The Balakin Job

Chapter I
The Balakin Job

Thursday, 6th December 2040
Vysočina Region Deadlands,
South-East Czechia, New Prussian Empire


Shrapnel and snow pelted down on the countryside of a war-torn rural band outside of any profitable city for the New Prussian Empire. The earthy clatter of the tank overturning and hitting frozen mud fizzled into an ear-piercing buzz. Mortars unleashed unholy Hell on the slung-together crew transporting valuable cargo. The guards who had been stood on the outside ledges of the contraption from a hundred years ago were thrown off in the tumble of metal meeting earth. One soldier was instantly crushed under the weight of the old T-34 tank, another had his foot swallowed by the machine trying to return to its frozen womb. Bodies in khaki were cast out into the snow-laden treeline of the dense forest on the left of the dirt trail which was feared to be traversed even without any surprises. The three members of the Armoured Force Unit transporting the foreign Member of State spilt out of the hatch as a fire engulfed the vehicle from the inside out. Diesel was whisked into the putrid stink of burning flesh when the wind picked up and blustered black smoke across the white-frosted field to the right otherwise empty besides early morning mist set heavy across the flanks.

A ripple of gunfire and foreign shouting gave way to visible confirmation of the enemy. Injured men in khaki fought against statues in grey fur-trimmed coats, their wild eyes settled on such easy prey. Oxblood leather gloves pulled the triggers of their superior firearms, shooting the men in flimsy green camo down like they were paper dolls taken out by water jets.

Cries of agony echoed like a barrage of church bells in the early morning mist which had taken a hold barely an hour ago. Ears ringing and a fiery rash scraping his back, a young man came-to with another wave of hysteria caused by a short-lived screaming match between sides. The initial blast had thrown him back, close to the treeline. Wheezing, the soldier wiped his eyes with his mucked sleeves in order to remove the soot and dirt caused by the blast. Sight clearing despite his head pounding and hearing like he was underwater, he found what was causing the pressure on his chest. To his relief, he hadn't been impaled or shot like the majority of his countrymen. A body was plastered over him due to his immediate grip on the thing closest to him when the tank they had been scouting from had rolled over the mortar.

“Get up.” Senses coming back to him too slow for his liking, the man shook the body led over him. “Get up! Private Adler-God fucking damn it!”

Whacking the weight on top of him, smacking the sides of the torso and well-bloomed chest with all the strength he had, his hands gloved black and sticky, the brunet huffed and groaned in his attempt. Scrunching his eyes, he held his breath and wriggled his fists up under the young female's chest. Forearms pushing the unsuspectingly heavy weight off to the side, the short man hacked for a decent breath when he was freed. Flopping onto his front, the brunet panicked when a rash of foreign shouting came from the desolate road they had been on moments before. Grabbing at the girl in a rush, he pulled at her only to fall flat onto his rear with a dismembered arm in his grasp. His own blood running cold at the horror as sanguine sloshed over his thighs and into the snow, the man’s jaw fell agape.

Another wave of words he couldn’t quite understand was clearer and louder than before. The shooting had stopped, as well as the cries from his countrymen. By this point, the only thing he could hear was standard-issue boots crunching over untouched snow, the crack of fallen twigs and more troubling, his own pulse burring the above. Even if he couldn’t understand what they were saying, he knew that they were heading inward, likely to look for any stragglers. Catching a glimpse of a grey ushanka hat past the boles hiding him for now, pale amber eyes shot to the body at his feet. She was still out cold.

Brows furrowing, he saw that she still had all of her limbs. Shivering at the re-run of his thoughts, he tossed the dismembered arm in his grip aside where it landed beside other mismatched slops of flesh. Gagging when his view panned to the extent of the scene, the soldier hissed at his own pain. His left leg was fucked. Ragging the blonde up by her backpack straps, he shrugged her onto his shoulders and delved deeper into the thicket. Skidding into a ditch due to a lucky misstep, he dropped the body where he stood and rushed back to where they had landed, kicking and scuffing a loose branch over the trail in a hope to cover his tracks. Hurrying back to the comatose blonde slumped against raised roots, the brunet lugged the teen into the thorn underbrush. Kicking fallen leaves and snow over the figure in the ditch, the soldier grabbed at the space over his chest. There was nothing. His rifle had been lost somewhere in the attack.

Now he was thinking about his situation, it was probably worse than he initially suspected. He was practically alone, in a section of land classed as Deadland - which was virtually a free-for-all part of the long-battered Vysočina Region specifically less than half a mile outside of the old mining town of Jihlava; his gun was no more and he had only participated in basic hand-to-hand combat once for fifteen minutes during a two-week training period because his asthma kicked up. He was here to record the transportation, nothing more. He had no way to defend himself. Still, the person at his feet was military royalty and most of his chances depended on her. However, she was snoozing face down in a ditch canopied in brambles, blood painting the leaves she was led on. As far as he saw it, there was a trio of endings for him: the brat at his feet could miraculously wake up and save his arse; she could remain out cold, and they could be happened upon by German soldiers situated at the closest base, which was across the border to the North-West in Dresden - approximately 275km away on a good day; or…” The man frowned and his stomach churned at the option which took up a good eighty percent of what was the most realistic outcome for his situation. They would be found by the same Russian squad which had laid in wait for them, the same soldiers told to spread out and look for survivors, the same ones which had obliterated their ranks in two attacks. At that fact, he would have no choice but to…He couldn’t even finish the last thought. They were fucked. It was him, or her.

He had been recruited at the tender age of sixteen and he was now twenty-four. He, being Sergeant Stephen Weber. He had been given a ton of bullshit practice missions, his usual task to merely take notes due to his less than average physical grades and terrible aim with anything besides an old, single-action manual rifle which had belonged to his grandfather. It may seem a strange time to change one's stripes in a moment like this, but he refused to go down as the librarian he was routinely told he was. He sacrificed just as much as everyone else in order to be part of the A Rota; he sacrificed a whole lot more when it came to the specific Balakin Mission. Lots of soldiers wanted fame and glory, but there were few and far between who would get involved in overtly political matters just for a medal and a week’s worth of free drinks at the local dive bar. Even if it had gone to plan, he didn’t think he’d get any free drinks beside a well-placed Asbach topped with arsenic considering the point of the job.

A cry from one of his squadmates pricked his ears and his eyes darted around to look for the direction of the call. Just as he pin-pointed the bloodied soldier staggering around in the open field bogged with mist and wild reeds, the recently inducted's hand plastered to his seeping gut and their mission Commander half-dead in his grasp, the familiar click of a weapon readying stilled Weber. He could see a younger man than himself, Private Huber, if he recalled, a few dozen yards away. Huber himself must have noticed the enemy as he dropped their Senior Officer and reached for his weapon. A foreign bark cut off the German and a quick wash of gunfire silenced the land completely. A command was given in Russian over a walkie talkie, and from what Weber could tell with his patchy memory of the language, the enemy had been given orders to search the blast site.

'Kill on site', was said.

If there was a phrase to remember, it should be that. Anyone would remember that.

Looking down, Weber took in the sight of himself. What he had presumed was bruising from the landing badly turned out to be another shitty hole in his fast-sinking life raft. Blood from his wound by his knee was way past just soiling his field pants. Sanguine caused the galvanized fabric to stick to the back of his knee and calf, and crawl up the front of his lower thigh. The cold was beginning to freeze the material to his skin and a tremble was scraping at his bones. Looking at it now, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had left a trail which would lead their enemies right to them. Removing his belt, he looped it around the bottom of his thigh. Taking long deep breaths, he braced himself for the inevitable.

“Stop, Sergeant Secretary.” The chalky voice caused the man to glance to the body at the right of his feet.

Eyes on the girl sitting up, her ashen hair clotted with blood, stuck to her face and over her shoulders, Weber gawked at the resurrection. Realizing that she would have no idea about the imposing doom, he gripped the front of her shirt and yanked her toward him. “Are you still in there, Private Adler?”

Scoffing, the addressed flopped to the side and pushed her back up to the tree trunk her company was hunched behind. Left hand patting herself down, she nodded only to wince. “Somehow; unfortunately, I guess I should say, Sergeant.” Leaning out to her right a little, she scouted the woodland behind them. It appeared to be clear, minus the sporadic body parts and strips of uniform the hiding pair were wearing which now decorated the trees and the rustling dead foliage.

“Where are the others?” When she didn’t get an answer, the blonde shuffled back into her hiding spot and looked at her company. “It’s just us?” Receiving an inattentive nod, the girl’s eyes drifted off. Verdant irises surrounded by black watched heavy smog caused by their ablaze vehicle roll along the field on their outside.

Weber’s head leaned back against the tree and he looked up through the bare branches. Amber eyes took in the bland grey sky, the threat of another snow-storm brewing overhead, and a far off rumble warned a drastic weather change. “We’re going to die out here.” His voice came out low and the blonde’s head slowly turned to look at the profile beside her.

“Are you taking the piss?” Inner-city slang cut through curtly.

“We’re the last of the squad alive; we’re going to be caught and tortured, and nobody will even know where we went, or why. If not by the enemy, then the weather and injuries will do it.” Gemstone eyes shot to the side and bore into hers. “Are you okay with that, Adler?”

“I’ve been taught lots of things over my time-”

“-You’re still a kid, what the fuck do you know!” His eyes scrunched up as he hissed right down her ear, his grip pinching the skin on her upper arm.

“A kid on a mission. I’m here because I have proved myself. What’s your excuse, Sergeant Secretary?” Her head was still spinning from being thrown about. She glared back at him, although there was no malice. "You've spent your career taking notes. Your job was quite simply to write things down so I'm askin' you, what the fuck do you know? You're a glorified stenographer."

“There are two of us, one weapon. We have no supplies, and we’re outnumbered.” The anger grew on Weber’s face at the female’s lack of comprehension, or maybe just the mocking nickname she had been calling him for the past month since her posting at his base. “Even the target is dead – nobody is coming for us.”

“That issue is not our fault. We couldn’t have saved them. Not us; not a thousand of us. That was the point of that kind of assault.” Ignoring the pissy mood of her company, Adler shrugged. “What we can do, is get out of this shitstorm.”

“We were meant to die with this mission.”

“You just realized that?”

“W-what?”

The Private coughed a curt laugh and phlegm rumbled up from her lungs. Spitting the marbled clot aside, she looked back to Weber with a quirked brow. “To die with acceptance is first and foremost – it is good and just to die for one’s country, or so I’ve been countlessly told. Secondly, I have to do my job ‘til the end. And seeing as our guest is now 'brown bread' that makes keeping my last surviving superior alive, no matter what." Amber eyes stared back at her and Adler made a note of his focus on her. "Whatever you do, you always have to have meaning for fighting for the Empire. I used to be whacked so hard just to make sure I would give that kind of answer.” Looking through the thicket and to the bland field on the other side of the woods, Adler's throat tightened, causing her voice to rasp more than usual. “It shouldn't matter what that reason is, as long as you know it. Giving up and curling into a ball, waiting to be dispatched or saved by somebody else…” She turned her head, her expression taut as she looked the man in the eye. “That is not an option for me.”

“I’m sure you got the same orders as I did: if the plan fails to get Balakin across the border, or if something like this happens, we were set to die with the mission. What don’t you get about that?”

Taking a small crushed carton out of her breast pocket, Adler glanced to her superior with a shrug. “I’m pretty sure they worded it as ‘the unforeseeable’.”

“Don’t quote protocol when we’re deadmen.”

“If you want to die so badly just because the world is difficult, do so in your own time - Don't fuck up my success rate any more than it has been today. I’m not here to help you commit suicide.” Lighting the end of a crooked cigarette splattered with blood regardless of knowing the danger of what would come of it, the blonde took a deep breath on the toxic fumes. “I have things to do out there,” she nodded aside, upwards in the direction they had come from. “so I won’t wait here and give up just because you told me to, no matter how much you out-rank me.”

“The mission is over. Do you not understand that?”

“That doesn’t mean I’m just going to give up and die in a ditch.” Flicking her ash on the floor, she scrunched her face as she pointed at their locale. “A literal fuckin' ditch; thanks for that, by the way.”

“I don’t think I can walk, let alone run and with the amount I’m bleeding, I won’t last another six hours at this rate. There is at least a Squad’s worth out there, and they shoot on sight.” Keeping pressure on his wound with his dirty hands, Weber rolled his eyes in mockery. “What are you planning to do, fight them all by yourself?”

“I’m going to patch you up, and we’re going to make our way back. If we happen to come across any Ruske’s, yes, I will.” Taking another drag on her vice, she nodded once. “I will fight them by myself. I will fight them, I will kill them, and I will win. I will get us home, and we will cause Hell because this was a bullshit gig from the get-go and you know it.”

“They warned me you were crazy.”

“Yeah, well…” She put her cigarette to her split lips and glanced to the man beside her. “I have a funny thing against all of those so-called highly decorated ‘soldiers’. A lot of whom have put me down every chance they got for reasons beyond my control. They called me out because they have something swinging between their legs and I don't, but they've never even stood on a battlefield past secure lines. They take their fast-track tests and get their government recommendations, and they think they know everything about how to win a battle like it's a game in need of sportsmanship. They've clearly never heard the proverb 'All's fair in love and war'.” Taking a deep breath, she cocked her head with a scoff. “I’ve been doing bad things before I even knew what they were, and I will continue to do them for as long as I take breath. Not because I am a tool for them to use as some people class me, or because I feel like I should owe them something just because their jacket is a little heavier. I certainly don’t do it because it’s a family business.”

“Then, why?” Weber's shivering form clung to her arm, his grip getting tighter with his body's growing need for answers and warmth. “Tell me why you’re the one who has lasted over those with gleaming recommendations and sheer adoration for patriotism.”

“I do it because it’s the only thing I know how to do. And I really hate being told I won't be able to do something: I can't help but to take everything as a personal challenge.” Holding up her petrol lighter, the blonde huffed out all of her breath as she inspected the scratches amongst the engraving she knew better than any military handbook she'd been whipped to learn back to front. “Besides, there ain't nobody this side of Europe who can irk their superiors more than I - isn't that enough?” Her words turned into a mumble and she shrugged her backpack off. “Do you have any idea how many are out there? And don’t say Squad size, because that isn’t helpful – You haven’t seen a full count in your entire life.” Rooting through her tattered pack, she pulled out the first aid kit and a liquor flask. Placing the kit a little bigger than a hand-span on her lap, she took two gulps from the contraband and shoved it into Weber's grip.

“I saw four on the road, two set off into the woods, a driver and a possible CO. I think two or three were taken out by a couple of ours on the road. There could be more; I was a little distracted by pulling your arse in here after you landed on me.” Cognac irises surrounded by soot kept a close watch on the Private’s scarred hands as she shoved them into a pair of latex gloves. “Where did you get those? Gloves haven’t been part of the general kit for years.”

“I stole them, now…” Tilting her head, she scooted down the frozen mud incline and lifted the man’s foot. Resting his ankle on her right knee, she folded her other leg under her left and held up the scissors. “This is going to hurt, but not as much as our CO’s coming out of this with trauma payment from all the flashing lights when all you get is a very real scar. Please, bear with it.” Cutting up the side of the camo pants with one hand, she peeled the material away with the other. Craning her head to get a better look, blood pulsed out of the missing chunk in his flesh. The blonde made a throaty gurgle and immediately returned the fabric to the side of his knee, plastering her hand over the top.

Head back and jaw pulsing, Weber couldn't help but to let out a low growl. “That reaction does not fill me with confidence, Adler.” His scraped hands dug into the frozen earth either side of him and took hold of the tree roots when the burning throb might as well have been prizing his flesh from his bones.

“It’s nothing.” Her voice came out airy, completely contrary to her natural rough tone. As if that wasn’t enough to show that she was lying, the blonde turned her head away when her diaphragm muscles tightened. “I can fix it,” she told through grit teeth and a deep breath.

The way she said it made him think it was more morale-boosting for her sake than for the purpose of soothing his worries, but it had somewhat helped him regardless. This was the most humility he’d seen from the female in the month they’d been acquainted – and the last couple of years hearing of her reputation. He knew of who she was and of her infamous lineage way before they’d met; most people had. He was apprehensive about meeting her after what he'd heard about her, about what his superiors told him like schoolboys sharing sordid tales in a locker room, but he was certain that a person couldn't be so antagonizing as the rumours made out. He quickly found out how wrong he was within the first three minutes after she dubbed him 'Sergeant Secretary' while giving off an elitist air with her snide digs and blatant arrogance while co-ordinating for the upcoming mission. It wasn’t a surprising detail that most people had heard of the demon child of Carsten Adler, an infamous Special Operative back in the day, and the Granddaughter of Baer Adler, one of the longest-serving and most respected General’s in their great Empire’s history. However, attentive was never a word used when describing the military Princess whom apparently found no use in grunts to get her work done, nor corrupt officials in order to excel through the ranks.

Despite the clear disgust as she dug around in the gauge of his flesh, her eyes smeared with black eyeliner and soot were fixed on her task. She was determined to dig all the way through if nothing else, Weber thought. Flicking a piece of shrapnel aside, the blonde plucked the flask from Weber’s hand with bloody, blue-latex fingers and took a swig before pouring the bronze liquid over the wound. Before the man had a chance to cry out in pain, sanguine-coated latex plastered over his mouth. “I’m nearly finished.” With that said, she took a pre-threaded needle from a small wallet and lined it up to the man’s skin. Taking a deep breath through twitching lips, the girl began threading the clear line through jagged flesh.

Weber was about to tell her not to cause his death when the pair halted at the sound of a branch cracking. Wide-eyed, the pair held their breath and glared at each other temporarily. Weber held his hand up, calming the girl who was contorted over him to look past the left of the tree. Catching a flash of grey fur and a burgundy glove a dozen yards away, she rolled on to the other side only to see the same, but advancing outwards.  Easing down next to her fellow soldier, Adler pulled the strap of her rifle over her head and handed it to Weber.

“Stay here,” her breath was hot against his ear from the proximity and her hand patted his chest twice in quick succession. “I’m gonna get the one on the left, then I’ll get the one on the right.” Scuffling into a crouching position, she squatted over him with a careful eye for the enemy. “Do not let that off unless they find you.” Taking a hunting knife from the strap on her thigh, she grasped it beside her hip. The blonde’s eyes narrowed as they followed the pair of strangers through the thicket. "I mean it." Before Weber could try to speak sense or ask questions, she had stepped off her back foot and dashed into the thicket.

“Ad-Hey-Wai-Adler-” He flapped around to grip her sleeve. Catching the fabric and yanking her back, Weber ragged her close so he didn’t have to raise his voice. “You can’t go out there-”

Staggering and struggling to stabilize herself in such an awkward position on the iced incline, she snatched a handful of his uniform and pushed him aside in an attempt to free herself. “Let-go-” Ragging her arm free, the girl grit her teeth as she glowered down at Weber. “I won’t let anything stop me from getting back. Not you, not orders from the Brass, not even imminent death itself, so if you’d be so kind as to stop pissing on my parade-” Booting the man in his shoulder, the Private dashed off behind the next tree along.

A soldier in grey glanced around and noticed a trail of blood on disturbed snow. Following the tracks, the giant of a man fingered the pop-stud of his belt and reached for the walkie talkie. Weber could see his boots from his compressed hiding position behind the last tree before a steep hill. The muzzle of an AK-12 had been left slack and nowhere near the proper angle at chest height. Still, no matter which way you held such a powerful assault rifle, you were going to do irreparable damage even if you merely pointed it in the general direction of your target.

Heart in his throat as the hostile advanced, Weber shifted further back only to miss his footing and slide on the frozen earth now defrosted by his body heat. He was now in point-blank range of the weapon he had been admiring. The man on the other end of the firearm raised it to intimidate his prey with a grin. He spoke a few words in Russian but paused for some reason as he stared down the barrel.

“Are you…not gonna beg?” The words were in botched German as his expression twisted.

Weber was smacked petrified by the interaction. This guy was messing with him, and he was enjoying it. Even after killing the rest of his Squad, he still wasn’t satisfied. Anger welled within him and his numb fingers trembled over the trigger of the battered rifle he had managed to keep hidden behind his right hip.

“I guess not. All of you are such cowards you can’t even open your mouth to-” The mountain of a man fell to his knees on the snow-coated ground and the shouts were muffled by a latex glove over his mouth. “Das vedanya, Ruske.” A blade swiped across his throat and crimson spilt over his front, soaking into the grey woollen uniform. The body hit the floor face first and the figure which had been behind it had vanished in almost the same instance.

Weber restarted his brain and haphazardly pushed himself back up the tree he'd been cowering behind. 'What the fuck. What the fucking actual fuck?!' His heart was in his throat, his pulse slamming his eardrums, and he'd gained a profuse cold-sweat from the fright which had almost ended his life before a bullet could. When Adler had said she was going to take care of it, he thought she was going to give an attempt at scouting and comeback with one of the same half-arsed apologies as when she was told to collect a missing person from the briefing; the pretence of looking but actually taking a sly smoke-break and then coming back all coy with an 'I don't know what you're talkin' about'. He didn’t think that she was going to almost hack off somebody’s head with nothing but one of those shitty, rusting field blades. And with a cheap cliche of ending him with a remark in his own language too. Really, this was too much. What were they going to say if they actually made it back? What if she really fulfilled what she said she would do? It almost made him want to be put out of his misery right then and there. Maybe even more than the stress Weber was forced to endure at that very minute, he wondered about what she had said in place of what should have been a goodbye. A soldier's prideful farewell. She should have told him to stay strong and not give up any secrets if caught. Instead, she seemed motivated for the first time and it seemed to him as though the source of that will had nothing to do with her job at all.

‘I have things to do out there, so I won’t wait here and give up just because you told me to. I won’t let anything stop me from getting back. Not you, not orders from the Brass, not even imminent death itself, so if you’d be so kind as to stop pissing on my parade...’

There was a rustle of cloth and the crack of a twig, and before he had the chance to turn around, darkness flashed past his face. Looking up, he was prodded on the temple with the barrel of a AK-12. Although not quite mockingly murderous, the expression he received was one of clear distaste.

“If I wanted you off my hands, I wouldn’t have given you my rifle. How about you at least look alive, Sergeant Secretary?” With that said, the blonde pulled the excess of the foreign grey coat off his face and neck. “You shouldn’t put it on just in case any of ours happen to pass by, but it will keep your circulation going once I’ve finished with your leg.”

Weber could only stare at the female who had been comatose an hour ago. Now, apparently, she was raring to go, her camo soaked crimson down the front and her hair wild. The longer he inspected her, the more he came to notice her knees were smeared with mud and the callouses on her hands had turned to bleeding blisters and leaked through broken latex. He didn’t care about her lineage any more. There was no way an eighteen-year-old girl could have done what she had. Not in twenty-four hours, especially not in the time she had – he didn’t know any man in person who could have pulled that off. She had saved him twice with a repurposed vintage bayonet and stolen latex gloves.

“Stop looking at me like you’re already brain-damaged.” Dropping down beside her superior, Adler rooted through the backpacks she had hijacked. “Hm, according to the map, there should be a stream nearby…that should give us another three to five days so long as their control doesn't send anyone out looking for their ambush crew.” She eyed paper packets with Russian words printed on them. “Holy shit, the Rus get all this in their packs: Potatoes, packs of stewed meat, even ketchup, tea and hexamine tabs...Lucky fuckers. What do you want, pork or beef?” Holding up the brown sachets by her head, she asked the man beside her. "By their rations, they weren't supposed to be back for at least a week..." Without waiting for an answer, she threw both sachets at Weber and went digging through the plastic cases.

Feeling his anger well up at the back of his nose, Weber drew his arm back and slugged his company in the face. Falling to the side and landing on her shoulder, the man gripped the front of her combat jacket and shook her like a mad man. Flailing to stop herself from rolling down the small hill and into the brambles of death, the Private swatted at the weak attack. She smacked his hands away, clipping his chin in the process.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Weber’s head ricocheted against the trunk behind him and he lashed out again, his fist hitting the side of her breast. Clasping his collar, she swiped onto her knees and bared her teeth inches from his face. “Do you wanna die for real?”

Slackening at the first show of honest emotion, the brunet hunched forward. His forehead rested on her shoulder and he held his temples with his frozen, grimy hands. “You crazy fucking bitch…”

“Yeah…Good thing for you, you shitty librarian.”

“I should have you dragged off by MP’s for disobeying direct orders.”

“You probably should, y’know. While they’re at it, tell ‘em to pick us up from this shithole.”

“I can’t stand you.”

"You're already sitting down; stop griping."

Weber’s shoulder’s jittered as he hunched forward, his forehead buried in her disheveled hair matted with varying degrees of drying blood. Hitching and snotting in the copper-tinged mass, the superior tried to choke back the panic and terror he'd been holding in. “You can’t take orders, you’re suicidal, but you have good taste in rations.”

Snorting, Adler tossed the several packets of brown paper on top of the open backpack to Weber’s left. “Are you going to let me finish stitching your leg? I found some meds in their packs.”

“You’re really determined, aren’t you?”

“Most people just call me a stubborn cunt.” Brushing off the serious tone, Adler pulled the cap off a medical pen and stabbed the man at the side of the knee.

“What made you this wa-way Adl-er…?” In less than a second, the Sergeant’s speech slurred.

“Uwoah~ this shit works pretty fast.” Nodding at the tube held up to her eye level, she tossed the trash aside and shifted onto her knees.

Weber’s eyes fluttered as he gripped the fabric on her hip in an attempt to stay conscious. “What did you give me?”

“It was either a local anaesthetic, or cyanide equivalent, I guess.” Trying to accommodate the odd angle and the unstable flooring, the blonde leaned over her superior as she pulled his legs up and propped his feet on their packs. “Either way, your leg will be fixed soon, and you won’t feel a thing.”

“W-wha…” Weber slumped off the trunk and onto his side.

“Coming around here when you can’t even understand basic Russian…What a fool. Heh, then again, I guess we’re both lacking in the brain department at this point. By any standards, I should have run when I left you.” Snorting, the Private glanced to the empty tube by his shoulder which read ‘Morphine’ in Russian as she retook her task. “Moron, the least you can do is keep me warm while we sleep."

She stared down at the man led in the defrosting snow. His eyes were rolled back and his lids refused to stay shut no matter how many times she slapped down his face. He was practically a joke dummy, and the fact his tongue was hanging out of his mouth cracked her up every time she glanced up. He looked like an old cartoon she had seen when she was a child, one where the so-called baddies that had crosses for eyes and his mouth was ajar with a meter long tongue dragging along with drool after they'd been had by the hero. She let out a laugh despite knowing it would carry across the desolate land. But it was just too funny. Hell, she was already covered in all sorts of dirt and grime, a little more blood at this point wouldn’t make much of a difference.

"If you snore, I'll kill you myself.”


 

Updated: 30th May 2021 - 21:43