"WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEADS! "
"BRIEFING IN 15 MINUTES, BE ON TIME !"
Such a poor start to the day, even if it is the usual start. Getting woken up without adequate sleep.
Regretting having signed up for the military in my damp clothes. Laying on an uncomfortable cot far too small for my wings. Rubbing my eyes, staring at the ceiling. Time to get up.
Right. Checklist time. Clothes, OK. Ruck, OK. Helmet, OK. Rifle, OK. Catalyst, OK. It’s winter, so more layers. Still bites, every time. Especially on the back. Procurement still doesn’t understand how to design a garment for wings, it’s ridiculous. Am glad sis taught me about using Vaseline for the wind chill.
I get interrupted whilst tying my hair back.
"What do you think today’s gonna be like, Sky? Wanna bet on anyone falling down a tree well today?"
Of course Pavel had to butt into my morning routine. The thought was almost funny however, if somewhat morbid. Last week a new arrival froze his fingers off because he was too embarrassed to call for help after falling in. Then the poor bastard was paraded out in front of the battalion as an example to learn from.
Heading to the briefing room while chewing on a stick of siwak, thinking about what the mission will be this time. Silently praying for an easy day without any excitement and simultaneously wishing for anything to break up the monotony of military life. Rumours of drugs making it in really did make my blood boil, though.
It’s cold out. Below freezing, and a light dusting of snow covers the paths cleared out a few nights ago. Still feel the back pain from that much shovelling. Sun isn’t even up yet, only the presence of electric lights installed in camp allow for navigation. Can’t help but think of how it makes for a beacon in the dark.
The major’s already at his chalkboard – can’t believe he managed to get one all the way out here – scritching and scratching at an incomprehensible briefing, as usual. Map looks like a grid. Probably a village patrol this time then. I should have spent more time learning the language. Not like the locals would want to talk to us, though.
"Soldiers at attention! Today’s briefing concerns various patrols around the perimeter. As you may be aware, we aren’t particularly appreciated down the road, so stay sharp! We need to keep the area secure for a resupply convoy tomorrow, so if you want to stay fed, pay attention!"
The major’s voice truly did an exceptional job cutting through the sound of the tent flapping in the wind. Still, it failed to cut through fatigue and habit. Every time, my thoughts ended up drifting away at some point during the speech, while i kept on fiddling with the controls on my rifle. Endlessly switching it from one fire mode to the next, messing with the safety. Clickety-Click.
"E Platoon, you are to depart in 2 hours ! Your job will be to escort a convoy to Outpost 333, 7 kilometres down to the north-east! Signals will be accompanying you to lay telephone wire!"
There was my cue. The rest of the speech was washed out while I tried to remember the layout of roads around us, while trying to visualize the terrain ahead of us. This damn wasteland kept interfering with radio communications, meaning wires, flags, and couriers were the only choices left to coordinate. Wires kept getting sabotaged, too. Think, you damn idiot, think! What can you do to stop that from happening? What were those years of studies in RF Electronics for, you numbskull! … Sigh. Not much I could come up with against a shovel and a pair of scissors.
“Glory to the Republic! For the liberation of the workers of the world!”
And there ends the speech. Going to have to get a move on. And there goes everyone else in single file, each flap of the door bringing in more glacial air. Someone really should make the entryway into a double door to keep that out. Then again, we’re only ever in here for briefings. It’s not like they managed to get such a tent for the base commander either.
The line’s thinning out now, as everyone is going back to their station, preparing for their assigned task. Time to move to the depot. Trudging through more of the biting cold, I get to our assigned vehicle. Somehow Lena’s managed to get lost inside the base, as she’s not in the car. I’ll worry about discipline later. Right now I have to get everything loaded. Heading over to logistics, I grab a sled and my tools.
As the quartermaster signs off on what I’ve just checked out, I go on to the car to load everything. Who thought a tarp roof was appropriate for the tundra? Probably the bean counters who moved this over from the Southern military district. Heh, still in desert colour. Lena’s still not here. Time to check her tent, then. Why’d I skip squad roll call today? Now it’s my damn fault.
I really should write in an order for salt. Would keep some passages clear inside the base. As I approach the tent, I start shouting:
“Lena, you’re late! We have to start the car!”
As I pull back the tent door, weighted down by the wet, partially melted snow, I see someone wrapped in their blanket, deep asleep. There’s no time to stare today.
“Wake up, you idiot!” As I dump a fistful of snow from outside on her face, as a bit of a light prank.
As she startles awake, she immediately reaches for my shoulder and I have to hold her down, firmly, to avoid another incident with the infirmary – and as she calms down, Lena shows the most embarrassed expression I’ve seen her make to this date. The others in that tent must have been too cowardly to wake her up.
Who thought it was a good idea to force a unit to sleep separately anyway? Probably also my fault in losing track during the rush out of the briefing tent.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Get dressed and meet me at the gates to the base in 5 minutes, or else!”
In the meantime, as I get back to the depot, Viktor’s already gotten started on connecting the receiving unit in the base to the spool. The sun is also starting to shine and warm things up. Pavel’s in a second, borrowed car, carrying some extra supplies and the receiver meant for Outpost 333. And as he sees me approach, he sticks his head out of the window and shouts.
“And here comes the Lieutenant, what did you get up to this time?”
“Lena forgot to wake up again; we’re gonna get started and wait for her at the gates!”
What does she even get up to every night for this to happen this often, anyway?
I get into the driving seat of the first car and wait for Viktor to get back. As the passenger side door slams shut, and one last box filled with food and water purification tablets is dumped off unceremoniously into the rear seat, we drive off in a slow silence to the gate, as much as a tarpaulin roof and someone constantly unspooling wire can be.
The slow pace at least gives me a bit of room to think, in the few minutes between the depot and the gate, Pavel follows in the second vehicle, making sure the wire deploys correctly. Probably having fun driving over it, to drive it down into the frozen ground.
We’ve been deployed here for 2 months already, in this 4 year long campaign of liberation. Supposedly in a couple months we’re due to build a medical facility in the nearest town over, and there’s been much fanfare about the newly established universities in Tammikyl?; about this being the first time women here have been able to access higher education.
In the meantime, here we are, connecting an outpost in the middle of nowhere to a phone line, as portable radio I’d be caring for dearingly continues to gather dust and rust with the perturbed radio space in the region.
As we reach the gate, we stop, and I get out of the car to check in with Pavel and Viktor to make sure the wire-laying went without fault. The rest of the convoy is already starting to gather up, as E Platoon sits out in front with their BMPs. Even if it seems like too much firepower for the locals, the lack of reconnaissance still makes me uneasy. Base command should have listened to my suggestion of using mirrors and flares to signal from perimeter security.
The sight of the armoured vehicles only reassures me so much though, as an ambush from the side would still rip through the sheet metal doors and thin windows of our little utility vehicles. The other trucks wouldn’t fare much better either. As Lena arrives, running, I finish inspecting the telephone receiver, and Viktor switches over to the second car.
I give her a brief nod of acknowledgment, and head over to the lead truck in the convoy. And here comes the next piece of impostor syndrome. I spaced out during briefing. I didn’t hear his name.
He’ll have his name tag on, right? I’ll be able to able to read the shoulder patch before he notices, surely.
As I approach, I see another truck arriving, cargo crates held down by a canvas sheet and rope. The crunch of the snow chains on the frozen ground increasing progressively with each step I take. And as I finally reach the passenger side of the lead truck, I see who I will have to tell that laying telephone wire is going to slow us down to make sure it unspools correctly.
Keep a straight face, keep a disciplined facade. I feel my wings tensing up as well.
“Comrade Colonel --,
This is Lieutenant Alouette from the 71st Communications Battalion, here to report that the convoy will have to slow down for wire-laying, as required for communications with Outpost 333.
We would also gladly accept assistance from volunteers to help unspool the wire.”
“Comrade Lieutenant, your report is heard. This information was already communicated, get back to your duties. And I am Colonel Yegorov to you. Remember that next time.”
Finally the truck approaching slams on the brakes, and the crunch of the snow chains prevents silence from forming. Time to quickly leave. I shouldn’t have hoped to see a name tag from the side.
Backing away in as much composure as I can pretend to muster, which seemingly has always been enough, I go back towards our utility vehicles, and towards my team. Lena’s already sitting in the back our lead car, probably because she understood to not make more mistakes today.
“Lena, I see you’re being proactive now. Good.”
I worry if I’m not being too harsh, or not harsh enough, such that the morning incident doesn’t repeat… and yet I can’t bring myself to risk jeopardizing my friendships.
As I call out to the rest of my team to signal for a meal before we depart, I notice a slight vibration from my necklace – it’s the magic catalyst. That’s odd. Instead of worrying about it, I try to focus on unpacking our field rations. Food is more important than some background magical fluctuations.
Still, it definitely has been happening more often ever since we’ve been deployed to this base.
As I try to eat in silence, Pavel and Viktor join Lena and I around the small pot of melted snow, slowly heating up to boil our canned meals.
Even as I try to enjoy my saltines with jam, I can’t avoid thinking about the road ahead, of going up a shallow valley, with tree cover abruptly stopping halfway through.
Pavel meanwhile, continues with his attempts at levity.
“For how much of a smart-ass our Lt here is, she really can’t beat me or Viktor in card games. Wanna know why?
Watch her wings, they’re always a tell.
And yes, I’m saying this because beating her every time gets boring”
My first reaction was to try to hide behind my wings – and halfway in that movement I realize all that does is prove Pavel right. I have to try to stay straight.
You’re a Lieutenant, an Officer. Keep it together and maintain composure and authority.
“Say… Do you know how a blue-blood like the Lieutenant ended up in the army with us? She even brought a family sabre along with her, she showed it to me last night. Especially with a name like hers.
What’s your story, Lieutenant?”
“You’ve read about the revolution, right? My parents came here for a cause they believed to be righteous. And I’m here to continue to do the same. To continue to fight for the liberation of the workers of the world, and the improvement of their material conditions. For justice, truth, and freedom.
Because I sincerely believe in these ideals, taught to me by both my parents and what I’ve observed of society at large. I joined to prove those ideals in the field.”
“Wow, she really does believe that. Look at her trying to look threatening”
“I am not being threatening. I am simply answering a question I was asked, with sincerity. And don’t call me a noble, we relinquished that title when we arrived here.
Now continue to eat, because we’ve got a long road ahead of us.”
As we continue our excessive breakfast, Pavel mutters under his breath a few indistinguishable words.
[Her parents are still nomenklatura… basically nobility again.]
