Even Steel Bends

Commissar Sophia Ivanova closed the door to her private quarters, and let her shoulders slump foreward. With a long sigh, she pulled the hat from her head and hung it on the coat rack before crashing down onto the itchy wool blanket that covered her stained, looted bed. She stared at the ceiling and remembered her training, feeling the nerves from the tank battle finally free to cause her to tremble and shiver. She uncontrollably rubbed the spot on her forearm where a Stadti entrenching tool had shattered her forearm years ago. Her teeth chattered as her mind played the moment the shell had struck the tank over and over in her mind.

Soon, her body was shivering uncontrollably as she wrapped her arms around herself. Tears welled up in her brilliant blue eyes and she let a single sob escape her lips. A Commissar is expected to lead from the front, her example enflaming the soul and steeling the resolve of war-weary comrades. But here, alone, she let her facade fall away. Here, she could be a terrified, confused girl; far away from expectant eyes.

Unlike many, she didn't drown it out with Vodka. She drank, yes; but not to numb herself. Sophia remembered her father teaching her how to shoot with his Mosin Nagant rifle in the rubble of Stalingrad. "Do not try to calm your nerves, little Sophie. A coiled spring cannot be still. Let the tension go, and take the shot." She had shot the old German helmets until its sillouette was burned into her mind. By the time she 14, she was shooting them while men still wore them.

She wiped her eyes and let out another sigh. Soon, her limbs stopped shaking and she was able to sit on the side of her bed. She looked over to the well worn copy of "The Red Codex" as it was called. She didn't bother to read it anymore. The Khruschev Addendum to the old manifestos had dropped the name "Soviet" from official party language in an effort to unite all of the former Republics into one cohesive "Red Bloc". The cynics say he did this so that those liberated would not have the old Soviet party to blame if the newly formed "Stadt" got the upper hand. After all, they remembered what they had done to the Czar when his time came.

Finally, she stood, cleaned herself with cold water from an old bucket, and walked over to her desk. She turned on her desk lamp and banged on the side until the flickering bulb steadied its stream. The simple note from Central Command still sat there in code. She picked it up again and read it, hoping that somehow its words had changed since she had left to reinforce the tank crew.

CENTRAL COMMAND, MOSCOW STATION

SEVASTOPOL HAS FALLEN TO STADT FORCES WITH THE NAVAL BLOCKADE IN RUINS. REINFORCEMENTS IMPOSSIBLE. HOLD MOSCOW UNTIL WINTER AT ALL COSTS, AND THEN ENACT MOLOTOV PROTOCOL.

The "redacted" version she had given to the Signals officer omitted the lines about reinforcements and the Molotov Protocol. "Perhaps its best they don't know." she thought to herself. Her indoctrination began to work its sinister magic as she unconsciously applied her training on herself. "Of course it is for the best. It worked on Napoleon. It worked in 1941."

Of course, back then they simply torched everything. Now, they had the capability to render the land between the Stadt and the Red Bloc uninhabitable for the next 10 million years...

"We'll never have to worry about the Stadt invading us again. Its...its the only way." she said to herself. She almost believed it.