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Page 382
Chapter Forty-Three
The Northwest Territories/December 7, 0215 Hours
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The worst friend and enemy is but Death.
RUPERT BROOKE, "THE SOLDIER"
Arkady Karmann sat on the edge of his cot listening to the regular breathing of the two navy corpsmen who shared his tent. They were large men, apparently with little imagination, supremely confident that even here, even now, with the Device counting steadily down a kilometer from where they slept, they would survive whatever came. They had been peacefully asleep since midnight, when they had rolled in from the Canadian lines, smelling of whiskey and sex.
The only effect of the bomb in the bay on the men and women in camp was a prodigious urge to fornicate, Karmann thought scornfully. If they thought the act of screwing was going to assure the survival of their genes, their species, they were mistaken. Even if they did live, if the bomb was defused, chances were good that their progeny could look like some of the Chernobyl babies. Or was he faulting the others because he felt too ill for any such activities?

 
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