“Let this sweet rage drown those we abhor! For it’s the people’s war, the holy war.”

Where the APC stood the day before, there was now an old, orange Ikarus bus and two Kamaz military trucks with tarpaulin covers. It was a different crowd now: women and children, and men volunteering for the front; the way the women touched and stroked the men’s faces, and how the men held their children in their arms, tightly to their chests so as not to look them in the eyes. Those with nobody to see them off sat silently on the bus and watched the others embracing.

Fox suddenly appeared at K.’s side. He was fully kitted out: bulletproof vest, helmet, rifle, and a loaded grenade launcher.

“You off too?”

“Nope. I’m checking on you. Change your mind?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Hear hear!” the crowd shouted at the orator as she wound up her speech. “Never forget! Never forgive!”

“It was just a figure of speech,” said Fox. “But there are always options. When you get to the front—if you even get there—just put your hands up, walk out of the trench, and keep walking without looking back.”

“Seriously?”

“You’re not in North Korea. There’s no electrified barbed wire here. So long as you don’t run into a tripwire or your guys don’t shoot you, it’ll be fine.”

“My guys?”

“Whoever your guys are.”

Fox chuckled and slapped K. on the shoulder.

The woman holding the microphone pointed at the buses and shouted: “Our saviours! Saa-vi-ours. Let’s say a prayer for them.”

The crowd cheered and then started praying. A priest took the microphone and intoned a hymn.

Fox slid a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it with a match.

“Want one?”

K. shook his head and looked at the crowd. Fox dragged on the cigarette.

“So? Feeling inspired?”

“Inspired by the Republic? No. Honestly, I don’t like you people. And don’t see a point in what you’re doing.”

“Just wait. And you will not have to. The first incoming fire from your guys and you’ll start believing. The only ones we have onside so far are idiots and the guys coming in from abroad on the buses to make some noise. But it’ll all change when they can see we can stand up for ourselves. And when the government’s bullets start pouring through their windows.”

“So you bussed these ones in?”

“This lot?” Fox scanned the faces in the crowd. “Nah, this is the local contingent. The SWAD unit.”

“SWAD?”

“SWAD.” Fox grinned. “Special Women and Dames unit. They came up with the idea in Uzbekistan. Or was it Tajikistan? I can’t remember. Deadlier than any SWAT unit.”

“Women?”

“That’s right, women. They’ve got real clout. You get them between ages forty and sixty, noisy and gobby. A hardcore SWAD unit will throw rotten tomatoes and eggs, shriek the house down, rush you with their handbags, properly shame you. And they’ll seize a building for you, as long as it’s not a government one.”