When the Nines Roll Over by David Benioff Read Free Book Online Page A

instantly. A year later the boy’s older sister died in a car accident. Leksi did not believe it was an accident; he was sure the other birds had conspired and gained their revenge.
    â€œAleksandr!”
    Leksi looked up from the snow and realized that he had fallen far behind Nikolai. He rushed forward, nearly tripping. Carrying the rifle disrupted his balance. When he was again ten meters behind the older soldier, he stopped and nodded, but Nikolai summoned him forward with curling fingers. Surkhov squatted down and observed them from his position, grinning.
    â€œWho’s watching my back?” asked Nikolai, when Leksi approached him.
    â€œMe. I’m sorry.”
    â€œNo, again, who’s watching my back?”
    â€œMe.”
    Nikolai shook his head and looked at Surkhov for a moment, who shrugged. “Nobody’s watching my back,” said Nikolai. “You’re watching the snow, you’re watching the dogs, you’re watching the sky. So, okay, you are an artist, I think. You are composing a painting, maybe, in your head. I appreciate this. But then tell me, if you are making this painting, who is watching my back?”
    â€œNobody.”
    â€œAh. This is a problem. You see, I am watching Surkhov’s back. Nobody can attack Surkhov from behind, because I would protect him. But who protects me? While you paint this masterpiece, who protects me?”
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œI will not die in this shit land, Aleksandr. You understand? I refuse to die here. You guard me, I guard Surkhov, we all live another day. You see?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWatch my back.”
    Only after they began marching again, after Surkhov and Nikolai began singing Beatles songs, replacing the original lyrics with obscene variations, did Leksi wonder who was watching his back.

    The three soldiers stopped less than a kilometer downhill of the mansion, at the edge of a dense copse of pines. A high wall of mortared stones surrounded the property; only the shingled roof and chimneys were visible from the soldiers’ vantage point. A long field of snow lay between them and the house. The shadows of the tall trees stretched up the field in the last minutes of sunlight.
    Surkhov took the binoculars back from Leksi and stared through them. “They can watch the entire valley from there. No smoke from the chimneys. But they know we’d be looking for smoke.”
    Nikolai had pulled a plastic bag of tobacco and papers from Surkhov’s pack; he leaned against a tree trunk now and rolled a cigarette. Leksi could roll a decent number if he were warm and indoors, sitting down, the paper flat on a tabletop. He was always amazed that Nikolai could roll them anywhere, in less than a minute, never dropping a flake of tobacco, no matter the wind or the darkness. Nikolai could roll a cigarette while driving a car over a dirt road and singing along with the radio.
    He gripped the finished product between his lips while returning the plastic bag to Surkhov’s pack. Leksi lit it for him and Nikolai inhaled hungrily, his stubbled cheeks caving in. He released the smoke and passed the cigarette to Leksi.
    â€œIntelligence said no lights in the house the last three nights,” said Nikolai.
    Surkhov spat. “Intelligence couldn’t find my cock if it was halfway up their ass. Fuck them and their patron saints. Aleshkovsky told me some of them flew a copter to Pitsunda last weekend, for the whores. We’re down here freezing our balls off and they go whoring.”
    â€œSo,” said Nikolai, “they send three men. The way they see it, A, the place is empty, we take it, fine, we have a good observation post for the valley. B, half the terrorist army is in there, we’re dead, fine. All at once, we are relevant. We are martyrs. The real fighting begins.”
    â€œI don’t want to be relevant,” said Leksi, handing the cigarette to Surkhov. The older soldiers looked at