Wind in the Hands Read Online Free

You looked cool in sandals, rugged jeans, Love Save the World T-shirt, and the Salvage Army helmet with a punishing sword,” he added seriously.
    The Soldier sighed and tried to smile. His face muscles seemed to be unable to allow a smile, although he had good sense of humor. Approaching his shelter, he turned around, removed the magazine from the rifle, unloaded it, picked a cartridge and placed it in a case, wrapped his weapon in a cloth, placed in an opening of the shelter, closed it with a stone, and then nodded to the Stranger and they moved on. In an hour, they approached the roadblock.
    “We have come, they know me here. But they think that I’m helping local people, and they will not be excited to see us, but will not shoot either. That’s not bad.”
    “I can see that you are liked by all, our people and others,” said the Stranger with mocking respect.
    “I don’t need love of these nitwits. I once was in a situation at that roadblock. Two Soldiers drank and decided to have their pictures taken for their girlfriends, and with arms for better effect. They drank more and decided to have their picture taken in a battle. One of them made a severe face and started to shoot, but when you are making a picture from the side you cannot see fire properly. So the half-witted photographer stood in front of the line of fire and shouted, ‘Shoot, friend, and say cheers.’ Well, his friend did not think twice and shot.”
    The Stranger looked at the Soldier questioningly,
    “Is the photographer alive?”
    “He is, such fools, however surprising that might sound, are tough. It seems they quite like such idiots up there. Not only we have found them funny.”
    The five fighters were scattered at the roadblock. A sniper at the tower was looking through the scope sight at villagers, passing through the roadblock, and swearing at them bored giving orders over the intercom in the local tongue and making peasants look around bewildered. Fighters were roaring with laughter.
    The Soldier and the Stranger approached the borderline. An officer waved his hand sharply calling them to be checked. They moved towards him, but at the safety line, they heard an order via the intercom,
    “Stand still! T-shirts up!”
    “Hey, you loon up there! You’ll give yourself away!” the Soldier shouted and said to the Stranger, “Animals! They can see that we are not strangers and still humiliate us.”
    “Local villagers also feel bitter, but can’t you see how gladly they raise their shirts,” the Stranger noted.
    “Some of them may be militants with weapons and explosives and they generally like to undress…”
    “And will surely demonstrate their death belt, hoping no one will notice it.”
    “If you do not check, there will be many militants. It’s a psychological game.”
    “Our world is a game, you always play to win, deceive, cheat, but not only players suffer.”
    “Can we go?” the Soldier shouted. “Or do we have to take off our trousers?”
    “Good idea,” the fighter came down from the tower. “Go, take off your trousers. We’ll look and might see something, I have magnifying optics.”
    Guffaw could be heard all around.
    “I will let you watch, you brat. You won’t find it funny! You will have nothing to watch with,” the Soldier snapped and moved towards the wit.
    Three fighters immediately aimed at the Soldier, bolts clanked, and safety latches clicked.
    “You cross the second line, you lie down and never get up,” the officer said and added scornfully, “attack at a roadblock, so I have the right.”
    The Stranger caught the Soldier’s hand that was ready to vehemently attack them all hand-to-hand.
    “Stay calm. I will speak with them,” he said softly. “Brethren, do not humiliate us. You don’t know the reasons we are here. We have almost been killed by rebels, and do you want to kill us too? Search our papers if you don’t believe your experience. We are peace makers. If I’m not a good peace