immediately."

"We thank you for your concern," Jasmine said smoothly, "but we will be staying."

The soldier frowned. This was obviously not the answer she had been hoping to hear. "As you wish. Just stay out of the way."

Kamon had been surveying the scene. Injured men and women were being pulled from the rubble even as they spoke. Other adults were crying over the bodies of dead friends or relatives, but there were greater numbers of children -- some crying, some injured, some dead. Kamon's stomach squirmed as he took in the gruesome sight.

"These people appear to have no weapons," Kamon said to the officer. "Why would you do this?"

"Clemens terrorists have been using this village as a base for their raids on main Kefar," the officer explained. "We were sent in to wipe it out."

"You did that," Kamon agreed grimly. "But whatever you've done, whatever they've done, they need help right now." Kamon strode forward to aid the injured. He did not ask for approval or permission. He was here. He was not going to stand idle among the suffering.

"He is a headstrong man," the officer remarked. "Although I did not recognize him, I have heard of the first man to serve in the Marmot Council."

Jasmine watched Kamon walk away. "His convictions are strong." She looked at the officer. "Do you think you have accomplished your goal today?"

The soldier eyed her. No sarcasm registered in the questioner's tone. The query seemed to be sincere. "We did as we were ordered." The officer's voice lacked enthusiasm.

"You have brought suffering to many people here," Jasmine pointed out.

"That was not my purpose. I was given an order. We carried it out."

"And you have no other thoughts in the matter when you look around you?" Jasmine asked.

"I didn't start this war. I'm a soldier. I follow orders."

"And still," Jasmine persisted, "I have yet to hear your thoughts. Have you none?"

"I don't enjoy killing people if that's what you mean!" the officer snapped. "Do you think this is easy for me?! You come in here with that condescending look on your face as if you know what the situation is! All you see are innocent people that we have mercilessly slaughtered! Well, it was an 'innocent' child just like that one," the officer said angrily, pointing to a boy standing bewildered among the debris, "who deposited a homemade grenade on my husband's doorstep! I think of that every time I visit his grave! Don't preach to me, lady! I have very little mercy left in me!"

"I understand your pain," Jasmine said quietly. "Your loss is incalculable. But others must be spared the great loss you have suffered. The fighting must end -- and very soon."

"How?" the officer scoffed. "Tell me how."

"You can lay down your weapon."

"That's a simple answer," the officer growled, "but it would be suicide for me and my people. We have a right to protect our freedom."

Jasmine paused for a moment before speaking. "Until you are willing to accept the Clemens as equals, that which you do not want --- suffering and killing --- you will always have. Perhaps, you are not as free as you think."

A young woman in uniform suddenly raced up to the officer. "Commander! We are ready to move out!"

"Very well, lieutenant. Head them home."

"Yes, commander!" she responded curtly, saluting as she did so. She ran off to carry out the order.

The officer faced Jasmine again. "We have to go now....home -- for those of us who still have one," she said, her voice tinged with both bitterness and sorrow. "The rest of us...well," she shrugged, "we must fight to save the homes of other people."

"There is a better way," Jasmine said. "Peace. And it must be a peace which does not come at the barrel of a gun, for violence has never truly brought peace."

"You're a dreamer, lady," the commander said tiredly. "Believe it or not, I was a dreamer once......." Her voice trailed off. The lines etched in the woman's face spoke more of experience than of age. It was a weary, hard face.

Jasmine placed a comforting hand on the commander's shoulder. "You will dream again one day, my friend," she said softly. "Go in peace, Tristis, for it will find you. Accept it when it comes and you will have happiness again."

Jasmine then turned and walked away, not waiting for a response.

The officer stared after the retreating woman in bemusement. How had Jasmine known her name? She could not recall ever having seen the woman before. And Tristis hadn't stated her name.

A jeep suddenly roared up beside the commander, breaking her concentration. She acknowledged the salute of her driver, jumped in and rode off with the rest of her company.

But Jasmine's strange farewell continued to haunt First Commander Tristis as she bounced along the dusty road.

That was an odd statement, too. For one thing, Jasmine should not have known her name. And how does peace ever find someone? The only thing that had found her in the past few years was death. Death and suffering. So much of it that it was enough to make one nauseous.

And the last statement was nothing but bizarre. Accept what when it comes? Peace? That would be the day. A person had to fight for peace, not simply accept it. That's what this war was all about!

But there was no happiness here. None. And even if peace did finally come someday there would be no happiness, not for Tristis. Her husband was gone. Dead. No one could bring him back to life. Not good intentions. Not fancy words. Nothing. No one.

First Commander Tristis reached up and brushed a tear from her dusty cheek.

It did not matter how Jasmine had known her name. Neither did her good intentions amount to anything, for good intentions could not restore the life of the commander's husband..................

END OF CHAPTER