The Historical Slavic Tale

The Grand Finale - The Army of Cousin Anatoli

      As waterdrops were bouncing against Mikaelovitch's green tracksuit, he stated that they are oddly warm, but that wasn't of a bad thing at all. He watched them fall into the mug which he placed in front of him, to fill it with  the questionable water and then serve it to others. That would be the first test of Anton's slavness, because no slav can get sick, followingly dead, by questionable water... Mikaelovitch suddenly felt a strong passion. The sneeki breeki was happening, and in a while, everything was supposed to escalate and the results will be final. However, there was no logical way of Western spies winning this fight over--The Place, or The Zone, was way too misunderstood and underestimated by them.
 
 ,,Plane 1, Plane 1," A male voice showed itself inside of Sasha's transmitter. ,,we're about to enter a radioactive rain. Please put all the planes in command to stop and turn back." Before actually answering the call, she laughed the best she could. Not because the plan would be in ashes, but it was easy enough to fool them.
   ,,Plane 1 answering," she pushed the button. ,,I'm commanding YOU to tell THEM that our jets are completely protected from radioactivity. There's no way we're going back. Plane 1 ends." A moment after that, she was assured that these simple words really worked out and the fellow pilot obeyed her command. Leading hundreds and thousands of Western spies in jets was sort of hard, because every five minutes, there would be someone speaking up with a completely annoying and non-sense question. If Sasha wasn't in the role of a supposed Amerikanski leader, she would just send them to squat and eat some blin, because that was an answer for everything in the world. But one thing was still clear--the person told her that they are getting closer to a radioactive rain. That means they were already in the Zone, which leads to the fact that many jets should start malfunctioning soon. Some will crash now, some will crash in the rain and some will get shot down by Boris' ultimate slav-sniper skills. It was going to be many fun, she knew it. 
 ,,Plane 1, Plane 1! Answer, now!" The same voice could be heard again as she annoyedly roled her eyes. ,,Some plans have malfunctioned and crashed to the ground! We need to get back!"
   ,,Well, they just were exceptions, trust me." She began sweating as she realized this might not work out. ,,We need to continue. We must. Do you understand me?" Putting some intensity into her speech, Sasha tried the best to sound like a self-confident leader.
  ,,I hope you know what you're doing." The voice answered.
  ,,If you thought that this attack won't have any losses, you've made a mistake, friend." She frowned, tightening the lever's grip angrily. ,,Plane 1 ends." And that's how the conversation was cut off. Fortunately, it seemed like the Western spy successfully ate her bait, and now she can drag him all the way to his flat line. That's when they've entered the rain, Sasha immediately picked up her personal transmitter.
 ,,Yoshka, Yoshka, can you hear me?" She spoke after switching it on.
  ,,I can hear you. What's the case?" It was a huge relief when Sasha heard her comrade's voice, after the entire time of hoping that it wasn't her jet which crashed with the others.
   ,,How much time do we have until the jet's engines will melt into an ice-cream?" Sasha asked.
   ,,Ten minutes."
   Ten minutes... it couldn't be made for more since you can't do many changes on something that comes from Western spies. But at least something, right? She was glad that Vasya with Kolya made some changes to their jets, the hour before Sasha and Yoshka got rid of the original pilots. Sasha will never forget the satisfaction of pulling off with the jet, throwing some last glance on the dead body of Amerikanski spion. It wasn't the best death, since the rest of them has been driven insane by loud hardbass music, forced to kill each other in the imaginations of silence. It was brutal, but war is like that.
   Now realizing that Western parachutes weren't immune to radioactivity, the situation was gaining on adrenaline.
 Mikaelovitch, you little blin, don't fuck this plan up. She thought.

    ,,Davaj, Mikaelovitch." Albin smiled and took a toast on his comrade, after he poured some questionable water into his cup. Mikaelovitch and Artem knew that with this speed, they're going to miss the plan, so he only re-filled Albin's cup and quickly moved on. After serving more fellow slavs, it was Anton's turn to get some questionable water. But his cup was nowhere.
   ,,What the blin, Anton?" Mikaelovitch raised eyebrows. ,,Don't you want some questionable water, or are you willing to be a daredevil and ex the entire mug?" He smirked. It was enough for Anton to slowly realize that his identity was getting uncovered, but in the hopes of his people returtning for him, he stayed silent. How Westernish. 
   ,,I'm sorry, I feel sick." He looked at Mikaelovitch with nervous eyes, his voice oddly shaking. 
   ,,That's okay, Mikaelovitch." Boris spoke up, softly bashing his hand against the table as he held the cup with the second one. ,,We'll respect our comrade, won't we? Even slavs have their bad days." His words seemed sneeki. Everyone understood what's going on, and everyone was responsible to keep their eyes on Anton. He could make mess anytime. Boris stood up and raised the cup, and so did the others. ,,May the cheeki breeki stand by our sides!" Speaking up, he drank the entire cup of questionable water--no one dared to do anything different. 
   Mikaelovitch and Artem glanced at each other--now, it was time to race the time itself. They both disappeared from the table faster than neighbor Vadim failed in the Slavonic Games. Running outside into the radioactive rain and the slavness protecting them from getting damaged by it, they sprinted towards Letro's jets which they were allowed to borrow. Artem almost broke the door because of shutting them too roughly after hopping into the pilot's seat.  
   ,,May the cheeki breeki stand by our sides." He repeated after Boris, getting himself some more assurance. After a moment, he got the same voice-message from Mikaelovitch's jet. It was interesting how in situations like this, the slavic minds were connected by strange strings with some vodka flowing inside them. No Western spy could ever feel such a passion, Artem was sure. 
   ,,How much time?" He answered Mikaelovitch.
   ,,Six minutes."
 ,,I guess we shall pull off then." Artem said, starting the engine up.
   ,,Alright, heading to the west." Mikealovitch agreed, repeating comrade's steps. It was a strange feeling to float in the air with something he has full control of--there weren't many times when he felt such a responsiblity. Except for the times when he makes blins, then everything goes completely serious and no one shall ever disturb him during such an important Slavic ritual.