Chapter 2: Noone's Left Behind
Antanov was bored. He was beyond bored, he had been sitting in the M.A.S.H hospital for over a month, and his leg was still in a heavy-duty cast. He had suffered a total of a leg broken in five places, a concussion, six broken or fractured ribs, a sprained wrist, and an assortment of cuts and bruises.
The 103rd had been saddened by the losses suffered in the little shit hole of a village, whose name translated roughly as a place of peace.
Yeah, fucking right, thought Antanov, the village was anything but peaceful.
The squadron flag was lowered to half-mast, and a vigil was held just like what had been done for Sergei, and his quiet gunner. Death was now an old friend to the 103rd. They just all prayed that he wouldn't come knocking on their door any time soon. He may have been an old friend, but he wasn't welcome.
Mikhail, also know as pappa Mikhail, and his gunner Zebrevich, had met their end in that village in one of the most violent ways possible. The morale loss had been palpable when it was confirmed that he was dead. Everyone trusted and confided in that man. He was the only man besides Yuri... Yuri. It still just didn't seem real. Antanov shook it off. Mikhail had been the only other man that Antanov had confided in about his fears about killing. About maybe enjoying it. He had told Antanov that he didn't know what to say. He had said that killing from a helicopter was much different than killing someone up close. He said that it was just either the adrenaline from the fight itself or that maybe he was a psychopathic killer. The second part made Antanov feel good about himself. The only way that he would know for sure, is if Antanov was ever forced to kill someone while looking them in the face. Close enough to see their fear, hate, anger, whatever. Although he had said if Antanov went to conduct a test to find out he would personally shoot him. Antanov swore he wouldn't.
He missed Mikhail, he was a man who never judged you and always heard you out. It was said more men went to him with their problems than the field chaplain at confession. Antanov believed it too. What hadn't been told to everyone for obvious reasons, was that the intense heat had fused them with the hind in the crash, turning man and machine into one. It had been like something you would expect to see at the devil's barbecue, and Antanov was glad that he hadn't had to see that. He could just remember them how they had been, and not the blackened husks they had been turned into. Antanov did not envy the poor bastard who had to make the identification on them. Antanov only knew because he heard some of the orderlies talking about it before a doctor told them to shut up.
As for Zebrevich's assortment of pets, and strays, they found new homes around the base, with people coming, and picking out the ones they wanted. Some of the mangier which no one wanted, and a rottweiler that Zebrevich had brought from home, had to be put down. The mangy ones, because they looked sick, and probably were, and the rottweiler, because it refused to leave the man's bunk, and growled at anyone who approached.
Most of the squadron had been by after the doctors had declared Antanov fit for visitors, to see what had happened, and see how Antanov was doing. Antanov had simply said to the gossip seekers, and some concerned friends only a single sentence. "I got Yuri killed, it's my fault, now please leave me alone, I am very tired." With that he had turned away from them and refused to speak to any of them, staying that way, until they all left the hospital.
The local commissioned officer had taken over the PT classes, after Mikhail's untimely death. He ran the courses like a labor camp death march. Determined to drain every last drop of sweat out of their bodies, and get the "lazy" pilots in prime shape to better serve the motherland. No one liked him. He kept 'losing' his hat, and finding it in a variety of exotic places, like the latrines. They assumed he got the message.
The hospital was right on base too, so Antanov could be reminded every day that he was laid up in a hospital bed, and had gotten his flight status revoked after the doctor had said that he would always walk with a pronounced limp at best once his cast was off, and his left leg would always be weaker than his right. The dumb fuck, though Antanov bitterly, all you needed your legs for was to push the rudder pedals which controlled the yaw of the aircraft, not climb a goddamned cliff. It was retardedly easy to use the pedals. Antanov could do it even with his cast still on. Flying a helicopter was all in the hands and arms anyways, it was in his blood.
They had sent a psychiatrist to see him and evaluate his mental state, after the loss of his gunner and best friend. He had left quickly in a huff using his briefcase as a shield, as Antanov had thrown everything in sight at the man, including charts, pillows, bandages, maybe a scalpel somewhere in there and, ahem... a full potty dish as the patients called it. He ran out covered in refuse, and a scalpel sticking upright in his briefcase.
The nurses had put some pretty powerful sedatives into him to make him calm down. The psychiatrist had had asked him how he had 'FELT' about Yuri's death. So Antanov had shown him how he 'felt' at that very moment. When Antanov had been under the influence of the drugs he had complained that a purple monkey had been staring at him. Then screamed when the monkey liquified and started to ooze over top of him. They had put different, more powerful sedatives to put him under after that. Antanov later learned that he had experienced something called a 'bad trip.'
A couple of his better friends Vladimir and Egor had come by to see how he was doing. It was awkward, to say the least. No one had known what to say. Antanov chose a particularly interesting spot on the wall to stare at, while Vladimir stared between his boots, and Egor had decided that the hospital was the most interesting place he had ever been in, looking at everyone, and everything. They had made small talk, about how everyone in the squadron was doing, who was doing what, who had scored the most kills in the last mission, and how the newly-arrived recruits that were straight out of training shaping up to be.
"So what did the doctors say about your leg?" asked Vladimir trying to take a more active role in the conversation.
"Great", said Antanov, he said I'll be learning to tango by the end of the week".
"Okay, said Vladimir I get it but how ba-"
"Also said I have a decent shot at the Olympic hundred-meter dash."
"Goddamn it Antanov, said Egor. What has got you so pissy?"
Antanov didn't answer, merely pointed to his dress uniform hanging on a rack beside the bed, and a low table with his medals in their cases. They studied the uniform, not understanding at first, and then looked away as realization dawned. Over the left breast pocket, where Antanov's wings would have been proudly worn, there was just a faint outline with a single piece of steel thread sticking out, and on the table a crinkled medical statement saying that Antanov should be discharged, or regulated to a non-combat role.
"Shit man that sucks", said Egor. He was never one for deep conversation or elegant speech, but he spoke what was on his mind, and didn't bullshit around. Antanov liked him for that, he was honest.
"Sorry about this", said Vladimir.
"What for, said Antanov you didn't shoot me down."
"You know what I mean Antanov retorted Vladimir angrily. Ever since Yuri-"
"Leave", Said Antanov
"What?" said Vladimir.
"I said get out, leave, your not welcome."
Vladimir's face got red, and Antanov thought that they were going to have a screaming match, right there in the hospital. Vladimir was legendary in the squadron for his temper, especially after he got some vodka in him, though he was usually sorry for it afterward. Usually.
Instead, he just glared at Antanov with furious brown eyes, and said in a tight voice, "come on Egor it looks like we've outstayed our welcome." Antanov glared daggers at Vladimir as he stormed out. Egor reluctantly followed and paused at the door, and turned back to Antanov whose anger still burned in his eyes.
"We all miss him Antanov, you aren't alone in this so stop acting like it's only you that this affects. Antanov was about to reply when Igor continued.
No one blames you for what happened. With that Egor turned on his heel, and left the room, but called over his shoulder, and stop being so goddamned pissy." Antanov felt the anger drain from him, and said quietly to himself, "I blame myself."
Antanov never got another chance to talk to Egor. He was shot down along with Vladimir doing a medical evac three days later. It wasn't until years later that Antanov learned the profound effect his words had achieved and had helped bring him out of his depression. Antanov wished there were more Egor's in this world. Too many people never told you the truth or gave you a straight answer. The One who brought him to full out of his depression was a distinguished member of the Royal Paratroopers. Kapitan Balalaika.
Antanov was dozing fitfully when a nurse woke him up. "Lieutenant, there is someone there to see you." "I'm tired today, tell them that I'm sleeping." "But", the nurse began.
"Too busy to see the person who saved your life?" "Or are you just ungrateful?"
Antanov looked up in surprise and saw the only female Paras captain or front line soldier he had ever seen for that matter standing in the doorway. The very same one who had saved his life.
He tried to snap off a salute but ended up instead of nearly knocking over an IV stand that the nurse who had been standing beside the bed had to scramble to catch. Balalaika chuckled, while the nurse just glared.
"Am I allowed in or are you still tired?" Asked Balalaika. "N-no Kapitan, I mean yes of course you can come in."
"My my," said Balalaika, "I've flustered the poor boy." Antanov blushed deeply at the words. Balalaika just laughed again.
"I'll leave you to your guest now," said the nurse. As she left she gave Antanov a glare that said if you break ANYTHING while I'm gone you won't WANT to live to see tomorrow. Antanov made a mental note to watch his elbows and arms.
Balalaika was in the full dress uniform of the Paras complete with powder blue beret, and with more medals than Antanov had thought possible for anyone less than a Field Marshall. He recognized a couple from first glance, including Hero of the Holy Kingdom, A medal of honor for exceptional military service 1st class, four medals for Bravery-Under-Fire awards, another two of the Medals for Military Merit, and many others that he didn't recognize, and some that were very, very hard to get.
He had been staring too long as Balalaika broke the silence with a surprising twist to bear, "admiring my chest?"
"Yes. No. I mean it's nice, but not in that way. Well, it is but, Ummm ahhh," Balalaika stopped him from digging a hole before he hit Ejorike by saying, "it's all right, it's a lot of metal I know. Damn things heavy too." As she pulled up on her tunic to a more comfortable position Antanov had to look away red-faced.
What the hell is with me? He thought. I'm acting like some horny teenager too nervous to make a move on a girl he likes. Antanov remembered that when he first saw her he thought she was an angel come to carry him off to the afterlife. She had been beautiful, then, and she was beautiful now. More so without the blood, dirt, and grime on her. Her uniform was freshly pressed and starched, and her hair was neatly combed, and her eyes were brighter as she was well-rested, and there were no longer bags under her eyes.
"So how have you been Antanov? "well I hope."
Antanov was tempted to lie, but to lie to Balalaika would have seemed wrong, and something just in her very presence demanded nothing but the truth and a maximum of respect. "Not so well I'm afraid, said Antanov, with Yuri... gone it's been hard." Antanov finished, the vigor he had previously displayed gone, and the boyish shyness had disappeared.
Balalaika's eyes wandered over to the low table and spied the medals sitting in the boxes. She walked over and reached for them. She stopped short, and said, "may I?"
"Go ahead," said Antanov, their not as impressive as yours though. Balalaika merely smirked as she opened them up. There were eight in total. Antanov and Yuri had been the most decorated crew in the whole 103rd. They had been infamous in a good way and had more medals combined than at least and four other crews in the squadron combined. Well except for Pavel. That man wore any medal he could get his hands on. Hell, he even wore the blood donors medal.
Balalaika started taking them out one by one and inspecting them.
"Hmmm". "Four honored military pilot medals of the Holy Kingdom. Must have had to do some fancy flying to get those huh?" Antanov stammered out a reply of something or other, and then Balalaika continued. "An Order of Glory 1st class." She smiled. Antanov thought it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. "My sergeant Boris would kill for something like this." She put it back in its box. Antanov was feeling pride swell in him that the Royal Paras' Kapitan was praising him for his accomplishments. "Two medals for Courage?" She held up the two identical medals. One was slightly tarnished because Antanov had dropped in a puddle of oil while showing it off. He had to send away for a new ribbon for it, and it contrasted sharply with the slightly off-color metal. "I'm starting to get impressed." Antanov was smiling by now, not overly so, but a smile none the less.
"Let's see the last one now shall we?" She opened the last box and held it up. "A medal for distinction in military service second class." She paused with a thoughtful expression on her face. "Well, I think I can one-up you on this." She reached into her tunic pocket and pulled out two more medal boxes. 1st lieutenant Antanov Yeghevich it is with great pleasure that I award you with The medal for a distinction of Military service 1st class." Antanov took the case dumbstruck, as Balalaika continued, and Hero of The Holy Kingdom. Antanov held his new medals. Yuri deserved them instead.
Seeing the look on Antanov's face yet again, Balalaika took out a very richly crafted box, inlaid with gold filigree. Antanov looked at it in puzzlement. Balalaika opened it up and Showed Antanov the medal inside. It was the Emperor's Knight Order. Balalaika held it up and showed him the back of it. Inscribed on the was the rank, initial, and name, 3rd LT. Y. Myaskovskiy. Yuri, Myaskoviskiy his gunner. His best friend, the large man with a champion boxer for an uncle, and who would tease him relentlessly, but would always pull his ass out of the fire when he got in trouble.
''Your friend died a hero, and the Emperor has recognized him for his ultimate sacrifice. Medals will never replace a comrade, but they show that what was done, and it will not be forgotten." Balalaika finished solemnly.
Antanov was quiet for a long time, then finally spoke. "Thank you, said Antanov, truly thank you."
"Don't thank me, you earned this. We would have gotten these to you sooner, but we had some problems."
"What kind of problems?" asked Antanov.
Balalaika got a gleam in her eye that made Antanov feel uneasy. "The kind of problem named Sasha."
"The new guy? What of him?" Antanov had a feeling that it wasn't going to be good.
"Let's just say his version of events didn't match what happened."
Antanov felt anger build in him. "What. Did. He. Say?"
"It doesn't matter now,'' said Balalaika, I have taken care of it." All things considered, Antanov felt a twinge of sympathy for Sasha. He would not want Balalaika even displeased with him, much less angry.
Seeing an unused chessboard nearby she said, "do you play chess?" "Yeah, but no one ever beats me," said Antanov dismissively. "Well do you want to play?" Balalaika pressed.
"Not really", said Antanov.
"What if we make things interesting," Balalaika said coyly.
"Interesting?"
"If I win I get 100 Levs"
" And if I win?" Antanov was always interested when a prize was considered.
Balalaika leaned over Antanov, and said, "a kiss."
"Wh-what?" asked Antanov suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
"Well if you are not interested I suppose I can just leave." As Balalaika stood to leave, Antanov practically slammed the 100 Lev note down on the table. "Let's play." Balalaika smiled, grabbed the chessboard, and sat down.
*__*
"Checkmate." Antanov stared down at the board. There was no move he could make. How did he just lose? Balalaika just sat there looking immensely pleased with herself and was not forthcoming with any answers. It had taken 14 turns.
"I believe," began Balalaika, "that this is mine." She reached forward and cleanly pocketed the note off of the table.
Antanov put another down on the board. "Again."
"I thought you said that you didn't want to play."
"Well I changed my mind, let's go again," said Antanov hotly.
"I don't want to take all your money." Said Balalaika eyeing Antanov's filled wallet.
"You won't," said Antanov and I intend to win back what I lost."
"Well aren't we full of fire now?" Said Balalaika. Antanov was quickly resetting the pieces with almost fanatical devotion. "Very well," said Balalaika at length, "let's play."
After Antanov had lost ALL of his money to Balalaika, they had to call it quits. She said that she wouldn't except possession's, or his firstborn child as payment. She also said that she couldn't accept a hind as payment since 'technically' Antanov did not own said multi-million ruble gunship.
"Well I should be going now," said Balalaika now rising from her chair. "I Promised the men that I'd take them for a few rounds of vodka shots." "This was fun though, I might just come back and play again tomorrow."
"But, I don't have any more money," said Antanov meekly. Balalaika waved her hand dismissively, "the wager was just to get you to play."
"Oh, so I don't have to bet money next time?" asked Antanov hopeful.
"No. We'll just play for fun from now on. She grinned, can't take everything you make."
As she was leaving Antanov had to ask a question that had been bugging him. "How can you afford to pay for a round of drinks for over 100 men?" "It's simple, said Balalaika. I can't." Antanov was puzzled until she pulled out the wad of cash she had won from him. "Thanks for the help." With that, she left the hospital room.
"Damn. I got played." But thought Antanov I get to see her again tomorrow. Feeling self-satisfied he leaned back on his bed putting his arms behind his head. Unfortunately, an errant elbow knocked the glass ashtray Balalaika had used for her cigars on the floor, and the broken glass and ash spread across the floor. Antanov got a distinct feeling that something bad was about to happen. Antanov heard a clacking of heels in the hallway, and then the nurse from earlier was standing in the doorway. She first looked at the mess on the floor, and then at Antanov. "Uh oh." was all Antanov said.
As promised Balalaika returned the next day for their game of chess, and Antanov continued to lose every single game. He couldn't understand what he was doing wrong. He would always take more pieces. He would always clear a path to her king, and then all he had to do was strike. Then... he would lose. He would be in checkmate, with no other possible moves to make, he had to concede defeat. Whenever he asked how he lost, Balalaika would just say, "you were simply outplayed." She continued to come back, and win every single game, no matter what Antanov did.
As soon as Antanov was able to move around on his own, albeit with the help of crutches, he would challenge anyone and everyone to a game of chess that he could find. It got to the point where the hospital staff would try to hide the board, in hopes that Antanov wouldn't find it and leave them alone. They underestimated the determination of a man with nothing to do all day and a wounded ego. He always found it.
Antanov was able to beat everyone consistently with the exception, of a man in a full-body cast, and bandages who called out where he wanted his pieces moved, the nurse who had 'explained' to Antanov why we are careful in a hospital, and an elderly doctor, who would play in his spare time.
Antanov was sure he lost to the nurse, for the simple reason that he was terrified of her wrath. Antanov found out that she liked stuffed animals, and had bought her several to make peace with her. After he accidentally knocked over a glass of water and breaking it, she hadn't even gotten upset. Antanov had thought he was in the clear. The morning after, he woke with the severed head of one of the bears he had bought her in his lap. Right on top of his crotch. Antanov avoided anything breakable like it was instant death. He couldn't have been farther off. It would be very slow, though she wasn't bad to look at when he wasn't fearful she was going to murder him, and she had a nice name too. Catherine. She filled out her nurses uniform in all the right places.
The doctor won, because he played classical music which distracted Antanov, and he always offered him vodka when they played. Antanov thought that he drank more than was healthy, and encouraged Antanov to do the same. Antanov usually ended their games hammered, and left declaring that his bed was a Hind gunship. Until the nurse showed up, and ever so 'sweetly' asked him to stop making a ruckus before someone got 'hurt'. Antanov quickly sobered up, and apologized, both with words, and continually buying her more stuffed animals. Antanov feared the day that he wouldn't be able to buy more stuffed animals.
The body cast man won, because he had been both a voice actor, and ventriloquist before the war, and mind fucked Antanov whenever they played. At first, he thought he was becoming schizophrenic when he heard voices of savvy businessmen, small children, and voluptuous women telling him to move the pieces around from all corners of the room, and in the hallway. That and eat his soul, but I digress. It didn't help that he would also do it in his regular voice too, and deny hearing any other voices. Barring the soul-eating in his normal voice. When Antanov had found out, he had been furious, but also found it amusing in some ways. At least he wasn't crazy.
Yet no matter how much Antanov practiced he just couldn't beat Balalaika. He found out that Balalaika wasn't her name one day as she was leaving, after one of their daily chess games. They had stopped playing in the hospital room and had moved to the lounge as it afforded a better view, and was far more comfortable. Also, it didn't face the airport.
"And I believe that this is checkmate once again Mr. Yeghevich.'' said Balalaika leaning back in her chair arms behind her head in triumph. It took all of Antanov's willpower not to stare at her more noticeable 'assets' of her unbuttoned at the top, desert ''choco'' fatigues, as she did so. ''Antanov you said no one ever beat you, and yet I continue to win again, and again." Now she was just taunting him.
"You must be cheating,'' said Antanov. '' no way you could win every single time." Antanov sat back annoyed at having been beaten yet again. How does she do it? He pondered. She had to have a trick, extra pieces. Something.
"I can assure you I am not cheating Antanov, but I can tell you one thing," said Balalaika leaning forward. "What's that?" Antanov asked. Balalaika just paused sitting there, sitting still as a statue. She did so for so long, that Antanov was considering asking her if she was alright, then she spoke. "You are a sore loser." "I am not a sore loser!" Antanov stood up in outrage, but unfortunately, he put weight on his bad leg. With a whine of pain, he fell back heavily into his chair. "You didn't just prove my point at all Antanov. Not in the least." Antanov just grunted in annoyance.
"Just tell me how you keep winning, said Antanov in frustration. What is your secret?"
"It wouldn't be a secret if I told you now would it Antanov, and besides, tapping her watch she said, I have to go." In one smooth movement, she stood up and began walking to the door.
"Goodbye Kapitan Balalaika", Antanov called after her. Balalaika stopped dead in her tracks.
"What did you call me?" Balalaika didn't turn around when she asked the question.
Oh shit, thought Antanov, maybe I offended her. Maybe it's a word that some men in her company use to make fun of her or insult her.
"I um, Antanov swallowed nervously. I heard some of your men call you Balalaika when they were treating me, and I thought that was your name." Antanov got his crutches ready to make a run for it if Balalaika, or whatever her name was got angry at him. He saw her shoulders, and the body starts to shake. He was so going to die now. Instead, she burst out laughing and turned to face him.
"Do you even know what Balalaika means? She asked wiping tears from her eyes. It's slang for the M14 sniper rifle that I always use, so the men just started calling me it. Antanov now understood why the sergeant in charge of visitors had looked at him like he was retarded when he had asked where Kapitan Balalaika was when she hadn't shown up for a week. It turned out later that she had been in the field. Antanov, did you never once see my name tag?" Stenciled clear as day above her right breast was the name Pavlovena.
"No, I never did," replied Antanov. "So you telling me that in the two weeks that I've been coming every day to play with you, you never once saw my name?" "Yes," replied Antanov trying to salvage as much dignity as possible. "Unbelievable muttered Balalaika. Only my men call me my Balalaika, and only my men can call me Balalaika." "Oh, I'm sorry Kapitan Pavlovena, I won't make that mistake again," Antanov swore not to mess that up. "Balalaika." "Ma'am", asked Antanov unsure. "You can call me Balalaika," repeated the newly named Kapitan Pavlovena. "But I'm not from your unit, or under your command," protested Antanov. Balalaika fixed him with a gaze, that Antanov couldn't look away from. "You bled on the same ground we did, and you lost comrades, just like we did. In my eyes, you have earned the right to call me Balalaika." With that, she turned on her heel and left. Even if Antanov could have replied, he wouldn't know what to say.
Antanov just stared at the neatly wrapped box. Balalaika had left for another mission a few days ago and hadn't come back yet. She had given the box to him, saying that she had been waiting for the right time to give it to him. It was from Yuri. It had been for his birthday, which had been a few days ago, and a surprising number of people had shown up since Antanov had stopped being so 'pissy,' as Egor had put it. Antanov wished Egor and Vladimir could have been there. Vladimir was a funny drunk as long as you didn't make him angry, and Egor was fun to have around, even if he could be a prick at times. Antanov was beginning to feel old. Too many new faces, too many names he didn't know. With a dull realization, he realized that he didn't care that he didn't know their names. He was shipped back to to the Cassadian homeland within the week, and now could walk around with only the aid of a cane, although walking tired out his disused leg considerably, and it was still a bit stiff.
Antanov's only regret was that he wouldn't be able to spend more time with Balalaika. He had developed a crush on her over the weeks and had been going to tell her how he felt, especially when she had told him that she had volunteered to deliver the medals in person, to have a chance to visit him. He had thought that she had felt the same way. Then she had revealed that she did this kind of thing with all of her men who got hurt, and that was why she could never stay long. He had just been a name on the list. Balalaika had said that a commander's job didn't end off the field, that they had to care for their soldiers, since whether most commanders realized it or not, their men would fight to the death for them at a single order. No questions. No regrets. She said it was shameful for the commander to do any less for their soldiers. Every single man to a man under Balalaika would give his life to save her, and she would do the same for anyone of her soldiers. Despite everything that had happened Antanov felt the same way that they did. He would die for her on a word.
Antanov wondered what was in the little blue box with a white ribbon on it. Yuri always got him good gifts, whether they were possessions, or like the one time he had taken him to and paid for a night at one of the most expensive Bordello in the area. Antanov smiled wryly. That had been a good night. Another time he had got Antanov a Swiss pocket watch that he had bought on the black market. Antanov hardly ever wore it, and never in public for fear of being caught with contraband, and getting his flight status revoked, even temporarily. The point seemed moot now in reflection. Antanov had attempted to open it several times and had stopped each time. Unable, or unwilling to open it.
In the intervening time of his recuperation, he had become more friendly with the nurse Catherine. She had confided in him that she had just done most of the things, to bug him, and she thought it was funny when she would walk into the room, and Antanov would cower behind his sheets, and call her ma'am even though he outranked her by a few good levels. Apparently, she didn't have a lot of friends, and people seemed edgy around her, so she just played it up. Since she had lacked friends, she had collected the stuffed animals, and only cut up the one bear, because she had spilled coffee on its body, and ruined it. Not wanting to waste it, she had waited for the perfect opportunity to use it. He had been to her room a few times, and it was wall to wall with stuffies. Apparently, some of the standards sergeants had wanted her to clean it up, but then she had just put on her act, and the request mysteriously vanished.
It still made Antanov wonder about her mental state if she found him cowering funny, but the extracurricular activities they participated in made it seem less important. They both knew it wouldn't be permanent, but it didn't seem to matter. With so much death you learned to live in the moment, and not give a damn about tomorrow. Antanov still felt uneasy doing it in her room though and having sooo many stuffed animals watching him.
Most of the time, Antanov would just wander around the hospital, now that he just needed a cane to get around. Anywhere he went through, was preceded by the tap of his simple pine cane, as he walked around.
Antanov was wandering again today, and he knew that he should open the gift, tap, tap, tap. It was from Yuri, and now it was only gathering dust in his room.
Tap, Tap, Tap.
He had to stop putting it off, or else it was going to drive him insane, TAP, TAP, TAP. Antanov stopped in the hallway so suddenly, that a passing orderly almost ran into him. The orderly was going to protest, but after seeing the look on Antanov's face he quickly went on his way. Antanov turned sharply on his heel and headed back to his room. He was going to open the box and end the stupid indecision.
Even with the fire of his conviction, he still hesitated, with the simple blue box. Instead of tearing it open, like he resolved he would, he began to tenderly open it. Untying the ribbon, and setting it to the side. He gently opened pried open the top and took out a tissue paper wrapped object. He tore off the paper and looked at his gift.
It was a porcelain miniature, of a Sche'gor horse, and rider. It was on a circular base, with the horse and rider rearing up, and the rider brandishing his saber. It was finely detailed, and you could practically hear the battle cry, coming out of his porcelain lips. The horse was a dark chestnut mare, and the Sche'gor rider was complete with full uniform, and hat. The base was outlined in gold paint, and the rest was black. At the bottom of the box was a note. Antanov read it.
"Well Antanov another year has come and gone, and I guess your still alive, so I decided to get you something different this year. If I'm not there drinking with you, I guess I'm dead. Funny thing it must be reading a note from a dead man. I ordered this in advance because I had a premonition of sorts about this. I had a dream about a Sche'gor rider with a white horse charging across a smoky battlefield, and he was alone. He charged right into the other line and fought until he died. I've had this dream a few times now, and I might be a superstitious horse herder from Tengristan, but I think it meant either my death, yours, or both. If I'm still there with you give me a good smack, if not. Don't give up, Sche'gori never surrender, and they never give in. See you in the next life, my friend. P.S. If I'm not dead, don't you DARE forget my birthday again."
The realization hit Antanov like a hammer blow. Yuri was dead. He was dead, and there was nothing that he could do to change it. He had been in either denial or had put it completely out of his mind entirely, refusing to think about it.
Antanov had not wept for any of his fallen comrades, he had sworn he wouldn't. From the first to the last, he had stood strong. For them, and for the Motherland, he had refused to grieve for them. Now though, he wept long and hard. For Sergei, and his quiet gunner from the mountains of Laru. Mikhail, father to them all. Zebrevich the large man with an equally large heart for animals. For Egor, the blunt, but honest man. Vladimir, and his legendary temper, and good spirit, for Yuri. His best friend and closest confidant, and finally for all those others who had fallen, too numerous to name, and yet he knew every one of them.
After Antanov had finished, he asked himself a question that he never had before. Was all of the death and sacrifice worth it? He had always believed that they were doing the right thing, and still did, but was it worth the cost?
Antanov Decided that he needed some fresh air, so grabbing his cane, and porcelain figurine, he strode out into the bright Brasilistani day. Antanov wore simple Cassadian desert ''choco cookie'' fatigues, and he put on his reflective Aviators to combat the bright light, and hide his red eyes. Who cared if someone caught him with them, what else could they do to him? He walked for a long time, and whether, through fate or habit, his feet carried him to the helicopter staging area.
Antanov heard the deep thumping of rotors and looked up. A flight of six Chinook helicopters, escorted by two Hinds came in for a landing. They kicked up loose sand, and rocks as they landed. Antanov had to cover his mouth with his cane arm so he wouldn't breathe it in.
Antanov saw Royal Paratroopers start unloading from the helicopters. They smelled, were dirty, covered in both blood, and sweat. They walked like defeated men, dragging their feet, and barely holding onto their G3's. That was strange to Antanov, the Paras would be tired surely, but they always kept tight discipline, and held their head's high. They were the shock troops of the Cassadian spearhead and had extremely high esprit de corps. Something horrible had to have happened to make this happen to them.
Antanov noticed that their Kapitan wasn't with them, and he felt his pulse quicken. Maybe it's a different company, Antanov tried to reassure himself. There was a whole division of Paras on base, and it could be any company, any Kapitan. Antanov felt his stomach drop when he saw Balalaika's top sergeant Boris with the same defeated look as the rest of them. He had a fresh scar across his face that was still healing and pink. Antanov's cane dropped from nerveless fingers, hitting the tarmac with a wooden clatter. His hold on the porcelain figurine however never wavered. Balalaika he later learned had been captured by the Mujaheddin.
Later that night Antanov approached the VDV barracks, in his soviet fatigues, and his service Makarov in a holster. He had never gotten his old one back after Balalaika had used it to save him.
He hesitated at the door, the Royal Paras were notorious for shunning and booting out regular Cassadian serviceman who were not invited in specifically. Maybe he could just sneak in, and speak to Boris, and they wouldn't notice. With an effort of will, Antanov pushed the door open and strode in.
He couldn't have been more wrong. Everyone noticed him when he walked in. This was a night of grieving for them, and they had all been sitting sullenly in their bunks or around the room, except for a cluster of men around Boris at the far end of the barracks. They had been speaking in hushed tones before Antanov had walked in.
They were all staring at him, and the stare said, leave or we'll hurt you BAD. Taking a deep breath, Antanov began walking to the far end of the barracks, his cane making the only sound as it struck the wood floor, on his way across the room. His left leg was sore from walking so much today, but he ignored it. Some of the men had left their bunks and had moved to cover the door behind him. If I don't do this right, I'm going straight back to the hospital, and I doubt I'll be able to leave for a long time, thought Antanov.
Antanov began to sweat, the Paratroopers had their G3s in the barracks and were fingering them lightly. Forget the hospital, thought Antanov if I fuck this up I'm going straight to the morgue. He stopped in front of the table with Boris and his cluster of men. He was so nervous, he thought he might throw up. He gripped his cane with sure hands, they were steady. No matter how nervous Antanov got he never shook, but you could see it in his eyes. Yuri had once told him, that his mother had said that the eyes were the gateway to the soul, and you could tell a lot about a person from their eyes.
Antanov stopped a few feet short of Boris. He felt like he couldn't speak. He had met Boris before, and had talked briefly with him on several occasions, but always when Balalaika had been present. He imagined that Boris had also met him after he got shot down, but Antanov couldn't be sure. He had been high, and later morphine that day. Antanov was spared having to speak first because Boris did.
"What the hell are you doing here, this isn't your barracks, and you had damn well had a good excuse for coming in here." I c-came to try and h-help Balalaika." Antanov was stuttering, and he was spinning on the inside. He was fearful, and he knew if he screwed up he was dead. Boris was clearly angry, and while he and Antanov were of comparative heights even if Boris was a bit taller, Boris was a mountain of muscle compared to Antanov, and a trained killer. Antanov had been told that he had a pilots build one time over drinks in a bar, and he only had the hand to hand skills he had learned in basic. He was a decent shot with his pistol, but he would be beyond dead if he ever was forced to draw it. Everyone had thought Yuri was front line infantry, with his build and fighting prowess.
"What could you possibly do to help us? Would you fight for her, would you die for her? Everyone in this room would die for her, can you claim the same?" "Without hesitation, Antanov replied. He felt fierce determination in him as he said it. Balalaika had shown more patience for him than anyone other than Mikhail or Yuri would have shown. She had saved his life twice. One of the battlefield, and again from going down a dark road of no return. You need a pilot you can trust, and I owe Balalaika my life. I'm not leaving until you agree to let me help, or I'm carried out of this room in a body bag." He met Boris's eyes, his no longer holding fear, and Boris's were unreadable.
They had a small stare down, before, Boris gestured to an empty chair. "Sit we have much to discuss."
***
Antanov was sitting strapped into a Chinook helicopter, and he was sure they were going to get caught. He was wearing the previous owner of the helicopter's flight suit. The Paras had jumped them after they had refused to go along with the plan, and were tied up, and hidden in their barrack's. They were only taking Three helicopters. Two Chinooks, and one Hind. Antanov had managed to convince Dima, and his pothead of a gunner Oleg to come along. Oleg was a very proficient gunner but had a taste for locally grown cannabis. He only did it on leave though. Antanov figured it was how he coped. Dima was a short pudgy man, with a taste for fine foods, and he was offset by his tall and skinny gunner. Dima abhorred drugs of any kind and was constantly trying to get Oleg to quit. It had been a point of amusement among the squadron, and they fit so comically well together, and yet were the best of friends. Just like the modest and calm Yuri had offset Antanov's Hotheaded, and egotistical ways. Antanov felt a pang of loss but shook it off. He had a mission today.
Antanov had chosen Dima, and Oleg because they had been good friends to him and Yuri, and had been in Albarazil since 1990 just like he had. They were one of the last few of his original 'family' who he trusted without reservation. Antanov had thought it might be hard to get them to agree. He was asking them to risk their careers, and face a court-martial, and possibly a firing squad. They had agreed to come along, without any questions asked. It had moved him.
Antanov only knew the pilots of the other Chinook by name, he knew nothing about them. They were Danil and Kostya. They seemed competent being transport pilots, and they were fairly average to look at, you wouldn't be able to pick them out of a crowd unless you knew where to look.
Antanov didn't have a co-pilot on this mission, and he felt glad just to be able to fly again. They were using a ruse, that they were going on a reconnaissance in force mission, and they would be flying closer to the Ejorikean border. Balalaika was being held in Ejorike after a botched secret mission, and they would cross the border, and bring her back. Boris had, had to handpick members of the company to go rescue Balalaika. They simply couldn't take everyone. The ones who stayed behind would have to keep the alarm from being raised for as long as possible.
Antanov got a line of communication opens with Control Tower to ask permission to take off on their bogus mission.
"Control, this is Delta-2 over."
"Delta-2 this is Control, go ahead over."
"Requesting permission to take off on bearing 1-1-8, from Apron Echo over."
"Delta-2 this is Control, Acknowledged. Take off on Bearing 1-1-8 from Apron Echo, permission granted, you may proceed."
"Acknowledged, taking off on heading one, one, eight now," Antanov finished. So far so good. With that, he fed more power to the collective and smiled. He was flying again. This would be his final flight as a soviet bird.
They crossed the border, hugging the mountain ravines, and staying under the radar. Antanov didn't like the feel of the Chinook as much as the Hind. While the hind was sharp to respond to commands and felt like he was holding the leash of a snarling beast, the Chinook was more sluggish, and he felt like he was leading a calm milk cow through a pasture.
Antanov eyed the mountain ridges warily, looking for any sign of hostile forces, thumb hovering over the firing studs. Except he had no firing studs, and he had no weapons, no teeth. Antanov grunted in annoyance.
They continued moving carefully, but quickly over, and through the mountain ranges, with Oleg, and Dima on Overwatch. Flying above them like a mother shepherding her young. Antanov looked at his map. "Fives mikes to target, he called over the radio. I want eyes up, and weapons hot." The last part was only for Dima and Oleg. They were the only ones with weapons. Well besides the two full platoons of pissed off Paras in back of the Chinooks ready to rip out some Ejorikean throats. They were armed to the teeth and had a look of utmost determination to them. Boris issued a similar order to them, and a clicking and clacking of weapons being checked, and prepped was heard. They wanted blood.
Their small flight crested one final ridge, and they saw the compound below them. It had a few concrete buildings, but mostly just a city of tents, and a chain-link fence surrounding it. Dima drove his hind into a dive, quickly accelerating past them. He started firing, and his rockets and Oleg's guns quickly turned the compound into a raging hellfire, of explosions and screams. He was careful to avoid the two concrete buildings, as they didn't know which one Balalaika was in. Antanov forced his hind, no his Chinook into a harsh dive, trying to get to the ground as quickly as possible. The rush of acceleration wasn't as great, and the G's were less than what he felt in his hind. He felt let down.
Thirty meters off the ground he flared the helicopter as hard as he could, and it caught itself just before it redecorated the ground. Danil and Kostya were still descending. "Alright follow me, for Balalaika!" Roared Boris. He was audible over the roaring of the rotors. If he was audible, the rest of them was deafening. "UUURRRRRAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" They shouted their battle cry and ran through the minor sandstorm created by the Chinook, G3's out and blazing. They spared no one.
As Antanov was taking back to the sky, he took some light fire from the ground. It peppered the Chinook giving it far too many peepholes, and some narrowly missed him. He missed his hind now. Antanov climbed sharply, leaving the fight to those who could bite. Antanov circled at 4000 feet and watched the battle unfold. The Paras were merciless. No one could stand in their way and those who tried died. He felt nervous anticipation. What if Balalaika was already dead? What would happen to them when they got back? Would they be shot, and if so then all of this was moot. No thought Antanov. They were trying, and that was a fuck of a lot more than most people did. He owed Balalaika the effort and risk. They all did.
Then he got the call, and he was overjoyed. Balalaika was alive, and they needed extraction. He put his Chinook into a sharp dive, and Danil and Kotsya were following close behind. Antanov was peppered by small arms as he landed, but Dima an Oleg silenced them as their hind came snarling over. They were good friends. Then he saw her. She was half running, half being carried by Boris to the hind. The Paras had put a tight circle of protection around them, Boris practically leaped through the open door with Balalaika, and took her to the back, and began swathing her in field dressings. The Royal Paratroopers quickly climbed back into the helicopters while Dima and Oleg gave them Cover. When everyone was aboard, they hightailed it back. They had to deploy flares and drop below a ridgeline to avoid some stingers fired at extreme range. Once they were clear Antanov risked a glance back at Balalaika. Her fatigues were stained with blood, and an entire side of her face was swathed in bandages.
Oh in her eyes, all Antanov saw was complete, and utter hatred. They had done something to her. Something horrible.