*
They ran for fifteen minutes, cutting through fields that had been stripped of all life. Mazer's boots were soon heavy with mud and ashes. They crossed rice fields, sticking to the thin bridges of earth between the paddies and steering clear of the standing water. The rice shoots had long since wilted and died, and now a thin chemical residue floated atop the water at the paddies' edges, glistening in the moonlight like oil. A kilometer beyond the base of the mountain they found a stretch of jungle untouched by the mist and pushed their way through it, preferring to be in the cover of the thick foliage than out in the open where they could be easily spotted. It was harder to see in the jungle, however. Branches snagged at their clothes and slapped at their faces. Twice Mazer stumbled, nearly dropping Bingwen both times.
By now, Bingwen was coming to himself again. "You don't have to carry me anymore," he said quietly. "I can run."
Mazer didn't argue. He was exhausted. His body was slick with sweat. His arms and legs were cramped, particularly his right arm, which had carried the bulk of Bingwen's weight. The wound in his belly had begun to burn, too, and he worried that he might have torn something. He set Bingwen down, and they collapsed at the base of a tree. Mazer leaned back against the trunk, his breathing heavy.
They sat in silence for a while. Mazer wanted to comfort Bingwen; he wanted to say something reassuring, something to soften the boy's grief. Yet everything that came to mind sounded insufficient or like an empty promise he couldn't keep. They were in danger now, more danger than they had been in before, and any assurance of a happy ending seemed false and disingenuous.
It was Bingwen who finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry you had to carry me," he said. "I ... wasn't thinking straight."
"It's all right," said Mazer. "I didn't mind. I needed the exercise."
"No. You didn't. You shouldn't be straining yourself. You should be resting. Look at you. You're thinner than you were. You need food, Mazer. Real food. Meat and fruits and vegetables, not rice and bamboo. And a real doctor should have a look at you." He pulled his knees up tight to his chest as he had done in the farmhouse. "You can't go back to the lander, Mazer. You can't. You're not healthy enough to fight."
Mazer took a few more breaths before responding. His heart was pounding. "It's complicated, Bingwen."
"No. It isn't. You're weak. The army has been pounding the lander and gotten nowhere. What can you do that they can't? You'd be throwing your life away. Let the fighters and bombs do their job."
"You just said the bombs weren't working."
"Walking to the lander is stupid. Suicide. If you want to get in the fight, find some troops. Do good elsewhere. You can help and still survive."
"If I go north and find Chinese troops, Bingwen, they'll likely arrest me and ship me back to New Zealand. And that's the best-case scenario."
"Why would they arrest you?"
"Like I said, it's complicated."
"And I wouldn't understand because I'm a child? I thought we were past that."
Mazer exhaled deep and wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "All right. They'd arrest me because I'm not supposed to be here. I disobeyed a direct order by rushing to the lander. Three of my friends died as a result of my decision. My military isn't likely to forgive that. I'm not sure I can forgive it." He took another deep breath and leaned forward. "That's why I have to go back, Bingwen. I'm not going home until I help end this war. Not because it might absolve me of ignoring the order, but because I owe it to my friends to make their deaths mean something. Because I owe it to you and to your parents and your grandfather and everyone in China who has suffered. Does that make sense?"
"No. It doesn't. It's boneheaded. You're not responsible for what has happened here, Mazer. You're not responsible even for your friends. They wanted to help. It was their decision to disobey that order as much as yours. It's not your fault they died."
"It is actually. I was their commanding officer. I was responsible for their safety."
"So throwing yourself to the Formics is going to change that? What are you hoping to accomplish by getting yourself killed?"
"I don't plan on dying, Bingwen."
"Well the Formics are likely to spoil those plans. It's you against hundreds or thousands of them. You, unarmed and weak, dressed in rags. And them, shielded and loaded with weapons and completely merciless. You don't have to be an adult to see how foolish you're being."
Mazer smiled. "Rest, Bingwen. This is the last break we'll take for a while."
They sat in silence for several minutes. Mazer's breathing normalized, and the burning in his side had dissipated, which suggested it was a stitch in his side and not the surgery wound ... or so Mazer hoped. They got up and started moving again, this time at a much slower pace. They used the sword to cut their way through the densest parts of the jungle, but every slice was loud in the stillness, so they did it sparingly.
After another hour of walking Bingwen asked, "Do you have a son?"
The question surprised Mazer. "A son? No. I'm not married, Bingwen."
"Why not? The doctor, Kim, she cares for you. Why not marry her?"
Mazer regarded the boy. It was hard to see him clearly in the darkness and shadows of the jungle. "I wish it were that easy, Bingwen."
"She loves you. I could tell. I may be eight, but I'm not blind."
"People don't marry simply because they're in love, Bingwen."