Maher stood in the trench, watching the fleeing backs. He turned around and looked at the soldiers still alive. Less than two hundred, some were panting, some were loading ammunition, some were leaning against the trench wall with their eyes closed, as if sleeping.
"General, we won." The adjutant crawled over, his face covered in blood, his left arm suspended by a bandage, the bandage soaked in blood, turning black.
Maher said nothing. He looked north. Haifa Port's outline was becoming clearer, the oil tanks in the port still smoking, black smoke rising, covering half the sky. Further out, on the sea, the masts of the Mexican Fleet glinted silver in the sunlight.
"Fahed?" he asked.
The adjutant shook his head. "I don't know. Somewhere north, north of Haifa Port. Our scouts are searching."
Maher nodded. "Keep searching. Find him, let me know. If he's alive, I'll go find him. If he's dead, I'll go find his body. Once I find his body, I'll take him home. Going home, that's good."
