Head out into the night

The night is eerily quiet when we leave the abandoned house. It’s cold for spring, but nothing that I can’t handle.

The idea of sneaking through enemy territory isn’t an appealing one. Hopefully, nobody notices us. My eyes are keen and alert, my magazine full. If something happens, at least I’m focused and ready.

We sneak along, carefully watching each step we take, dodging sticks and leaves, anything that might make a sound beneath our feet. I remember a time my father took my brother Victor and I hunting with a rifle much like the one I used to carry, an old one from the first war. Victor took his first deer with it that day. I remember how he taught us how to walk, where to step.

Being sneaky was something that I became very good at, slipping out of the house at night to go and meet with some lucky boy or man that had my attention at the time, exploring my sexuality, learning things and honing my skills in the bedroom or some other dark and secluded place, then sneaking back inside to my bed as if I were never gone. I didn’t get caught… most of the time.

My focus returns to my surroundings. Suddenly, somebody in front of me drops to the ground, and I follow suit, holding as still as I possibly can. I hear German whispering carrying through the trees. A dog barks. My heart begins to race. I hear bolts quietly being clicked into place around me. I carefully check my own. There is a round in the chamber.

The dog barks again, louder this time.

“DER KLAPPE HALTEN HUND!” A voice shouts as I hear a chain being yanked. The barking subsides. “Ist nichts.”

The whispering continues, but travels further and further away from us until the sounds melt away. Slowly, the column rises to its feet and we carry on. We got lucky.

After a while, the trees begin to thin out and we’re met with a wide open field. Clarke halts us, and approaches Dadonov, who is in front of me.

“I don’t like this.” Dadonov tells him.

“Me neither, but there’s a creek that we can use as cover.” Clarke explains, pointing. “That way.”

He heads back to the front, and we resume, creeping along the tree line until we reach the creek bed. It’s deep enough that we can use it to sneak through if we stay down. One by one, we enter the creek bed and begin to crawl along the banks.

“Fuck this mud.” Smirnov gripes from behind me. “Fucking bullshit.”

“Stop crying.” I snap at him in a hushed voice. I don’t like it either. I might be tough enough to handle it but nobody wants to crawl through mud. It certainly beats being seen by the fascists and being shot.

Keeping our heads down, we trudge ahead. The open sky above us is terrifying. If somebody saw us here, we would be fucked. Finally, we manage to cross the field, and crawl out of the creek bed into a stand of trees, where we collapse from exhaustion and try to catch our breath.