The Way We Were Hunters, page 5
“All right.”
She threw a flower at his face and made him flinch. She couldn’t tell at all when he was kidding and when he wasn’t. “Misha,” she begged. “Tell me how to hunt a Fury.”
“Well, adult Fury weighs about forty tons, their center of gravity is just below the neck where they carry their fuel, and they have a wingspan of about two hundred and forty feet. The turbulence their wings create is ridiculous, you can’t shoot through that shit, and it’s mostly swag.”
“Swag?”
“Scientific wild ass guess,” he said. “They have scales, impenetrable with the ballistics we have. You have to hit one of the fuel drums through the vents at the side of the neck or inside the mouth exactly when they are inhaling and right as they ignite. Once they start spewing fire, it becomes infinitely harder because now you have all that updraft to account for. Wild ass guess, like I said.”
“Krill?” she asked.
“You don’t shoot Krill, you run and hide. They rarely land and naturally seek water when they are dying, anyway.”
“Why do you suppose that is?” she asked.
“To drown the parasites, I think. They know when they are dying.”
“And Shadow?” She narrowed her eyes at him. That was a mythical drakon.
“Smaller and faster than both Krill and Fury. Black drakon that only flies at night when the sky is clear. To kill it, you want to rupture the acid gland. Then it’s a whole lot of mess because that shit eats right through armored vehicles. You don’t want to down one over your position unless you want to see flesh melt off the bones.”
Well, something spat acid and it wasn’t Fury or Krill which was why they thought a third drakon existed, but Lena had never met anyone who’d seen a Shadow, never mind claim to have killed one. She would have thought he was full of shit but for all the Red Stars on his shelf.
She finished weaving her flower crown, set it on his head crooked, and returned to her rifle now that she’d rested her eyes and the sun wasn’t glaring from the water so much. He fidgeted. He wanted something physical, she knew that, but she shot for another hour or two because she didn’t know how his behavior might change once he got what he wanted, and she may never hold a vintovka again.
When she ran out of ammo, she turned to him to see if he had any more cartridges and saw he’d fallen asleep while the rifle had been going off right over his head—only veterans did that. He was probably tired from all the running, but now she’d seen him sleep, it made him seem more human. She didn’t know what they were talking about calling him ‘vulture’, he didn’t behave like a scavenger or an opportunist, and he wasn’t bad looking, not at all. She ran her fingers through his hair, the strands softer and finer than she would have thought, and his eyes opened, the blue so pale that they looked grey. She kissed him.
He slid his tongue into her mouth and she sucked on it gently, making him breathe deeply. He rolled on top of her, and she felt his weight and how hard he was. Her hand glided up between his legs and found his length, stroking him through the fabric of his pants. A soft moan sounded at the back of his throat, his mouth still locked with hers. She’d been wearing a white dress and he pulled the front of it down, exposing her pale breast to the afternoon sun. A whole breast fit in his hand because hers weren’t large, and her nipples hardened, becoming tender to the touch.
He sat up between her legs and lifted the skirt of her dress. Lena raised her butt from the grass to let him pull off her underwear. He looked at her for a moment, his hands on her thighs, then he unbuttoned his trousers and lowered himself over her, kissing her again.
Aw! Okay, that hurt when he tried entering her, and she pushed against his hips with her hand to keep him from thrusting all the way in and ramming against her cervix. “Easy, easy,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he breathed.
She was little, her things were short, but his wasn’t, and they did take it ‘easy’ for a bit but once they got going, he might have forgotten, and she didn’t notice, but a thing may have happened where she… peed on him? It was incredibly intense and she couldn’t stop though she knew she was doing it. She tried to hold it but that made it more overwhelming.
Afterward, she lay on the grass breathless, her hair disheveled and stuck to her face in strands. Uuf. She covered her face, then sat up, tucking her hair behind her ears. She looked at his shirt and trousers because she’d turned into a fountain for a bit.
He didn’t seem to mind though. He pulled her down and let her lay her head on his chest. His heart pounded and he let out a long exhale.
“Give it. I’ll clean it,” she said, pinching the fabric of his shirt.
“What?” he whispered.
“Your uniform. Let me clean it.”
“Oh, fuck that.”
No, not fuck that. It may become a mysterious stain on her captain’s uniform if she let it dry. He was missing one shirt already. She pestered him till he took off his clothes and went to rinse the affected area in the lake. She’d drenched her own dress too, so she cleaned that as well and let them hang from branches to dry in the sun and the wind.
She sat around in his jacket, long enough on her to cover her butt, while he was buck naked. The cubes had dropped out of his pocket and they looked for them but found them claimed by black ants.
“Where did you get sugar anyway?” he asked. He lay on his side and closed his eyes. The lake was fed from underground streams and was too cold for mosquitoes, which was good, but other bugs made a home around it, and an enormous thing with wings landed on Lena’s naked thigh. Misha flicked it before she could yelp.
“You’re not sleeping?” she asked.
“Getting there,” he said.
He had many scars. The burn ones, every veteran Lena knew had them, but he’d also caught some shrapnel where deep gashes had left indents on the skin.
“What happened?” She ran her hand along the ones on his thigh.
“Ammunition crate exploded,” he said.
“You’re lucky to be alive, then,” she said.
“Lucky,” he repeated. He sounded half asleep. His hands were clasped behind his head, but when Lena lay on him he adjusted, wrapping an arm around her.
The cartridge keeping his dog tag company was still something of interest and Lena held it in her palm, turning it to inspect it. She brought it to her eyes, held it up to the light, and squinted when she realized the cartridge had a glass vial inside it.
“What is this?” She shook it.
He took it from her and set it back on his chest. “Cyanide.”
“Why?” she demanded.
“Do you know who the Children of Eve are?’
“No.”
“Then I’d rather you didn’t know.”
“Classified?” she asked.
“That and it’s also very ugly. I’d rather not talk about it if that’s all right.”
Something to do with war and drakon, she assumed. She let him be and let him sleep. She’d closed her eyes and was blissfully listening to the songbirds talk when something bit her. It was a big black bug with horns. Then the pleasantness was over and she got up and dressed. His clothes were dry about that time too.
Misha sat across from her. His long legs stretched out under the table and crossed at the ankles and he was reading something.
She slipped one foot out of her summer flat soles and glided it up the captain’s leg. He flicked her a look and she stopped, but a minute later she’d begun being a nuisance again when Boris walked in. She behaved then and put on her shoes. The commissar and the captain didn’t get along, Nemzhar too, and Lena didn’t wish to be caught in between.
A little bell kept ringing in her head, a warning this was how bad things started, and rolled down the hill till she ended up with a strike on her record. Next stop: degrading of rank and special tribunals for people who shot not one but two of her commanding officers.
She still wanted to get fucked by him, though. But it would be different this time, she told herself. She wouldn’t get attached to him, wouldn’t think too much of it, and treat it like men did—a fling.
“Are you married?” she couldn’t help asking.
It was loud in the mess hall. Soldiers' voices hushed when Misha entered but he’d been here for a while not bothering anyone, and they’d picked up their foolishness again. Grusha was part of the HKU and had left, but a rifleman had his guitar (Grusha had an accordion, balalaika, and the guitar) and was singing about a letter he wrote to a girl. Everyone else talked, and a table with their sergeant was especially lively.
“What?” he asked, not irritated or anything, he just didn’t hear her.
“Are you married?” She didn’t say it any louder but he’d been looking right at her, so he caught it this time.
“No.”
“Engaged?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you have anyone waiting for you at home?” she persisted.
“No. Why?”
Lena shrugged, putting a spoonful of cabbage soup in her mouth. He watched her chew then returned to his paperwork. He’d hardly eaten anything and was just keeping her company, she thought. With Polina gone, Lena didn’t have any other friends. She’d make more with time, she supposed.
“Are you a widower?”
“No, Lena. I’ve been in the army since…” he had to think, “…I was fifteen, and before that, I used to volunteer making fireproof blankets for soldiers.”
“You can sew?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“With the machine?”
“Yes.” He smiled and looked up at her. “Why do you ask?”
She shook her head. “Have you been with a lot of women?”
“What’s a lot?” he asked.
“More than one.”
“Yes.”
“In the army?” she asked.
“Trench girls,” he said. “But never with anyone like you.”
What did he mean? She didn’t get to ask because Boris came over, making it an officer’s table, and Lena took her bowl and got up.
He covered her mouth, having her against the wall. They were in his office because it was inappropriate for her to be in his sleeping quarters, and had the walls not been solid concrete, the photographs of stern generals in their frames would have been rattling.
God! God! God!
She was going to make his clothes dirty again. She tried not doing that because he had a nice carpet and all, and the eruption went to her head instead, making her nearly faint.
Bad, terrible, just absolutely the worst—she had to stop doing this, but her body seemed to enjoy his company. She would stop once the HKU returned and she didn’t have so much time to kill. Yeah, she would do that. In the meantime, a few days of fun didn’t kill anyone, not usually anyway…
“What am I going to do with you?” he whispered, echoing her thought. He’d been breathing hard with his forehead pressed against hers, then he set her down.
Lena slid down the wall and sat on the floor. “Can I have water?”
He fetched her a glass of water and had been fixing his shirt in the round mirror mounted on the wall when there was a knock at the door.
Lena scampered and hid under his desk and Misha waited to say, “Come on in.”
One of the newer operators, a young girl about nineteen years old (Lena forgot her name but recognized her voice) said, without announcing herself first, “It’s Senior Lieutenant Nemzhar Balkan, Comrade Captain. The bridge across Verna is sabotaged, completely destroyed, sir. He’s asking for further directives, sir, because if he takes a detour, he says—”
“He won’t have enough fuel for his return trip,” Misha cut her off. “Is he still on the line?”
“No, sir.”
“Call him back.”
Lena heard the door close, and when she popped up from behind the desk, Misha had left.
She waited a bit, snuck out, and went to her quarters without running into any trouble. She meant to wash up and had laid down for just a bit, but ended up sleeping through the night.
The next morning she found Rurik’s stash (because she’d been looking for it) and was smoking weed with Oleg in his cottage—bad day for laundry, it was pouring outside—when Misha came in and wiped his boots on the mat by the door.
“Comrade Lena, a word,” he said.
Oleg mumbled about his firewood getting wet and stepped out after taking his hat off to greet the captain.
“Are you serious?” Misha hissed about the weed, not because Lena was high but because it smelled like it.
“It’s raining,” she said. “What are you doing later?”
“I have to leave. I’ll be gone a few days,” he said.
“Where? Why?” She got up.
“I have to take fuel out to Nemzhar so he can complete the mission.” He winked. “Only a few days. Be good, all right?”
“You’re going to drive out in this weather, alone?”
“I don’t need an escort. With the winter coming, we’re expending too much fuel on this mission as is,” he said.
“No one else can drive? You’re the commanding officer. I don’t think the protocol allows you to be traveling alone.” She thought his eyes were pretty and liked looking into them.
“Not the tanker,” he whispered, coming to kiss her. “A few days, all right?”
“Well, take someone else with you, like Boris.”
“What do I need that weasel for?”
“He can drive,” she said, then thought of something. “I can too. I used to drive the bread truck before they would let me enlist.”
“Fuel is a lot heavier than bread, Lena.”
“I’m sure it is. But it’s either me or Boris, Comrade Captain. I won’t allow you to jeopardize the invaluable resources of the republic. Neither you nor the tanker is supposed to travel without an escort.”
“Fine, I’ll take Boris,” he said.
“Fine, feed him some morphine then. I think he’s about to suck cock for it.” She’d run into him earlier and he’d looked like death.
He clicked his tongue and pulled the door open. “Better go pack then, Comrade Lena. I’m leaving in fifteen with or without you.”
He wasn’t, though. But she didn’t mean to hold him up. “Bye, Oleg! I’ll be back in a couple of days! Left the stash on your table!” she yelled out the back door, then sprinted out after Misha.
seven
Vasilisa
The Zil-157 tanker was long, green, had the general appearance of a grasshopper, and growled when Lena gave it a bit of power.
“Ease up on the gas, you’re eating up fuel.” Misha had cracked open the window and sunk in his seat to stretch out his legs.
They’d been driving most of the day, and they’d just switched seats so he could rest his eyes and she could get some practice. They’d waited for the weather to ease up before Lena drove, but it didn’t look like it was going to. The storm Polina had been talking about hit, Lena supposed.
They passed through a scorched patch of earth where the grass had renewed but the forest hadn’t. Airplane carcasses were left rusting in the rain, and an enormous skeleton of a downed Fury as tall as the charred black hills towered to the grey sky. The ribcage looked like the crooked fingers of some giant demon reaching out from hell.
The windshield wipers swooshed rhythmically, like the metronome on Lena’s mother’s upright piano used to—tack, tack, tack, tack…
It was insane that a well fired single round could down such a gargantuan monster, and to think Misha, a man the size of one of its fangs, could kill so many of them. Unbelievable, almost. But the drakon were real, the war had been real, and the fact the monsters lost was also real. So it had to be true that men like him slayed giants like that.
She wondered if it hurt him to see so many downed planes, considering his father had been a fighter pilot. She’d never met one because they were all dead, and ever since she was a girl she hadn’t seen a plane in the sky.
“My father was drafted in the early days of the war,” she said. “And not even a month later, we got notice he died at the front. I marched to the recruiting office that day and tried to volunteer but they said, ‘You’re too young, little lady.’ I was nine at the time.
“The capital fell to a single Fury because we were all out of rocket launchers then. Fire is so loud when it burns, isn’t it? I ran with my brother, he was three, because a cement slab fell on our mother and crushed her when our apartment building collapsed. The Fury’s tail had clipped it.
“Everyone was running, carrying their little luggage they fit their lives inside. All the drills tell us not to take anything, but people, when it came to it, ran holding ludicrous things. I remember seeing one granny and she was carrying a lamp. Imagine, of all the things she wanted to save, she was holding a lamp.
“I saw a little boy, a kid, squatting by a dead soldier. I was carrying my brother but tried to help the boy and yanked his arm. I shouldn’t have done that. He turned and shot me. I hadn’t understood at the time that some creatures that looked like people weren’t people. He was a fallen, you see?
“The bullet went through my brother’s head and into my chest, here.” She tapped right of her heart. “He was three years old. I have bits of his skull still lodged inside me. When it rains or snows, sometimes it hurts, and each time, I remember the fallen aren’t people. They just look like us.”
“I’m sorry,” Misha said.
“Tell me about your father. I like hearing about heroes,” she said.
“I’d rather not, if that’s all right.”
“How about your mother?” she asked.
“She was very young,” he said. “I believe she had a lot of courage for her age and tried to do what she thought was right.”
“Living siblings?” she asked.
“No,” he said.
“Why did you get assigned all the way out there, anyway? I’m sure you could have vied for a lot better position after the war.”
“I fit in with veterans and nowhere else,” he said. “They are trying to build peace over there and there’s no room for me. I tried living in Krasnaversk for a few months but couldn’t handle it. Mundane things stress me out. It was stupid.”
