Monday, 6.vi Berger woke up at 6.00 on Monday morning. She had not slept for more than an hour, but she felt strangely rested. She supposed that it was a physical reaction of some sort. For the first time in several months she put on her jogging things and went for a furious and excruciatingly painful sprint1 down to the steamboat wharf2. But after a hundred metres or so her heel hurt so much that she had to slow down and go on at a more leisurely3 pace, relishing4 the pain in her foot with each step she took. She felt reborn. It was as though the Grim Reaper5 had passed by her door and at the last moment changed his mind and moved on to the next house. She could still not take in how fortunate she was that Fredriksson had had her pictures in his possession for four days and done nothing with them. The scanning he had done indicated that he had something planned, but he had simply not got around to whatever it was. She decided6 to give Susanne Linder a very expensive Christmas present this year. She would think of something really special. She left her husband asleep and at 7.30 drove to S.M.P.’s office at Norrtull. She parked in the garage, took the lift to the newsroom, and settled down in the glass cage. Before she did anything else, she called someone from maintenance. “Peter Fredriksson has left the paper. He won’t be back,” she said. “Please bring as many boxes as you need to empty his desk of personal items and have them delivered to his apartment this morning.” She looked over towards the news desk. Holm had just arrived. He met her gaze and nodded to her. She nodded back. Holm was a bloody-minded bastard7, but after their altercation8 a few weeks earlier he had stopped trying to cause trouble. If he continued to show the same positive attitude, he might possibly survive as news editor. Possibly. She should, she felt, be able to turn things around. At 8.45 she saw Borgsj? come out of the lift and disappear up the internal staircase to his office on the floor above. I have to talk to him today. She got some coffee and spent a while on the morning memo9. It looked like it was going to be a slow news day. The only item of interest was an agency report, to the effect that Lisbeth Salander had been moved to the prison in Stockholm the day before. She O.K.’d the story and forwarded it to Holm. At 8.59 Borgsj? called. “Berger, come up to my office right away.” He hung up. He was white in the face when Berger found him at his desk. He stood up and slammed a thick wad of papers on to his desk. “What the hell is this?” he roared. Berger’s heart sank like a stone. She only had to glance at the cover to see what Borgsj? had found in the morning post. Fredriksson hadn’t managed to do anything with her photographs. But he had posted Cortez’s article and research to Borgsj?. Calmly she sat down opposite him. “That’s an article written by a reporter called Henry Cortez. Millennium10 had planned to run it in last week’s issue.” Borgsj? looked desperate. “How the hell do you dare? I brought you into S.M.P. and the first thing you do is to start digging up dirt. What kind of a media whore are you?” Berger’s eyes narrowed. She turned ice-cold. She had had enough of the word “whore”. “Do you really think anyone is going to care about this? Do you think you can trap me with this crap? And why the hell did you send it to me anonymously11?” “That’s not what happened, Magnus.” “Then tell me what did happen.” “The person who sent that article to you anonymously was Fredriksson. He was fired from S.M.P. yesterday.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “It’s a long story. But I’ve had a copy of the article for more than two weeks, trying to work out a way of raising the subject with you.” “You’re behind this article?” “No, I am not. Cortez researched and wrote the article entirely12 off his own bat. I didn’t know anything about it.” “You expect me to believe that?” “As soon as my old colleagues at Millennium saw how you were implicated13 in the story, Blomkvist stopped its publication. He called me and gave me a copy, out of concern for my position. It was then stolen from me, and now it’s ended up with you. Millennium wanted me to have a chance to talk with you before they printed it. Which they mean to do in the August issue.” “I’ve never met a more unscrupulous media whore in my whole life. It defies belief.” “Now that you’ve read the story, perhaps you have also considered the research behind it. Cortez has a cast-iron story. You know that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” “If you’re still here when Millennium goes to press, that will hurt S.M.P. I’ve worried myself sick and tried to find a way out … but there isn’t one.” “What do you mean?” “You’ll have to go.” “Don’t be absurd. I haven’t done anything illegal.” “Magnus, don’t you understand the impact of this exposé? I don’t want to have to call a board meeting. It would be too embarrassing.” “You’re not going to call anything at all. You’re finished at S.M.P.” “Wrong. Only the board can sack me. Presumably you’re allowed to call them in for an extraordinary meeting. I would suggest you do that for this afternoon.” Borgsj? came round the desk and stood so close to Berger that she could feel his breath. “Berger, you have one chance to survive this. You have to go to your damned colleagues at Millennium and get them to kill this story. If you do a good job I might even forget what you’ve done.” Berger sighed. “Magnus, you aren’t understanding how serious this is. I have no influence whatsoever14 on what Millennium is going to publish. This story is going to come out no matter what I say. The only thing I care about is how it affects S.M.P. That’s why you have to resign.” Borgsj? put his hands on the back of her chair. “Berger, your cronies at Millennium might change their minds if they knew that you would be fired the instant they leak this bullshit.” He straightened up. “I’ll be at a meeting in Norrk?ping today.” He looked at her, furious and arrogant15. “At Svea Construction.” “I see.” “When I’m back tomorrow you will report to me that this matter has been taken care of. Understood?” He put on his jacket. Berger watched him with her eyes half closed. “Maybe then you’ll survive at S.M.P. Now get out of my office.” She went back to the glass cage and sat quite still in her chair for twenty minutes. Then she picked up the telephone and asked Holm to come to her office. This time he was there within a minute. “Sit down.” Holm raised an eyebrow16 and sat down. “What did I do wrong this time?” he said sarcastically17. “Anders, this is my last day at S.M.P. I’m resigning here and now. I’m calling in the deputy chairman and as many of the board as I can find for a meeting over lunch.” He stared at her with undisguised shock. “I’m going to recommend that you be made acting18 editor-in-chief.” “What?” “Are you O.K. with that?” Holm leaned back in his chair and looked at her. “I’ve never wanted to be editor-in-chief,” he said. “I know that. But you’re tough enough to do the job. And you’ll walk over corpses19 to be able to publish a good story. I just wish you had more common sense.” “So what happened?” “I have a different style to you. You and I have always argued about what angle to take, and we’ll never agree.” “No,” he said. “We never will. But it’s possible that my style is old-fashioned.” “I don’t know if old-fashioned is the right word. You’re a very good newspaperman, but you behave like a bastard. That’s totally unnecessary. But what we were most at odds20 about was that you claimed that as news editor you couldn’t allow personal considerations to affect how the news was assessed.” Berger suddenly gave Holm a sly smile. She opened her bag and took out her original text of the Borgsj? story. “Let’s test your sense of news assessment21. I have a story here that came to us from a reporter at Millennium. This morning I’m thinking that we should run this article as today’s top story.” She tossed the folder22 into Holm’s lap. “You’re the news editor. I’d be interested to hear whether you share my assessment.” Holm opened the folder and began to read. Even the introduction made his eyes widen. He sat up straight in his chair and stared at Berger. Then he lowered his eyes and read through the article to the end. He studied the source material for ten more minutes before he slowly put the folder aside. “This is going to cause one hell of an uproar23.” “I know. That’s why I’m leaving. Millennium was planning to run the story in their July issue, but Mikael Blomkvist stopped publication. He gave me the article so that I could talk with Borgsj? before they run it.” “And?” “Borgsj? ordered me to suppress it.” “I see. So you’re planning to run it in S.M.P. out of spite?” “Not out of spite, no. There’s no other way. If S.M.P. runs the story, we have a chance of getting out of this mess with our honour intact. Borgsj? has no choice but to go. But it also means that I can’t stay here any longer.” Holm sat in silence for two minutes. “Damn it, Berger … I didn’t think you were that tough. I never thought I’d ever say this, but if you’re that thick-skinned, I’m actually sorry you’re leaving.” “You could stop publication, but if both you and I O.K. it … Do you think you’ll run the story?” “Too right we’ll run it. It would leak anyway.” “Exactly.” Holm got up and stood uncertainly by her desk. “Get to work,” said Berger. After Holm left her office she waited five minutes before she picked up the telephone and rang Eriksson. “Hello, Malin. Is Henry there?” “Yes, he’s at his desk.” “Could you call him into your office and put on the speakerphone? We have to have a conference.” Cortez was there within fifteen seconds. “What’s up?” “Henry, I did something immoral24 today.” “Oh, you did?” “I gave your story about Vitavara to the news editor here at S.M.P.” “You what?” “I told him to run the story in S.M.P. tomorrow. Your byline25. And you’ll be paid, of course. In fact, you can name your price.” “Erika … what the hell is going on?” She gave him a brisk summary of what had happened during the last weeks, and how Fredriksson had almost destroyed her. “Jesus Christ,” Cortez said. “I know that this is your story, Henry. But equally I have no choice. Can you agree to this?” Cortez was silent for a long while. “Thanks for asking.” he said. “It’s O.K. to run the story with my byline. If it’s O.K. with Malin, I should say.” “It’s O.K. with me,” Eriksson said. “Thank you both,” Berger said. “Can you tell Mikael? I don’t suppose he’s in yet.” “I’ll talk to Mikael,” Eriksson said. “But Erika, does this mean that you’re out of work from today?” Berger laughed. “I’ve decided to take the rest of the year off. Believe me, a few weeks at S.M.P. was enough.” “I don’t think you ought to start thinking in terms of a holiday yet,” Eriksson said. “Why not?” “Could you come here this afternoon?” “What for?” “I need help. If you want to come back to being editor-in-chief here, you could start tomorrow morning.” “Malin, you’re the editor-in-chief. Anything else is out of the question.” “Then you could start as assistant editor,” Eriksson laughed. “Are you serious?” “Oh, Erika, I miss you so much that I’m ready to die. One reason I took the job here was so that I’d have a chance to work with you. And now you’re somewhere else.” Berger said nothing for a minute. She had not even thought about the possibility of making a comeback at Millennium. “Do you think I’d really be welcome?” she said hesitantly. “What do you think? I reckon we’d begin with a huge celebration which I would arrange myself. And you’d be back just in time for us to publish you-know-what.” Berger checked the clock on her desk. 10.55. In a couple of hours her whole world had been turned upside down. She realized what a longing26 she had to walk up the stairs at Millennium again. “I have a few things to take care of here over the next few hours. Is it O.K. if I pop in at around 4.00?” Linder looked Armansky directly in the eye as she told him exactly what had happened during the night. The only thing she left out was her sudden intuition that the hacking28 of Fredriksson’s computer had something to do with Salander. She kept that to herself for two reasons. First, she thought it sounded too implausible. Second, she knew that Armansky was somehow up to his neck in the Salander affair along with Blomkvist. Armansky listened intently. When Linder finished her account, he said: “Beckman called about an hour ago.” “Oh?” “He and Berger are coming in later this week to sign a contract. He wants to thank us for what Milton has done and above all for what you have done.” “I see. It’s nice to have a satisfied client.” “He also wants to order a safe for the house. We’ll install it and finish up the alarm package before this weekend.” “That’s good.” “He says he wants us to invoice29 him for your work over the weekend. That’ll make it quite a sizable bill we’ll be sending them.” Armansky sighed. “Susanne, you do know that Fredriksson could go to the police and get you into very deep water on a number of counts.” She nodded. “Mind you, he’d end up in prison so fast it would make his head spin, but he might think it was worth it.” “I doubt he has the balls to go to the police.” “You may be right, but what you did far exceeded instructions.” “I know.” “So how do you think I should react?” “Only you can decide that.” “How did you think I would to react?” “What I think has nothing to do with it. You could always sack me.” “Hardly. I can’t afford to lose a professional of your calibre.” “Thanks.” “But if you do anything like this again, I’m going to get very angry.” Linder nodded. “What did you do with the hard drive?” “It’s destroyed. I put it in a vice30 this morning and crushed it.” “Then we can forget about all this.” Berger spent the rest of the morning calling the board members of S.M.P. She reached the deputy chairman at his summer house near Vaxholm and persuaded him to drive to the city as quickly as he could. A rather makeshift board assembled over lunch. Berger began by explaining how the Cortez folder had come to her, and what consequences it had already had. When she finished it was proposed, as she had anticipated, that they try to find another solution. Berger told them that S.M.P. was going to run the story the next day. She also told them that this would be her last day of work and that her decision was final. She got the board to approve two decisions and enter them in the minutes. Magnus Borgsj? would be asked to vacate his position as chairman, effective immediately, and Anders Holm would be appointed acting editor-in-chief. Then she excused herself and left the board members to discuss the situation among themselves. At 2.00 she went down to the personnel department and had a contract drawn32 up. Then she went to speak to Sebastian Strandlund, the culture editor, and the reporter Eva Karlsson. “As far as I can tell, you consider Eva to be a talented reporter.” “That’s true,” said Strandlund. “And in your budget requests over the past two years you’ve asked that your staff be increased by at least two.” “Correct.” “Eva, in view of the email to which you were subjected, there might be ugly rumours33 if I were to hire you full-time34. But are you still interested?” “Of course.” “In that case my last act here at S.M.P. will be to sign this employment contract.” “Your last act?” “It’s a long story. I’m leaving today. Could you two be so kind as to keep quiet about it for an hour or so?” “What …” “There’ll be a memo coming around soon.” Berger signed the contract and pushed it across the desk towards Karlsson. “Good luck,” she said, smiling. “The older man who participated in the meeting with Ekstr?m on Saturday is Georg Nystr?m, a police superintendent,” Figuerola said as she put the surveillance photographs from Modig’s mobile on Edklinth’s desk. “Superintendent,” Edklinth muttered. “Stefan identified him last night. He went to the apartment on Artillerigatan.” “What do we know about him?” “He comes from the regular police and has worked for S.I.S. since 1983. Since 1996 he’s been serving as an investigator35 with his own area of responsibility. He does internal checks and examines cases that S.I.S. has completed.” “O.K.” “Since Saturday morning six persons of interest have been to the building. Besides Sandberg and Nystr?m, Clinton is definitely operating from there. This morning he was taken by ambulance to have dialysis.” “Who are the other three?” “A man named Otto Hallberg. He was in S.I.S. in the ’80s but he’s actually connected to the Defence General Staff. He works for the navy and the military intelligence service.” “I see. Why am I not surprised?” Figuerola laid down one more photograph. “This man we haven’t identified yet. He went to lunch with Hallberg. We’ll have to see if we can get a better picture when he goes home tonight. But the most interesting one is this man.” She laid another photograph on the desk. “I recognize him,” Edklinth said. “His name is Wadensj??.” “Precisely. He worked on the terrorist detail around fifteen years ago. A desk man. He was one of the candidates for the post of top boss here at the Firm. I don’t know what became of him.” “He resigned in 1991. Guess who he had lunch with an hour or so ago.” She put her last photograph on the desk. “Chief of Secretariat Shenke and Chief of Budget Gustav Atterbom. I want to have surveillance on these gentlemen around the clock. I want to know exactly who they meet.” “That’s not practical,” Edklinth said. “I have only four men available.” Edklinth pinched his lower lip as he thought. Then he looked up at Figuerola. “We need more people,” he said. “Do you think you could reach Inspector36 Bublanski discreetly37 and ask him if he might like to have dinner with me today? Around 7.00, say?” Edklinth then reached for his telephone and dialled a number from memory. “Hello, Armansky. It’s Edklinth. Might I reciprocate38 for that wonderful dinner? No, I insist. Shall we say 7.00?” Salander had spent the night in Kronoberg prison in a two-by-four-metre cell. The furnishings were pretty basic, but she had fallen asleep within minutes of the key being turned in the lock. Early on Monday morning she was up and obediently doing the stretching exercises prescribed for her by the physio at Sahlgrenska. Breakfast was then brought to her, and she sat on her cot and stared into space. At 9.30 she was led to an interrogation cell at the end of the corridor. The guard was a short, bald, old man with a round face and hornrimmed glasses. He was polite and cheerful. Giannini greeted her affectionately. Salander ignored Faste. She was meeting Prosecutor39 Ekstr?m for the first time, and she spent the next half hour sitting on a chair staring stonily40 at a spot on the wall just above Ekstr?m’s head. She said nothing and she did not move a muscle. At 10.00 Ekstr?m broke off the fruitless interrogation. He was annoyed not to be able to get the slightest response out of her. For the first time he felt uncertain as he observed the thin, doll-like young woman. How was it possible that she could have beaten up those two thugs Lundin and Nieminen in Stallarholmen? Would the court really believe that story, even if he did have convincing evidence? Salander was brought a simple lunch at noon and spent the next hour solving equations in her head. She focused on an area of spherical41 astronomy from a book she had read two years earlier. At 2.30 she was led back to the interrogation cell. This time her guard was a young woman. Salander sat on a chair in the empty cell and pondered a particularly intricate equation. After ten minutes the door opened. “Hello, Lisbeth.” A friendly tone. It was Teleborian. He smiled at her, and she froze. The components42 of the equation she had constructed in the air before her came tumbling to the ground. She could hear the numbers and mathematical symbols bouncing and clattering43 as if they had physical form. Teleborian stood still for a minute and looked at her before he sat down on the other side of the table. She continued to stare at the same spot on the wall. After a while she met his eyes. “I’m sorry that you’ve ended up in this situation,” Teleborian said. “I’m going to try to help you in every way I can. I hope we can establish some level of mutual44 trust.” Salander examined every inch of him. The dishevelled hair. The beard. The little gap between his front teeth. The thin lips. The brand-new brown jacket. The shirt open at the neck. She listened to his smooth and treacherously45 friendly voice. “I also hope that I can be of more help to you than the last time we met.” He placed a small notebook and pen on the table. Salander lowered her eyes and looked at the pen. It was a pointed31, silver-coloured tube. Risk assessment. She suppressed an impulse to reach out and grab the pen. Her eyes sought the little finger of his left hand. She saw a faint white mark where fifteen years earlier she had sunk in her teeth and locked her jaws46 so hard that she almost bit his finger off. It had taken three guards to hold her down and prise open her jaws. I was a scared little girl barely into my teens then. Now I’m a grown woman. I can kill you whenever I want. Again she fixed47 her eyes on the spot on the wall, and gathered up the scattered48 numbers and symbols and began to reassemble the equation. Teleborian studied Salander with a neutral expression. He had not become an internationally respected psychiatrist49 for nothing. He had a gift for reading emotions and moods. He could sense a cold shadow passing through the room, and interpreted this as a sign that the patient felt fear and shame beneath her imperturbable50 exterior51. He assumed that she was reacting to his presence, and was pleased that her attitude towards him had not changed over the years. She’s going to hang herself in the district court. Berger’s final act at S.M.P. was to write a memo to the staff. To begin with her mood was angry, and she filled two pages explaining why she was resigning, including her opinion of various colleagues. Then she deleted the whole text and started again in a calmer tone. She did not refer to Fredriksson. If she had done, all interest would have focused on him, and her real reasons would be drowned out by the sensation a case of sexual harassment52 would inevitably53 cause. She gave two reasons. The principal one was that she had met implacable resistance from management to her proposal that managers and owners should reduce their salaries and bonuses. Which meant that she would have had to start her tenure54 at S.M.P. with damaging cutbacks in staff. This was not only a breach55 of the promise she had been given when she accepted the job, but it would undercut her every attempt to bring about long-term change in order to strengthen the newspaper. The second reason she gave was the revelation about Borgsj?. She wrote that she had been instructed to cover up the story, and this flew in the face of all she believed to be her job. It meant that she had no choice but to resign her position as editor. She concluded by saying that S.M.P.’s dire27 situation was not a personnel problem, but a management problem. She read through the memo, corrected the typos, and emailed it to all the paper’s employees. She sent a copy to Pressens Tidning, a media journal, and also to the trade magazine Journalisten. Then she packed away her laptop and went to see Holm at his desk. “Goodbye,” she said. “Goodbye, Berger. It was hellish working with you.” They smiled at each other. “One last thing,” she said. “Tell me?” “Frisk has been working on a story I commissioned.” “Right, and nobody has any idea what it’s about.” “Give him some support. He’s come a long way, and I’ll be staying in touch with him. Let him finish the job. I guarantee you’ll be pleased with the result.” He looked wary56. Then he nodded. They did not shake hands. She left her card key on his desk and took the lift down to the garage. She parked her B.M.W. near the Millennium offices at a little after 4.00. PART 4 REBOOTING SYSTEM I.vii – 7.x Despite the rich variety of Amazon legends from ancient Greece, South America, Africa and elsewhere, there is only one historically documented example of female warriors57. This is the women’s army that existed among the Fon of Dahomey in West Africa, now Benin. These female warriors have never been mentioned in the published military histories; no romanticized films have been made about them, and today they exist as no more than footnotes to history. Only one scholarly work has been written about these women, Amazons of Black Sparta by Stanley B. Alpern (C. Hurst & Co., London, 1998), and yet they made up a force that was the equal of every contemporary body of male elite58 soldiers from among the colonial powers. It is not clear exactly when Fon’s female army was founded, but some sources date it to the 1600s. It was originally a royal guard, but it developed into a military collective of six thousand soldiers with a semi-divine status. They were not merely window-dressing. For almost two hundred years they constituted the vanguard of the Fon against European colonizers. They were feared by the French forces, who lost several battles against them. This army of women was not defeated until 1892, when France sent troops with artillery59, the Foreign Legion, a marine60 infantry61 regiment62 and cavalry63. It is not known how many of these female warriors fell in battle. For many years survivors64 continued to wage guerrilla warfare65, and veterans of the army were interviewed and photographed as late as the 1940s.
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sprint
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| n.短距离赛跑；vi. 奋力而跑，冲刺；vt.全速跑过 | |
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wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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relishing
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| v.欣赏( relish的现在分词 )；从…获得乐趣；渴望 | |
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reaper
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| n.收割者，收割机 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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bastard
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| n.坏蛋，混蛋；私生子 | |
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altercation
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memo
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| n.照会，备忘录；便笺；通知书；规章 | |
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millennium
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| n.一千年，千禧年；太平盛世 | |
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anonymously
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| ad.用匿名的方式 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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whatsoever
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| adv.（用于否定句中以加强语气）任何；pron.无论什么 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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eyebrow
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sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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corpses
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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assessment
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folder
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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byline
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longing
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dire
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hacking
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invoice
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| vt.开发票；n.发票，装货清单 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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full-time
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| adj.满工作日的或工作周的，全时间的 | |
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investigator
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| n.研究者，调查者，审查者 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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reciprocate
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| v.往复运动；互换；回报，酬答 | |
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prosecutor
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| n.起诉人；检察官，公诉人 | |
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stonily
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| 石头地，冷酷地 | |
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spherical
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| adj.球形的；球面的 | |
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components
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| （机器、设备等的）构成要素，零件，成分； 成分( component的名词复数 )； [物理化学]组分； [数学]分量； （混合物的）组成部分 | |
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clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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treacherously
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| 背信弃义地； 背叛地； 靠不住地； 危险地 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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psychiatrist
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| n.精神病专家；精神病医师 | |
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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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harassment
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| n.骚扰，扰乱，烦恼，烦乱 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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tenure
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| n.终身职位；任期；(土地)保有权，保有期 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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wary
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| adj.谨慎的，机警的，小心的 | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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elite
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| n.精英阶层；实力集团；adj.杰出的，卓越的 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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marine
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| adj.海的；海生的；航海的；海事的；n.水兵 | |
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infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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