Border Guard. Volume 11: In the Nest of the 'Mockingbird'

In the cave, the dimness still hung in the air.

No matter how the little flames in the torches danced, no matter how they tried to drive the darkness away, they simply didn’t have the strength to do it.

In the suspended silence, I could hear somewhere from the ceiling a heavy drip of water.

Everyone was silent. I felt how the Soviet fighters’ gazes fixed all their attention on me.

Even the dušmans, not understanding the preacher’s words, but catching their meaning, became interested in our confrontation. They waited, like silent shadows, for what my next move would be.

“Freedom, then?” I said hoarsely. “You talk about freedom while keeping me bound in a dark cave.”

I smirked. “Your freedom reeks of fear, dirt, and someone else’s sweat. Does a free man need faith forced on him under the threat of a knife?”