“As soon as we're done, we'll see if we can find mommy, alright?” Pyotr finishes. The little girl’s face betrays no feelings, but he can feel her tense up beside him.
“Where’s Moulai?” she says softly. “And where’s my mommy?”
“You sit still here and be quiet, little lamb,” Nedjar says quickly, “and we’ll be right back for you.” He looks up at Pyotr as Angelique nods. “We’ve got to move before it gets any darker in here.”
Pyotr follows Nedjar out of the stall and into the shadowy stable. The Algerian legionnaire leans over to Pyotr and whispers, “Her family...”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
Motioning to Pyotr to stay to the near wall, Nedjar cuts across the stable to the far wall, and the two legionnaires resume their creep through the shadowy stable.
Outside Marcel calls out to the machine gunner, “Ortu! Don't shoot me, you lug! It's Marcel, I'm heading to the stables!”
“Collons!” the medic hears Ortu reply – the distance doesn’t hide the exasperation in the Sardinian’s voice. “Go!” he replies, then more quietly continues, “fill de puta!”
Marcel cuts across the yard to the stable doors, carbine at the ready.
