Thread: A Survivor's Musings

Line of Sight ?? Italics ? Translation, since I can??t speak Slavic. Varyag, Western Estova, November 1994, 322 PM The air was thick with smoke and dust, the broken and gutted shells of Varyag??s former apartment blocks and department stores clawing at a clouded and ashen sky. Muffled gunfire popped within the ruined city??s depths, like the sound of embers in a dying fire. Every now and then, a louder explosion would shatter the air, bleeding smoke and rubble into the sky. It hadn??t always been like this, though. Once, Varyag had been the Capital of Estova, but almost three years of war had reduced most of it to rubble. When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, the country had fallen into chaos. The once busy streets now lay abandoned, broken with craters and littered with debris. Fighting was done room by room, building by building, day and night. The only ones that remained behind were soldiers, fighting for control of a ghost town. Aleksei Tahirovi? sighed heavily, patrolling the war-torn streets. Shell casings crunched under his boots as he walked, his breath coming out in white puffs against the cold air. He grunted, setting the Avtomat Kalashnikova Model 47 that he carried down on the dented and bullet-riddled hood of a burnt out car. The Russian-made assault rifle weighed almost 10 lbs unloaded, and carrying the thing around got extremely uncomfortable after a while. They had cleared this particular area out only a few hours ago ?? the acrid stench of gunpowder and death still hung in the air ?? and now they were just trying to keep it in their hands. The nearby rattle of gunfire showed that the rebels were already trying to take it back. He reached down and fumbled through his uniform??s pockets, digging out a half-crumpled cigarette and bringing it to his lips. Lighting it with his last match, he let the bitter, nicotine-filled smoke sooth his frayed nerves. At least he could enjoy this one moment. He tapped the ashes away, watching them fall to the street. He brought his eyes up to scan the broken skyline of the city. It was a damn shame. His family had lived here before the war started long before, he had grown up on these streets, and now it was all gone. His family had fled, the streets were empty, and all that was left was war. ?? Fucking rebels? ? He muttered, taking a final drag before flicking the cigarette away. He took a step forward, grabbing his assault rifle and making sure that the safety was off. Resuming his patrol, he walked along the remains of makeshift barricades, some still stained with wet blood. The bodies of the dead rebels had been dragged to the side and were thrown in a pile on the sidewalk. Even in to coldness of the autumn air, flies buzzed around the bodies, which were already starting to put out an awful stench. He hocked up a wad of phlegm and spat on the pile of corpses. It served them right. It would be the last thing he ever did. Even as he turned, the 7.92 x 57mm round punched through the side of his head in an instant, the ballooning pressure inside his skull destroying his brain before it nearly blew off the opposite side of his head and jaw in a spray of blood, gray matter, and splintered bone fragments. He was dead before he even realized it, his body dropping lifelessly to the street just as the report of the sniper??s rifle reached his location. ?? Good shot, Senka! ? Bojan commented excitedly, looking through his own scope at her sixth kill today. Senka Deshinov exhaled slowly, looking over to mark another tally in the notebook beside her. Over seventy pencil marks were scratched into the paper, each mark a life she had taken from afar. She safetied the Zastava M76 sniper rifle, before sitting back and rubbing her eyes. Only 19, she had been pulled into the war when her parents had been cut down trying to flee the region. The rebels had taken her in, trained her, and when she was 17, she had killed her first man. After a year, the action of killing was as familiar to her as breathing. ?? Of course it was a good shot, Bojan? ? She spoke calmly to the rookie sniper, brushing away the compliment. ?? If it was a bad one, he??d still be alive. ? She adjusted the thin hoodie she wore, brushing some of the dust and masonry fragments away from it. Like many of the civilian fighters, she did not have proper military equipment. Most of it was stolen from corpses, or were just forgone for mobility. She lay back down on her stomach, peering through her scope again. The soldier she had just shot was being dragged off the street. ?? Should have left the fucker there to rot? ? She flipped the safety, sighted the target, and pulled the trigger. The rifle bucked against her shoulder, but the man had retreated to cover in time, the round driving into the street with a puff of dust. Shaking her head, she turned to Bojan and thumped his arm lightly. ?? We should move, they??ll figure out where we??re shooting from soon. ? She quickly safetied her weapon, gathering her tally book and binoculars. Bojan fired, once, twice, three times, the semi-automatic sniper rifle putting out a round each time he pulled the trigger. The casings clinked softly as they hit the floor, one rolling towards her until she stopped it with her boot. ?? There had better have been three targets, Bojan. ? She spoke coolly. Bojan nervously withdrew his rifle, flicking the safety and setting it at his feet. He looked up at her from his spot on the floor. ?? Well? ? ?? There was only one, Senka? ? He said. ?? Idiot. Ammunition is precious we can??t afford to waste it. ? She spat, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. ?? I am sorry, Senka, I will be more patient next time. ? He apologized as she walked away, collecting his gear as well. Senka headed into the hallway without him. The war had reached every part of this city. Bullet holes raked the cracked and faded plaster, faint bloodstains still visible even after three years. Each apartment she passed was a snapshot of how life had been when it had abruptly stopped. One room had a small table set up in the middle of the floor, where a ragged teddy bear sat abandoned at a tea party that had never finished. Senka walked quietly up to the table, lifting the teddy bear as if though it would crumble to dust in her hands. She swallowed the lump that she felt rising in her throat, placing the teddy bear in one of her pockets. Quickly, she returned to the hallway just as Bojan exited the apartment. He looked at her, ?? Are you okay, Senka? ? ?? Yes. I??m fine. ? She spoke quickly, heading towards the stairwell. The doorway had been torn from its hinges and removed, making access easier. Senka moved quickly, although she still had to watch her footing. She kept going down until damage to the first floor made the stairwell impassable. Walking out onto the second floor, she moved straight across into the apartment adjacent to the stairwell, and out the window onto the fire escape outside. The sounds of fighting were much closer than what they had been earlier. A throaty grumble and the sound of clattering treads meant that they had brought a tank. She hated tanks. Leaping over the railing, she landed with a dull thud on her feet, keeping pressed against the wall. Bojan joined her a few moments later. ?? Keep quiet, they have armor nearby. ? She warned him. Logically, they moved in the opposite direction of the armor, keeping their eyes and ears peeled in case of any other enemies in the region. They were seven blocks from their shelter, if they hurried and kept low, they might both make it there within a few minutes. A loud blast shattered the air, and Senka felt the shockwave rumble through her feet. A gray cloud of smoke and shattered masonry blossomed from a building a block away, hurtling into the sky. Damn that tank? Hopefully they could get a rocket team to take it out, and soon. They didn??t have much that could stop it otherwise. The two snipers darted across the war-torn streets, pot-shots being taken at them as they scrambled around piles of debris. Bodies littered the scene, some dragged away, others lay along with the people that had tried to save them. A machine gun rattled from an apartment two blocks down, forcing those who were shooting at them to take cover. Another tank shell slammed into the wall, showering the street below in hot debris, and vaporizing the machine gun. Senka pitied those that had been there. Puffs of dirt and chips of asphalt danced up a few feet from her as she scurried behind cover between two buildings. Bojan was close behind, winded, but unhit. She quickly looked back out onto the street, hearing the sharp crack of a bullet as it hit the brick wall right behind her. She turned back to Bojan, looking at the other side of the alley. Let's keep moving. Senka darted from street to street, her boots pounding a fevered rhythm against the broken pavement. Her breath streamed from her lungs, her rifle smacking against her side with each step. The distant thump of tank fire reverberated within her chest. Rushing from an alley, gunfire erupted around her ?? theirs or the enemy??s, she wasn??t able to tell. Chips of shattered asphalt and dust exploded around her feet, pelting her legs. A sharp stinging creased her back and she yelped, stumbling, almost falling, but she plowed on past the burnt wreck of an overturned van, the vehicle offering her at least partial shelter. ?? Fuck! ? She shouted, reaching behind her to press her hand against her back. There was no hole ?? the bullet had only skimmed her ?? but her hand still came back red. She hissed, wiping her hand on her pant leg, smearing the fabric with her blood. Bojan crashed down beside her, panting from the exertion. ?? Senka! You??re hit! ? He said with wide eyes. Miraculously, he had charged through the hailstorm of bullets unscathed. ?? No shit! ? She screamed back at him, ?? Now keep your head down! ? Bullets sparked off the metal of the bus, cracking loudly into the air. An RPG round streaked overhead, plunging into the wall of a building down the street where it detonated with a shower of brick and dust. There was the squeal of protesting tires, and a dusty green pickup truck veered around the corner, the machine gun in the back burping loudly. Bullet holes laced the windshield in seconds, blood splashing the inside of the cab. It turned sharply, flipping onto its side and tossing the man ?? or it could have been a woman ?? mounting the machine gun into the street. ?? We??ve got to keep moving! ? Senka shouted to Bojan, looking for an escape from the growing battle. She couldn??t be afraid, she couldn??t freeze up ?? not here, that would get both her and Bojan killed. They were only a few blocks away from the former school that now served as their current ??base??. If they could get out of this battle, they should have a clear path to safety. She slowly began to creep over towards the building that the van had ground itself against, trying to stay as low as possible to avoid the crossfire. ?? Come on. ? She said, crawling towards the doorframe. The building was nearly gutted by fire, the paint seared off the inside, just gray soot and ash. She doubted its structural integrity, but it would serve to get them away from the battle. Bullets continued to crack and ricochet behind them as they wormed their way through the collapsed building, keeping low to avoid being stuck by a wayward shot. She ducked under a portion of collapsed ceiling, coughing slightly from a cloud of soot that was stirred up by their passage. Climbing out the opposite window into the next street, she sighed, brushing some of the soot from her clothes. She saw no government soldiers, which meant that they still controlled this area?for now. Another tank fired again in the distance, and she heard the sound of collapsing rubble and the shattering of glass accompany the blast. She sucked a breath of smoke-filled air into her lungs, trying to steady her frayed nerves. There was so much adrenaline running through her veins that she was nearly shaking. She walked towards the mortared school. Barbed wire and sandbags lined the pockmarked walls, graffiti scrawled on the gray concrete. Bizarrely, she could swear that she heard?music?echoing faintly from within the building. She rushed inside, now hearing the music clearly now. Who in their right mind would be playing music at a time like this?! ?? Is there anyone going after that fucking T-72? ? She shouted, walking over to the maps on the wall. As if to give her words more urgency, there was a muffled report in the distance. The baritone thrum of the cello in her ears was another distraction ?? a far more welcome one, perhaps ?? but in her rattled state, right now she just wanted calm, something she would not find in a warzone. ?? Senka, are you alright? ? Bojan asked her, referring to the wound on her back. Senka sighed heavily. ?? Yes, Bojan, I am fine. Go tend to your mother. She needs you. ? She said, carrying her rifle out of the room. Gunfire rattled from the windows as she walked, shell casings littered the floor. Unceremoniously, she pulled off her ragged, soot-covered hoodie and the blood-stained shirt beneath, leaving her topless. Like many of the refugees, she was thin and dirty, her build almost gymnastic. Her lower back was caked with her blood from where the bullet had grazed her. She was lucky, a few centimeters to the right and it would have struck her spine. Senka walked into a rubble-filled room ?? rather surprised to find the source of the music here. The rich notes emerged from a nearly pristine cello, played by a young woman ?? one that could not be older than her. She was not from here ?? she looked too healthy ?? which made her wonder just what she was doing here. But right now, she had other things to take care of. She grabbed a rag, one that was nearly as dirty as the shirt she had pulled off, and ran it under a broken pipe, soaking it through. She needed to clean the wound so it wouldn??t get infected.