Run for your lives

“Come on!” Clarke yells to me, leading me up a staircase. “We need to get up there!”

The two of us reach the top and face a door. We hear heavy gunfire coming from right outside.

“I hope we’re on the right side of the lines.” Clarke mutters, and prepares to open the door. I step back and ready myself. He carefully and slowly opens the door.

“Don’t shoot!” He yells out. “It’s us!” I peek out to see one of Novikov’s men covering behind some sand bags. Bullets fly overhead.

“Wait.” Clarke says, until the hammering of a machine gun ceases. “Go!”

Staying low, the two of us burst outside and join the partisan in cover.

“Where the hell is everyone?” I ask him.

“This is it.” He says, and fires a shot down range. I pop up and fire two quickly before covering again.

“Novikov?”

“Dead.”

I roll over and look at Clarke. A grenade explodes somewhere in front of us and it makes me wince. The partisan next to us pops up to shoot again, and takes one to the face.

“We can’t hold them any longer!” Clarke yells at me over the sound of gunfire, then fires a burst blindly over the sandbags, keeping his head and body down. “We need to get out of here!”

He crawls to the other side of me and yells out to a nearby partisan. “Prepare to retreat!” I swap the magazine in my rifle for a full one.

“Got any grenades?” Clarke asks me. “Could work as a distraction.”

“One.”

“Me too.” He says, taking his out. “Throw and run! Ready?”

I look back at the tree line, so close, yet so far away. I take out my grenade, look at Clarke, and nod. Hopefully this works, and keeps their heads down long enough for us to get away.

“Now!” He shouts, and the two of us hurl our grenades, then get up and run for the trees as fast as we can. One grenade pops, then the other. A few bullets fly our way, and I turn to fire a few back, before ducking and continuing on.

The ground shakes with an explosion, and I whip my body around to look back. Was that it? The dam is still there!

“Fuck!” I yell, and fire another round towards the fascists. That’s when it happens.

A burst of fire flies my way with the distant cackle of an MP40. One of the bullets tears into my guts. It feels like getting hit by a car, but all in one spot, and it takes me off my feet and sends me rolling down a small hill, Dadonov’s SVT bouncing along after me.

“Tatya!” Clarke screams out and runs after me.

The rifle lands in my lap backwards. I grab it and flip it around. I don’t understand why I can’t feel anything. I know that I was hit! I put one hand on my midsection. It feels wet. I glance down and swallow when I see the blood.

“Come on!” Clarke shouts and yanks me to my feet, pulling me along after him. I’m amazed that I can still run.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” He urges me. “It’s just you and me!”

He has to slow down for me, but we seem to be escaping. The sounds of chaos seem to be getting further away.

After we escape the vicinity of the dam, and the forest grows quiet, the adrenaline begins to wear off, and I start to really feel it. It burns red hot with debilitating pain. I stop running, carrying the rifle loosely and holding my wound.

The pain grows worse as we carry on, and I grow weaker and weaker, using the butt of the rifle as a crutch, our pace slowed to a crawl. My legs give out from under me. I drop the rifle and I fall on my face.

“Tatya!” Clarke says, rolling me to my back. “Oh god.”

I groan in pain. Clarke slings his weapon and picks me up in his arms.

“My gun.” I say weakly, reaching out for the rifle.

“Fuck it! I’m going to get you to a doctor!” He tells me.

“Where?” I groan.

“Soviet lines.”

I lay in his arms and hold him around his neck as he carries me. We come upon a road, and a car screeches to a halt.

“Is everything okay?” The driver asks, getting out.

Clarke pulls his pistol on him, still carrying me. “I need to borrow your car! Move!” He barks, waving the pistol. The driver puts his hands up and retreats cautiously.

“We’re gonna make it, okay?” Clarke says to me, carrying me to the car. He puts his pistol away, opens the back seat, and throws me in roughly.

“Easy!” I growl, wincing from the pain. He slams the door, jumps in the drivers seat, and takes off down the road.

“Here.” He says, throwing a shirt from the front seat to me. “Put this over it and press down.”

“Okay.” I groan, and take the shirt. It doesn’t take long for it to become soaked.

The ground vibrates beneath us with a dull roar.

“Do you hear that?” He asks excitedly.

“What is that?” I ask.

“Water. We did it!”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“That dam is fucking toast, that’s what I mean!”

“I heard the charges go off.” I tell him. “There’s no way.”

“He didn’t tell you how it was going to happen, did he?”

“I guess not.”

“Those charges never had to blow up the dam.” He explains. “All they had to do was make a big enough crack! The water did the rest!”

“So I’m not going to die for nothing.” I sigh.

“You’re not going to die!”

It certainly doesn’t feel like it. I’m cold and tired. I’ve never felt so weak. My eyelids grow heavy and I drift out of consciousness.