The Historical Slavic Tale

Part 3 - Aftershock

    ,,That was... bad." Mikaelovitch let out a sigh. A cold, sweaty feeling was coming down his spine every few dozens of minutes. Memories of the incident were holding onto him like a blood-thirsty bug. The only thing warming him up was presence of his friend. They had the fireplace just for themselves, all alone and separated from the others. He hugged his knees as lifting legs from the ground.
   ,,Yeah. But this is war, my friend." Sasha answered, taking another shot of vodka. Magically, it didn't do anything to her yet. Maybe because in the position of a country leader, there were many situations in which to strenghten yourself with some alcohol. So her body has simply gotten used to it.
   ,,You're right." He said in return, rudely 'stealing' the vodka from the ground under Sasha's legs. ,,In that case, I hate war." Mikaelovitch growled, murmuring the end of the sentence. He took a gulp, but refused to place the bottle anywhere. He just held it tight in his hands, staring into dancing flames of the fire. It has been placed dangerously on the ground, with only rocks preventing the fire from spreading.
   ,,I hope everyone does."
   ,,I don't think Western spies do." He shook his head in disagreement. They wouldn't have began this chaos if they didn't like war. His overthinking about it was just this simple.
   ,,Maybe they had an urgent reason to start the war." Complimenting, Sasha glanced at her friend.
   ,,Or maybe they are just stupid assholes!" He frowned, drinking again. Sasha shook her head. Although she wouldn't be surprised above Western spies just wanting to show their dominance, this seemed way too unlogical for her. ,,You've heard it, didn't you? Don't tell me you didn't listen to Boris when he said that the main thing they want to do, is to take over the Slavic Union!" All of sudden, Mikaelovitch seemed to be very angry. It was probably the alcohol supporting his rage towards Western spies. And after all, she understood him, because of feeling the same way towards them.
   ,,I've listened to him, you're right." Sasha answered calmly. Unfortunately, it only poured gasoline into Mikaelovitch's burning anger.
   ,,Then why would you give them a chance to have a logical reason?!"
   ,,I don't know! I'm just... ah..." She tried to explain, but actually failed. Sasha rolled her eyes, ending up with glance on the radioactive sky, which was still truly majestic. ,,You know what? Nevermind. Forget I've said anything."
   ,,I better do." Mikaelovitch mumbled, looking away. Sasha swore that she's never seen him this pissed before. Well, maybe once when his friends messed up a LARP meeting and then threw it all on him to deal with it. She smiled at the memory--the memory in which everything was yet just a game. A virtual reality. ,,I... I'm so fed up. It was enough for me when a similar thing happened years before. But this is real." She could sense the regretfullness in his voice.
   ,,I know right. We're all fed up... Boris must be the most. You know, it's all HIS Union. We're just something under him. Our power is so weak against a person in his position." She claimed. ,,I'm not saying it's a shame, but I'm just trying to point out that he has to be so stressed." Sasha looked down, ripping the bottle away from Mikaelovitch's hand. After so many chances for him, it was her time to take a shot now. Just because she spoke about him, it reminded her of the true presence of slavness. She stood up and carefully squatted down on the wooden log. Mikaelovitch spotted the move of his friend, so he attempted to squat too--unfortunately, as soon as he stood up, the alcohol in his blood took over. One second and Mikaelovitch was sitting down on the ground, legs spread in front of him.
   ,,Oy blin!" He cussed. His own drunk actions made him giggle a bit, but Mikaelovitch would have to admit that the fall was a bit painful after all. However, nothing a man like him couldn't stand. When suddenly, as he wanted to stand up, his feet started feeling unnormally hot. After tilting his head backwards because of the fall and cussing, he stopped squinching his eyes and looked forward. Yeah, the fire was still there... and so were his downer legs.
   ,,Hey, back off a little, Frantischkov!" Sasha busted out laughing as Mikaelovitch began screaming all the way on the entire surroundings, maybe making it possible to hear for the rest of the 'team'. He started to shake his legs violently, panicking loudly. He somehow dragged himself away with his hands and a little help of Sasha, roughly patting his shoes and pants to stop burning.
   ,,Blyat! Blyat! Cyka!" Mikaelovitch cursed a few times, making the situation funnier. Or, for someone who wasn't as wicked as Sasha, disturbing. Because for someone it would literally feel like watching someone being burnt alive, then escaping his death with tons of luck. But for slavs, that was just another basic day with regular events happening. For example, a day before the whole chaos started, Albin almost fell down from a cliff while squatting... Polish people. Literally almost everything is possible for them. Eventually, his pants and shoes stopped burning and he could let out a sigh of relief.
   ,,Oppa!" A familiar voice could be heard from the distance. Sasha looked up as she helped his half-drunk friend safely squat on the wooden log. ,,What are those swearwords and screaming, haaa? What's happening?" He asked, later squatting by the fire with them. The others were slowly approaching the fireplace as well.
   ,,Boris! Well, uhm, I caught on fire a little." Mikaelovitch giggled as watching other people approach them.
   ,,I smell vodka... did you two drink?" Boris moved his sunglasses, making himself seem serious. ,,No one should drink in this situation. We need to make a move, otherwise they're gonna destroy us in less than a week. Our phlegmathism is getting out of hand, you see." He pointed out, spotting the bottle of vodka they were somehow hiding. Reaching for it, Boris later took it away from them and put it away.
   ,,It's not like that," Sasha tried to explain. ,,well... at least not for me. I'm not drunk at all." She grinned. In the meantime, everyone sat into a circle around the fireplace. Sasha suddenly felt an unexplainable wave of shame.
   ,,I can tell." Boris said, nodding.
   ,,So have anyone done a move? Like, calling someone or...?" Artem squatted as he watched Boris putting something above the fireplace. It looked like metal bars being supported by four rods which got pierced to the ground. That honestly looked pretty familiar to him, almost like a grill. In the few seconds in which he was waiting for Boris' response, everything began to fit together. Fire, metal bars... his stomach went growling from hunger. It was already obvious that it's a shashlik time!
   ,,I've only informed the representative, right after they flew away," Boris announced, pulling out skewers as preparing the shashliks to be done. He was very patient and careful about his work with food, so then it logically took some time to make. ,,so they could quickly send our air forces, or get snipers to shoot them down. And they haven't informed me yet, so I suspect that they've missed it." Sighing above his unsuccessful plan, he overthought how interesting it is. How interesting that a human mind can spit out words of description within less than thirty seconds. However, it was evidently still too late.
   ,,Well, let's just hope they do no harm until the morning comes." Albin said, carefully observing the shashlik preparation.
   ,,Speaking of calls--have you four, did as I told you?" Boris asked. They all nodded without any hesitations.
   ,,It's honestly a pity that they were dead when we've found them," Yoshka overthought, staring blankly into the ground. ,,it hits you especially when you realize how many informations have been hidden in these spies' lifes." 
   ,,I must admit, you're right." Jurko murmured. The incident made them feel a bit paranoid and insecure, forcing them not to speak loudly about their opinions or plans. Later, they couldn't even eat normally--everyone was too busy looking around themselves. 

    Artem stood in the middle of a battlefield itself. Unnoticable grains of grounddust were being sucked into his mouth and nose everytime he inhaled the dirty air atomized by helicopters. Panting and panicking, he hid behind an old, barely-standing wall which was probably just a relic of a house. He squinched his eyes, praying to the Slavic Superstar for his and his comrades' lifes. Sadly, the sound of helicopters and explosions was louder than his thoughts and so it wouldn't let him think strategically. It was sad and disappointful for him to pledge his life to luck and fate only.
   ,,Artem! Artem!" He heard someone yelling as sitting back to back with the wall, being squeezed on it with no meaning at all. But it gave him the feeling of wasting less space, so that means lower chances of getting shot. However, he still glanced around himself to see whose the voice was. Once the person shouted his name again, Artem didn't even have to look--Yoshka.
   ,,Yoshka!" He screamed into the air, not even being aware of where his friend was.
   ,,Watch out! Run!" Artem could hear the same voice again. Looking above himself, he saw a giant helicopter. Now, that would be completely normal in a situation like this. A thing which was more terrifying, was the Western spy uncorrectly squatting on the edge of the machine, aiming a weapon at him. Artem's eyes widened from fear. Off and up he was in a hundreth of second, swiftly running away. He didn't really care about the direction. Just running, trying to avoid the bullets which were getting closer and closer to his back. He eventually took a turn when spotted something what looked like a concrete abode. Slipping inside and shutting the door behind him, he rolled his eyes and slumped down along the wall, his body landing to the ground. Strange was, he didn't hear any explosions or gunshots anymore--not even the helicopters. Staring into the wall, something ripped Artem away from enjoying the peaceful silence. 
    ,,Artem..." It was Yoshka's voice again, with the sound of knocking on a glass. Maybe it was the window on the wall beside him. He stood up and walked over to the window, not really being able to see what is going on beyond the glass. He rolled the sleeve of his sweatshirt around his fist, wiping the dirt away. Now Artem knew for sure that it was Yoshka knocking on the window.
   ,,Yoshka! What are you doing outside?!" He shouted, bashing the window. ,,Hide!"
   ,,Artem." By her voice, he could tell something was terribly wrong. It was quiet, not shouting and trying for the sound to reach him. Not panicking. Only calm and quiet.
   ,,Yoshka?" He made few steps backwards. Something in her eyes was piercing him with fear and anxious feelings. 
   ,,You're in a radioactive zone." Her voice went extremely weak. He could hear her cry as his heart jumped in fright. Looking down, the crying got more intense and Artem was now having his glance locked on something horrible. His own meat, rotting, skin tearing apart and bleeding. He screamed painfully.

    Artem jumped up so roughly it unzipped his sleeping bag. He looked around himself--nothing but darkness being broken by the barely burning fire. With that, he slowly realized it was all just a dream. He covered his face with his hands, letting out a long, yet quiet sigh. Not to wake anyone up. Scanning everyone with his glance, he also spotted Yoshka sleeping next to Sasha, so she was obviously okay. 
   As he sat there, something was shattering the silence more and more vigorously. The sound was repetitive, yet melodical--Artem knew only a slav could understand this sound. He carefully squirmed out of his sleeping bag, stood up and confusedly glanced around, seeking for the source. When he finally figured out it was coming from a certain way, Artem moved his feet, following the luring sound of hardbass. As the music was getting louder and louder, he knew he was near. So until he felt the music probably around a meter away. 
    ,,Whose is the soul that got lured here by the powerful sound of slavic anthems?" A deep, energetic voice of Boris appeared out of nowhere. That was when Artem realized he's standing right behind the squatting Slav Superstar. 
    ,,Having a midnight squatting session?" Artem smirked, willingly squatting next to him. He could overthink it, because it suddenly felt so rude to him. But it was too late... again.
    ,,Yes, my friend." The Slav Superstar nodded. ,,What brings you here?"
    ,,It's a shame, but... a nightmare brought me here." Artem admitted, looking away.
    ,,Ahhh, looks like you've eaten shashlik too early before falling asleep." Pulling out a logical explanation and also an useful advice, Boris said.
    ,,Does it mean that everyone is having nightmares now?" 
    ,,Not necessarily. They're more likely luckier than you." Boris giggled. He pulled out a mayonnaise--Artem wasn't sure whether it was the one from their previous session, or just another of Boris' countless numbers of mayonnaises. ,,Want some?" He approached the mayo towards Artem. 
   He nodded.
   And so they've spent an hour talking, fantasizing and theorizing above various stuff about the upcomming war, until Artem fell asleep during squatting. That's how a true slav sleeps.