Page 47 of Dead Fall

“Yes. I heard you say it to each other in the beginning, too. Although it didn’t sound as nice. What is it? Some sort of greeting or a way to wish someone well?”

Zira laughed. “It’s a type of Ukrainian peasant bread. We make it in our fireplaces.”

“I don’t get it.”

“The only people who can’t pronounce it correctly are the Russians. When we meet someone we don’t know, we challenge them to saypalianytsia. If they can pronounce it, we know they’re okay; they aren’t Russian. Then, as a joke when we part, we ask them say it one more time. Just to make sure.”

Harvath smiled back. It was a good joke. He liked the Ukrainians’ sense of humor. “Will you teach me how to pronounce it correctly?” he asked.

Zira winked at him and said, “Da. Of course, comrade.”

By the time they reached the base, Zira had really grown on him and he was sorry to have to say good-bye. Though he had only met a handful of Ukrainians so far, his admiration for their spirit had continued to expand. They had that magic ingredient, that zest, that was necessary for any underdog to face down a bigger, stronger enemy and emerge victorious.

After handing him off to an efficient yet very busy Supply Sergeant, she turned to head back to her Land Cruiser.

“Palianytsia,” he said as she walked away.

“Palianytsia!” she replied with a wave and another laugh.

Steering Harvath in the other direction, the Sergeant gave him the rundown of what they needed to accomplish and the time within which they had to do it.

“First, you get your uniform and other personal items from the quartermaster. Next, we will get you an ID. Then, finally, we will make a stop at the armory. You already have a rifle and a sidearm, so those won’t be necessary. But if you wish to pick up extra ammunition, magazines, and some grenades, you can do so then.”

“What about Javelins?”

The Sergeant chuckled. “Everybodywants Javelins. Nobody wants to go through the training.”

“I’m trained on Javelins.”

The Sergeant looked at Harvath’s paperwork, which was clipped to his clipboard. “I don’t see any certification here.”

“Trust me.”

“I trust God. Anyone else must make the request through their company commander.”

“Did you happen to see in my paperwork that I’m with Special Services Group?”

“Yes,” the man replied. “Which means your request will get fulfilled faster than most. I’m guessing one week. Two weeks tops.”

“Terrific,” Harvath replied, shaking his head. He was disappointed but not surprised by the bureaucracy. There wasn’t a military on the planet that didn’t suffer from some form of it. “What about the rest of the gear and equipment I requested?”

The Sergeant began looking through the paperwork once more, but Harvath stopped. He already knew that there was nothing there. “I’ll take it up with my team. Where are they?”

“At the front.”

“When will they get here?”

“They’re not coming to you. You’re going to them. There’s a transport departing in half an hour. If you move quickly enough, you can get a meal in you before you leave.”

“They were supposed to already be here waiting for me.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” the man stated. “Fighters were needed at the front. This is a war. We don’t have the luxury of allowing people to sit around.”

Harvath was transitioning from disappointment in the bureaucracyto being actively pissed off. His team was supposed to have been pulled from the line and returned to the base to do mission prep.

“Listen,” he said to the Ukrainian soldier, “I have my orders and they don’t include me going to the front just to collect my guys and bring them back here.”

“You aren’t coming back here,” the man responded. “According to your orders, you’re headed to a village called Kolodyazne. Once you rendezvous with your men, you’re more than halfway there. It would be a waste of time to come all the way back.”