Free Vanguard by CJ Markusfeld

to his knees. Everyone stepped forward to help him, but stopped when the automatic weapons came up.
    “Stand,” Jaros ordered. The man got to his feet without lifting his face, extending several rolled-up maps to the foreigners. Jaros gestured Sophie forward.
    She gently removed the papers from the man’s trembling hands. “Thank you,” she said in Orlisian. “Do not be afraid. We will not hurt you. We are here to help.” The man’s head flew up at the sound of Sophie’s voice. His shocked eyes met hers.
    “You will not speak that language again!” thundered the Commandant. “It is now forbidden in the Soviet Republic to do so.” But no one’s eyes moved from the face of the man in front of them. Sophie heard someone behind her curse under their breath.
    He had been mutilated. Crusted-over knife wounds on his forehead, straight and diagonal lines. Sophie realized in horror that the cuts roughly resembled the hammer and sickle emblem that had represented the old Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The republic had dropped the symbol when it had changed its name in the early 1990s.
    “Who did this to you?” Sophie asked in a deadly voice, still speaking Orlisian. The man didn’t answer, shaking his head wildly and staring at her in terror. In the background, she heard the guards switching the safeties off their weapons.
    “It will not be you and your colleagues who die, Ms. Swenda, if you continue to violate the laws of this nation.” The guns, she saw, were pointed at the man in front of her. Sophie stepped back, her eyes narrowing at the Commandant.
    “Torturing prisoners of war is against the Geneva Convention, Commandant,” she said in Russian.
    “There was no torture, Ms. Swenda. This man experienced an unfortunate accident.” Jaros shrugged. “Totally unintentional. Just ask his fellow residents, they will tell you it was so. As I said earlier, detainees generally do not perform jobs of responsibility, such as this one did. Accidents like this only happen when they perform skilled labor.” He smiled serenely. “Too many did not survive anyway.”
    The executive team stood silently in the middle of the room until the guards took the man away, his frantic eyes fixed on Sophie until he was out of sight.
    “It grows late,” she said, her voice sounding far away in her own ears. “Thank you for the maps, Commandant. They will make our job easier. My colleagues and I will return to our base to begin planning. Tomorrow, we will present our recommendations on how we wish to proceed, if that is acceptable to you.”
    “Very much so.” Commandant Jaros’ frightening smile returned. “You are a surprising and talented woman, Ms. Swenda. I look forward to our next meeting.”
    Sophie nodded stiffly and gestured to her colleagues to leave.

 
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
     
    February 7, 2014
     
    The team had been in Parnaas for about a week. Sophie was working late into the evening on ideas for expanding the living areas of the camp. She’d been doing her best to convince Jaros that people stacked like cordwood inside flimsy shelters weren’t good for business.
    She heard a rap on the doorframe and turned to see Anjali. She waved her into her quarters, figuring she could use some girl time.
    “How goes the battle?” Sophie asked.
    “We’re getting there,” the slender Indian woman replied. Anjali and the rest of the medical team had some tough challenges on their hands. “If we could get more space from the Commandant, it would help.”
    Sophie tapped the papers on her desk. “I have a working plan here. Under normal circumstances, we’d split this monstrosity up into five or even six smaller camps. Maintaining a camp of this size is nuts. Then again, so is the Commandant.” She grimaced. “Since he refuses to allow us to split up the camp – says he doesn’t have enough guards and fencing to accommodate more than one facility – I’m working on getting more space. I think he’ll agree to