“Расцветали яблони и груши，
What was left of the once-powerful convoy of machines marched across the froze steppes, farther and farther away from the Volga, directly west. The fields were completely covered in snow, the flat landscape making them look boundless. The sky was a shade of grey, looking incredibly close to the land. Only a few cypresses appeared on the horizon, the only things that weren’t a part of this monotonous blankness.
“Поплыли туманы над рекой.”
The commander of one tank stuck his head out, and surveyed the landscape around him. Although he was perfectly clear that he wasn’t supposed to do so, but he was more than a tad excited inside. We’ll arrive in Smolensk in two days, he thought to himself. After it it’s not that far from Belarus. Once we cross Poland, we’ll be home. I guess it happens to everyone in this war, no? It’s like taking a train. When you see the sign of your city, or seeing the scenery outside the window becoming more and more familiar, you can hardly stop yourself from being giddy and wanting to dance on the spot. Clanker, Darwinist, German, Russian, Polish, that all happens to them.
Still, I’m going home, and no one is here to stop me.
“Выходила на берег Катюша,”
The sniper hid himself and his companion well in the trench along the side of the road. He changed his position to lying down on his stomach, and took a drink of vodka. He was (un)surprisingly fond of it. Vodka always made him optimistic and happy, and in this case, completely overlooking the fact that he was in a frozen field with only his army-issued anti-tank gun and a genetically modified Siberian tiger. What is a sniper supposed to do with a tiger? The army is going bonkers. But you’ve got to admit, when they are young they are so fluffy and cute…
He tried to offer his feline companion a drink from his flask.
Suddenly a humming sound pulled his attention away from his vodka and his tiger.The tiger with fur as white as the snow growled silently. He attempted to shush his tiger, quietly peered out of the trenches, clutching his gun tightly. He screwed his blue-grey eyes( under his exceptionally thick and black eyebrows that were threatening to become a uni brow) tight, and spotted the tank convoy marching on the road, closer and closer to his hiding spot.
Huh, the sniper decided as he got to his position, I’m screwing over this one convoy, then I’m going home. Where Nichole and Jen and all of his friends are. Screw war, I’m going home.
“На высокий берег на крутой.”
The commander was startled from his day-dreaming. Something was wrong–but what? We’re 500 kilometres away from Smolensk. Seriously, no one with a partly functioning mind would be here. Those Ivans with machine guns are saner than that(AN: I’m very sorry if you feel offended, but it’s just a part of this story..)
There was a loud explosion, and the first tank burst into flames. His tank was the fourth out of five. Below him, the rest of the crew of the tank barked commands to each other. He scrambled down to his position.
The operator was desperately trying to bring the tank to a halt. The frozen ice and snow crunched dangerously under the massive metal box, but it was still moving , following the path of the remaining two tanks before it.
“Выходила на берег Катюша,”
The sniper hit the ground when the first tank exploded just about a metre above him. Fire and debris rained over him while he was struggling to keep the tiger under control and the mouth guard on the tiger. A shell from machine gun from one of the following tanks hit the ground close to him, he reckoned from the sound that it must’ve created a large crater on the ground. Where’s the other sniper the control centre said will be somewhere in the field? He wondered. It’ll be utterly ridiculous if I die out here. I will not die now because I am someone of destiny, he quietly offered himself the maxim.
The tanks above him were still firing blindly, shells exploding around him. He crawled several metres to his left, a spot that he figured will be the blind spot to the now first two tanks in the convoy, and the average designated space between two tanks wouldn’t make him the target of the last two if they came up with the idea of stopping . He slowly rose up to peer at the two previous tanks, made sure that no crew of the tanks paid attention to him, took aim, and fired.
The now second tank burst into flames (he was quite proud of him this time because that shot had just triggered the fuel bunker), and the first burst into flames too due to the chain reaction.
The commander panicked. The snipers (or it could be sniper, but he refused to believe that there is someone that awesome) had just destroyed the two tanks ahead, according to the crew member who was on the lookout. The operator had slowed the tank to just a skid, but it was still moving. He decided to just use his judgement and wished himself luck.
“55 degrees down!”
The gunner attempted to fire, but there were no explosions of the shell hitting the ground. It had somehow malfunctioned.
The gunner was still desperately trying to fix the problem, and the operator hand changed his mind to trying to get the tank to turn around or to escape. But he himself, who had given up on basically all of that, decided to get back to what he was doing before they got into all this rather-regular mess.
He poked his head out, and found the sniper not that far from him and his tank after all.
And he was sure that at the same time the sniper was staring at him too. He was a bit myopic, but he could still vaguely see his adversary’s features.
And strangely, he thought he looked a tad familiar. Like someone from his home town–his school, in fact, and he only had a fleeting thought to tell himself that he was crazy. Or was he someone that he cared about? His childhood friend? The kid from the next block who used to go down to the creek and catch fish with him?Anyhow, the sniper looked familiar in general,but it’s all because I’ve seen so many people during this ‘tireless’ war. Or before it–who knows?
The gunner cursed loudly inside the tank.
After that moment, the sniper aimed his gun at somewhere below the commander. And some short distances behind the commander,somewhere in his blind spot, the last tank fired a shell.
All of them knew that they won’t miss their targets.
“На высокий берег на крутой.”
The fire was still burning silently. The explosion has upturned the layers of snow and the frozen brown earth under.
The winter sky slowly shifted to a cold, dark tone of indigo as the night descended on the fields outside Smolensk.
I can’t believe I frigging did this. Although it’s a Catherine and Stephen fiction, why the heck did I do this?
This was originally supposed to be a part of a fiction collection centred around the six (or more) of my allies (allies are more awesome that friends). It was originally planned to be around 250 words, but I figured there isn’t enough plot line, so, this happened. Total word count: 1, 168..
Aww, man. So much for historical fiction, and Siege of Stalingrad and Leviathan crossover.
Note: I don’t really know anything about tanks. So if I make any mistake, I’m sincerely sorry.
(Edit: Someone think of a title for this, please.)