“May I ask why I am here?” Dalmatov asked when he couldn’t stand it any longer.
“You came up in tanks, right?”
“Yes, General Crofter, as did you.”
“That’s why.”
The six men of the honor guard set the coffin on the stand.
The gunnery sergeant in command of the detail removed the lid. Crofter walked toward it. Dalmatov gasped when he saw who was inside.
“Misha.”
“I thought you knew him,” a new voice said. Dalmatov spun around.
“You are Ryan.” Others were there, Ritter of CIA, General Parks, and a young couple, in their thirties, Dalmatov thought. The wife seemed to be pregnant, though rather early along. She was weeping silently in the gentle spring breeze.
“Yes, sir.”
The Russian gestured to the coffin. “Where—how did you—”
“I just flew back from Moscow. The General Secretary was kind enough to give me the Colonel’s uniform and decorations. He said that—he said that in the case of this man, he prefers to remember the reason he got those three gold stars. We hope that you will tell your people that Colonel Mikhail Semyonovich Filitov, three times Hero of the Soviet Union, died peacefully in his sleep.”
Dalmatov went red. “He was a traitor to his country—I will not stand here and—”
“General,” Ryan said harshly, “it should be clear that your General Secretary does not agree with that sentiment. That man may be a greater hero than you know, for your country and for mine. Tell me, General, how many battles have you fought? How many wounds have you received for your country? Can you really look at that man and call him traitor? In any case . . .” Ryan gestured to the sergeant, who closed the coffin. When he’d finished, another Marine draped a Soviet flag over it. A team of riflemen appeared and formed at the head of the grave. Ryan took a paper from his pocket and read off Misha’s citations for bravery. The riflemen brought up their weapons and fired off their volleys. A trumpeter played Taps.
Dalmatov came to rigid attention and saluted. It seemed a pity to Ryan that the ceremony had to be secret, but its simplicity made for dignity, and that at least was fitting enough.
“Why here?” Dalmatov asked when it was finished.
“I would have preferred Arlington, but then someone might notice. Right over those hills is the Antietam battlefield. On the bloodiest day in our Civil War, the Union forces repelled Lee’s first invasion of the North after a desperate battle. It just seemed like the right place,” Ryan said “If a hero must have an unmarked grave, it should at least be close to where his comrades fell.”
“Comrades?”
“One way or an0ther we all fight for the things we believe in. Doesn’t that give us some c0mmon ground?” Jack asked. He walked off to his car, leaving Dalmatov with the thought.
THE END