As soon as the thunder of the bombs stopped, we were summoned by our superiors to the General Headquarters, the nerve center of Altirustzkan forces. In the icy darkness of the night, Ilaina and I quietly made our way to the place where a celebration had been arranged. It turned out to be no more than a drinking table set up in the middle of an abandoned five-star hotel, laden with everything on it. Apparently, the whole base had secretly prepared a celebration for the two of us. I guess they already knew about how close Ilaina and I were. Still, wasn't this a little over the top?
Calling it a banquet was a bit of an exaggeration — we simply had a few bottles of beer and some snacks. If it had been peacetime, these things would have been cheap and ordinary, something we would scarcely appreciate.
I pulled a chair out for Ilaina and said to her:
"Let's celebrate, okay? Sit down. I'll pour the beer. Oh — wait, can you even handle drinking?" I asked Ilaina.
Ilaina lifted an eyebrow and shot me an appraising look.
"Klaus, you're underestimating my tolerance," she said.
I smiled without answering, took the fancy bottle of beer, and poured half for each of us.
"All right, congratulations on the victory, Ilaina Volkov."
"Congratulations on the victory, Klaus Polskarov."
"For a democratic, independent Altirustzkan Republic, everlasting."
We clinked glasses and downed the beer. The brew was pleasantly bitter and richly malty; the aftertaste lingered in my throat even after it slid down. Relishing the long-missed refreshing feeling, I let myself relax at the table.
Glass after glass, I couldn't tell how many beers I drank. Eventually Ilaina and I had nearly finished all that was there. The alcohol lifted my senses and sent my mind drifting. I leaned back in my chair, toyed with the glass in my hand, and chatted idly with Ilaina.
"Ilaina, you're lying, aren't you? You call that a good tolerance?" I said.
Ilaina squinted and tried to make sense of what she heard.
"What? Are you mocking me now?"
"I'm not saying that. It's just that girls don't handle drinking well, you know."
"What is there to worry about? Aren't you here with me?"
Suddenly Ilaina pinched my cheek, and the pang of pain sobered me up a bit. I was taken aback. A feeling bloomed in my chest like a tree flowering; I hadn't expected Ilaina to trust me so much.
"You trust me that much? Aren't you afraid I might have bad intentions?" I asked.
Ilaina half-closed her eyes. Her words were slow and hushed, almost a whisper, but I caught every one.
"You—what could you possibly want? You're always like a white rabbit, overthinking everything. Besides, if it weren't for Klaus, Ilaina would have been done for in Kritchenburg long ago. You're really important to me. I feel lucky to have met you."
I didn't entirely agree with the "white rabbit" bit, but none of that mattered. Happiness surged through me like a high tide; my face must have been grinning like an idiot.
...
The celebration wound down. We were both dead drunk, as were most of the others. Ilaina's face was flushed and she was probably about to fall asleep. I said goodbye to everyone and left with her.
I supported Ilaina along the familiar path home. Moonlight bathed the road and cast our shadows, which almost merged into one. For some reason my spirits felt even lighter. I brushed the platinum hair that fell over her thin shoulders and felt how soft it was, softer than I had imagined. I stroked that silver hair like a flowing stream; I wasn't sure if she heard a word, but I still said:
"Ilaina, you're really important to me too. I think I must have used up a lot of the luck in my life just to meet you."
.
.
.
The next morning, after celebrating our glorious victory with a rare night of revelry, I woke up and went for a run to get my morning pulse going. I felt pretty good after last night's indulgence — twice as alert, in fact.
But my comrades were still catching their breath during today's reconnaissance mission. Fortunately we were assigned to visit villages and hamlets around Kritchenberg rather than penetrating enemy lines as we did yesterday. In those places the Kuznetskozhyan remnants still lurked but in smaller numbers, so we could relax a bit more — though Ilaina and I kept our rifles at the ready.
The road was long and quiet, but our wheels were gradually wearing down along with us. Since we were primarily scouting nearby villages, we had to keep moving: inspect the locals quickly, then jump back on the vehicles and move on. Compared to the city districts, the villages were less bombed; the residents there had suffered fewer losses. If they did, it was only a few reckless people who dared step outside at night — the time when those creatures were most active — and got their skulls smashed.
Putting aside our glorious victory for a moment, there were more pressing problems within the district. Rumors and whispers about food and water shortages were circulating constantly among the troops. Soon enough, the refugees would hear them too. I could see the brewing unrest in people's minds. It lurked like malignant tumors: not outwardly visible yet, but I could feel them. One day I knew I would have to face them.
And then, as if to test me again, fate handed me the fuse that forced me to decide people's fate once more — much like the time I decided that my child would live as a fugitive.
After morning reconnaissance, we returned to the base at noon and again in the evening, dumping into the communal stores most of what we'd collected from surrounding villagers. Then Ilaina and I took on the task of redistributing what we had to the refugees. Besides us, two or three other squads were doing the same for people inside the garrison.
The refugee camp was large in area but cramped given the number of people living there. All they had was a wide yard with a large tarp stretched overhead against the rain and a few worthless bundles of belongings for shade — not much at all.
On the first days when I went in to distribute supplies, the space wasn't even sufficient for people to plant their feet. We had to weave around one another to hand out goods while a massive pile remained to be distributed. People swarmed and fought, driving us to the brink of losing our tempers to the point we almost beat them and got disciplined. From then on we used a loudspeaker to call people and told them to line up.
Easier said than done. Not everyone obeyed; many still pushed and shoved. In later runs the situation eased because we enforced stricter rules. But at that time things hadn't had many incidents — or perhaps we simply hadn't paid close attention to what was happening.
That afternoon I finished distributing the food and water to the refugees on my own, leaving Ilaina exhausted and sleeping behind; she was still suffering the aftereffects of last night's heavy drinking. I felt I had been too irresponsible.
On our way back, I came upon a group of idlers pressing Ilaina into a corner. Still not fully sober, she fought back feebly. I'd told her to stay inside!
I ran over to the wounded warrior and shouted in fury:
"Hey, you lot, stop! What are you doing?"
They weren't stupid — they knew I was from the military and scattered, fleeing in all directions. Still, I'd had a look at them and recognized their ringleader: he had a pistol tucked into his waistband. Seeing me give chase, the thug sped off, trampling the people around him, pushing and throwing objects to block my path. He shouted as he ran:
"The army beats civilians! Soldiers hit people! Help! Villagers, help! They want to kill me! Run!!!"
This bastard was crafty — trying to switch the blame. But he'd run into me. I reassured Ilaina and told her to get inside while I chased the bastard.
I circled outward instead of going straight into the camp because I didn't know the inner paths well and cut toward a clearer edge to pursue. I kept my breathing steady. Compared with the weak and frail schoolboy I once was, my endurance had improved — training and experience made me stronger. The thug was tiring; his stride faltered. Even from a distance I could hear his ragged breathing. Besides, the route he was taking was cluttered with obstacles; he couldn't sprint as I could.
Leaving the camp's edge, he headed for the military shooting range. I accelerated, grabbed his shoulder, and quickly threw him to the ground. I planted a fist into his mouth before he could shout "The army beats the people…" again. Teeth flew out of his mouth in a spray; blood gushed from his nose and mouth. I choked him, then hauled him up.
"Where are your buddies? Who are they? Tell me everything!" I demanded.
The thug vomited and spat blood into my face, then laughed.
"There… someone's backing us… you're dead meat, soldier!"
"So that's it — you looked down on us because of that, didn't you? Do you know who you messed with? You robbed old, weak people; now it's the entire army. I'll deal with you according to the law."
"Law…! Is there law left in this world? There are only the strong and the weak, the prey and the hunter... You're no different from me…you… dog…"
He didn't finish his sentence. I struck him with a punch. Then another. And another. His face became a bruised pulp; blood flowed from his mouth and nose. My head swam with fury. I couldn't control my muscles.
He was right: I wasn't so different from him. I had killed to survive, and now I was beating him in the same rage that had built up inside me. I beat him because he resembled me; every blow was a release of the resentment bottled inside. Blood spattered the ground, dyed my hands scarlet, and splattered my face.
I couldn't stop. I didn't — and I didn't want to. My rational Klaus wasn't in control. A different person had surfaced in me at the sound of those bitter words.
I beat him until someone struck me over the head with a club. I fell hard to the ground and was pounded with fists and kicks. Fortunately I was wearing armor, which saved me from worse injury, though my face still took blows. The barrage disoriented me, but by reflex I drew my gun and fired — killing one of them. One went down and writhed; the other two panicked. I shot them too while they hesitated. Three men lay there writhing in pain. The leader, who was helping his comrade up, turned bloodless and stammered:
"Wait… don't… don't! We… we promise not to do it again!"
I looked at him, at the fear in his eyes. For some reason my senses returned; the blows I'd taken did not increase my rage but rather brought back a measure of consciousness.
I looked around. A crowd had gathered around us, whispering, commenting on what they had just seen. My ears kept echoing with their harsh words — their judgment, their condemnation, their pity for the cunning thugs. I stayed silent and let my comrades escort me away.
Fortunately, they had also taken Ilaina back and placed guards to protect her, which reassured me somewhat. But from that moment on, I knew my reckless actions had made everything worse.
"Private Klaus Polskarov, do you realize who you just laid hands on? Your actions nearly endangered the entire base."
I was confined in a small, cramped room with stone walls on all sides. On top of that, the military police had beaten me senseless for daring to touch their men.
Clenching my teeth to hold back the blood in my throat, I forced myself to reply:
"Yes, sir. I know exactly who they are."
"Good. They are agents working for the Supreme Inspectorate. We've been ordered by higher-ups to bring you before a court-martial to clarify why you opened fire on officials and civilians. Regardless of your past achievements, that's unfortunate for you." one inspector summarized coldly.
Despite the pain from my wounds, I couldn't hold back. I sprang to my feet and shouted at the men across from me, voice trembling with rage:
"Marvelous. So because of a few scratches and some filthy coins, you're willing to throw away the life of a soldier? Is it worth it? While I and others risk everything on the frontlines, willing to sacrifice for this godforsaken land, what do you inspectors do? Indulge yourselves, waste resources, sleep with whores, squandering everything!"
My throat burned, blood dripping from my lips. The fire inside me flared uncontrollably. I screamed on:
"You bastards! Do you know what kind of psychological torture I endured out there in that wasteland? You're nothing but dogs, raised by Altirustzkan with dirty money stolen from the people. Have you ever once dragged your asses to the battlefield, or do you only sit here and pocket your pay?"
I poured all my bottled-up resentment into their faces. Under my words, they fell silent. I didn't let them respond.
"You even tried to lay hands on her. That alone reveals all your depravity and hypocrisy. I made a mistake joining you. And one more thing: don't you ever touch Ilaina again. Otherwise I won't hesitate to put a bullet in your useless skulls. I, Klaus Polskarov, will protect her — whether my enemies are the Kuznetskozhyans or you."
With that, I stormed out, leaving the two inspectors speechless. Right then I saw Ilaina waiting for me. She rushed over, flustered.
"Klaus, are you okay? Did they try to detain you?"
"Don't worry, I'm fine. The problem is that I'll be sent to the front soon. I'll be expelled from here. But don't worry — I'll bear the burden. You should stay behind and support everyone in the rear."
Hearing this, Ilaina stiffened. Her voice trembled as she asked:
"You… you'll be sent to the frontlines? And expelled as well?"
I sighed wearily.
"I'm afraid so. But don't worry too much. Sometimes I'll be able to come back and see you all, so it won't be so bad. Just… wait for me, okay?"
Suddenly, Ilaina grabbed onto my arm tightly.
"No. You must stay here with me."
I gently placed my hand over hers and said, with what I thought was my most sincere voice:
"I want to stay with you too. But the orders are final. Refusal would only mean a bullet for me. Ilaina, I'm sorry."
"If that's the case, then I'll go to the frontlines with you."
Ilaina's grip on my sleeve tightened. I looked at her anxiously.
"Are you sure about this? Ilaina, do you realize what kind of place it is? It's dangerous. Bullets whizzing past, corpses left unburied because there are too many."
"I have to go. Without me, you might not survive."
Ilaina seemed to have found her resolve. She tiptoed up, and I suddenly felt something soft and warm brush against my cheek.
Before I could react, I heard her gentle, clear voice:
"Goodbye! I'll prepare my things. Let me know when we're leaving, Klaus."
I stood there, watching her slim figure fade into the distance.
My hand brushed the spot on my cheek where her warmth still lingered, and a blush spread across my face without me realizing it.
"That was…"