---The Russians have a saying that you don't swing your fists after the fight. I suppose they've got that one right. Looking back at those days now, I can't really say I would have done anything differently. There wasn't really anything any of us could have done differently. There will always be winners, and there will always be losers. That's just how the world is, how it's always been, and how it always will be. But I have no regrets. The toasters might have won the day in the end, but even they acknowledge that we made them fight for it. In all honesty, we never stood a chance and deep down everybody knew that, it being a miracle that we lasted as long as we did. So I don't blame folks who chose to quit when they did, the terms really being more favourable than we could have hoped for otherwise. The people always come first... But for guys like me who just don't know when to quit, we will keep on fighting, making the Ivan earn what he's taken every day until our last breath, know that he will never be able to tread our lands without looking over the shoulder. This doubt, this insecurity in his claims, will be our victory.---
---
CPT Hendriks Vanags
Outside Pļaviņas HEP
Baltic Union
071420BJUN2132
"How did we do this time, skipper?"
"Better. But you are still lagging 20 seconds behind the average time, and in my outfit we don't do average!"
"Uh... No disrespect, sir, but it can't be done! I mean, two of us nearly drowned trying to keep the pace!"
"Excuse me, Corporal, I am not sure I was hearing you quite right! What was that word you said between "sir" and "I mean" again?"
"Sir, I said that it can't be done!"
"Gentlemen, it seems that we have a problem! Your squad leader Corporal Liedskalniņš seems to be of the opinion that none of you have what it takes to get across this damn river and back in under 10 minutes. Who is willing to prove him wrong?!"
Judging by the silence and exhausted gasping of my men, the lads seem to be inclined to agree with the Corporal as they lie about on the dolomite slabs at my feet.
"Nobody, huh? Alright... Sarge, time me!"
"Ready when you are, skipper!" staff sergeant Valdis Liepnieks, my oldest war buddy and company sergeant, readies the chronometer.
"Keep the boys busy while I'm at it," I say as I step down to the riverside.
"Aye! Squad, exos off! Now hit the deck! And... ONE! TWO! ONE! TWO!" Valdis bellows to the trainees who assume positions and start doing push-ups on his mark.
"Go!" I shout and dive into the cold stream.
The water here is chilling even in summers. Unsurprisingly, coming from the depth of 73 meters behind the massive hydro-plant towering upstream behind us. During the Great War, this place was what kept not just my home country, but the entire Union alive with it's power supply. To this day, it is still the beating heart on the main life artery of our country.
The river downstream from the plant can be tricky to navigate even at low water and minimal outflow like it is now. I fully get the boys for not being able to do their task in time, but out there on a mission they won't have the luxury to do such things under controlled or safe circumstances, so their current performance just won't cut it.
The undertow pulls me under several times near the middle, but I steadily make my way to the opposite bank. At one point I feel my boots graze rock below the water, the place being full of treacherous dolomite slabs that shift every spring when the plant's floodgates are open at full and the whole river becomes a roaring torrent for miles downstream. Finally I make it to the other end and proceed back immediately. On my way back, the current carries me close to the safety line stretched across the river, but redouble my efforts. My exosuit helps me against the current, and some minutes later I set my feet back on solid ground next to my newest squad of trainees.
"8:37!" Valdis calls out the time, the lads collapsing in exhaustion after their eight-and-half minute session of push-ups.
"Now, is there anybody else who thinks this cannot be done under 10 minutes?" I turn to the lads, "And I'm not even the best swimmer in my company!"
"Who is, sir?" Corporal Liedskalniņš grunts.
"He's standing right next to you," I point to the sergeant, "His record is 7:58, without an exo! And we both are old-timers, not lads like you in their prime! If you boys spent half the time exercising as you spend goofing off and chasing girls on your off-time, you could beat either of us with ease. But since you don't, and I've gotten mighty wet and cold just having to prove you what a lazy bunch of swine you are, I guess you will just have to exercise until I begin to sweat. Ten clicks exos off in full gear shoud do it."
"Alright, ladies, you heard the man! Move it!" Valdis bellows at them, "Any who doesn't report in by lunch time doesn't eat!"
---
"What do you think, Hendrik? Think we can get them in proper shape by the deadline?" he asks me after the lads have run off beyond earshot as he starts to reel in the safety line.
"They'll need a lot more drilling before they are ready..." I sigh, "The Colonel is already on my back about filling the ranks, especially with all the recent fuss over Abrene and Petseri."
"Think the Mekhs might try anything if these talks fail?" my friend asks.
"I'd like to believe they won't, but you know how the Russkies are. They will smile to your face and shake your hand while sending "raiders" with special forces training and military issue gear across the border, and with the whole shitstorm going down in Europe right now, there ain't even anyone we could possibly call to our aid," I state, "Not that anyone in the West gives a rat's ass about some obscure country in the ass end of Europe in the first place."
"The usual cynic, I see..." Valdis chuckles before changing subject to a more positive note, "By the way, I never properly congratulated you with your second on the way! Is it a boy or a girl?"
"Thanks," I accept his handshake, "We don't know yet, and Gloria wants to keep it a surprise. As my mother used to say, we'll baptise what we get."
"Speaking of baptism, makes me wonder sometimes how a sworn sinner like yourself and a God-fearing Christian girl like her even get along," Valdis states, tossing the line over his shoulder as we start to walk towards the hydro-plant, "I mean, you know... She always says her graces, goes to church on Sundays and all, while you only ever mention God as the leading protagonist in various blasphemies."
"You know how they say," I chuckle, "Polar opposites are attracted to each other."
---
We make our way uphill near the dam, where the road enters a tunnel through it. There's a small door leading inside with a security checkpoint.
"Good afternoon, captain," the guard greets me, "How's the training going?"
"D. For "don't ask". How's the watch?" I grumble.
"The usual," the lad, no older than 19, sighs, "It's not like anything ever happens here."
"Trust me, lad, boring is good," I say, "Any word on how things are going with those border talks?"
"The Colonel isn't back from Riga yet," the guard explains, "With any luck, we will know in an hour or so on the radio."
The tunnel leads us inside the dam, past a pair of blast doors and to an elevator shaft. The earth inside and beneath the dam is criscrossed with tunnels, some going well below 200 meters beneath the reservoir floor and the surrounding countryside and stretching for miles in every direction - the work of three generations. The geology here is great for tunneling, multiple impermeable strata of clay and dolomite keeping out any groundwater. Even though I've spent much of my life around the place, even I don't fully know the extent of this intricate network.
"I overheard from the intel boys the other day that the Mekhs have amassed quite a force along the border," Valdis tells me with a bit of concern, "Supposedly to protect against our cross-border runs, so they say, but I can smell bullshit from a mile away and this whole business reeks like a ton of it."
"Probably just another show of force. Won't be the first time they've done this, especially not since they've picked up on that old border dispute," I respond.
"Well, the Estonians certainly don't seem inclined to give them shit, and last I heard, the Colonel of Abrene had to be physically removed from the conference room when some jumpier folks suggested he support them in ceding his own district to the Mekhs," Valdis states, referring to the last miserably-failed diplomatic conference, "Insulted the Russian delegate, proclaimed, in his own words, that no copper-dicked toaster will ever set foot in his district while he can help it. No wonder the Russians have stepped up their presence since."
"What about the Lithuanians?"
"They don't like the idea of granting Ivans access through the Reclamation zone any more than we or the Estonians want to cede our turf near the border. I mean, even if the Oblast is still all radland, they only have to set up one base for it to already be a problem. To us and the Poles, for that matter."
The elevator stops at its destination, and we leave it, taking a hallway to the left, in the direction of the mess hall. The vast underground complex here houses the region's military headquarters, a sizable garrison and enough facilities to live entirely autonomously for an indefinite period of time, there being enough room and supplies for the entire city of Aizkraukle and the surrounding countryside, and still more to spare - all underneath and around a facility that is just too vital for any invader to target.
I still have to hit the showers and grab a dry change of clothing. As we pass the mess hall, however, my ears catch an announcement on the radio.
"...in other news, the diplomatic talks over the Baltic-Mecharussian border dispute have again stalled to an impasse today, Russian territorial demands being deemed unacceptable by the majority of the government. Mecharussians responded by swiftly recalling their delegation, "until further notice" according to Ambassador Bobrikov. This breakdown of border talks marks the new low point in Baltic-Mecharussian relations..."
"I guess I should call Gloria, tell her not to expect me home tonight," I grumble. Even while the Ivans might not necessarily respond with an ultimatum or anything of the sort, having had a long history of tough talk and backing down in the face of stalwart resolve, diplomatic breakdowns like these still mean an automatic elevation of combat readiness. Which means lots of sleepless nights for me at the HQ, and lots of lonely nights for my dear wife.
"Same here, buddy..." Valdis agrees, "Guess we'll find out exactly once the Colonel gets back in an hour or two."
