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By Oracle9 | December 13, 2023
The sound of the car's wheels along the gravel tasted like a pebble lodged under HR's tongue. Three Gurkhas sat in the back of the van alongside him. They were disguised in the robes of a Buddhist monk, of the Ganden school. They *were* from the Ganden school. But today, their mission was different. The vehicle slowed to a stop.
"We're here." The driver's silhouette peered over. "The border's through the valley due south. It'll be a hike."
They nodded and filed out of the van one by one. HR was the last to go. He looked back.
"Thank you, Lau."
Out into the frigid night, the crickets' symphony. HR was reminded of his youth. Crouched in a bush. Kukri trailing the dirt from his waist. A flag of a coalition long gone on his shoulder. Sometimes he could hear the enemy, whispering, just feet away from him in the dark. Their voices painted shades of blue and pink across his vision. He heard their voices in his sleep. Locked in a cycle of killing, of hunting, being hunted.
"Sir?"
HR looked over. One of the Gurkhas, Manish, was standing looking at him from the mouth of the forest. The other two flanked closely behind, their heads on a swivel.
"Are you okay?" Manish asked.
HR nodded. "My apologies. Let's get a move on."
The four men in their robes disappeared into the brush. Ahead of them, through the valley, the shining lights of Lorikeet.
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