The Vladivostok Incident

Chapter 8

Shivers and Blood

It took a lot of energy and concentration for Dmitri to stand after that knockout hit by Shelton. All he was aware of was the iron taste in his mouth; the blood from his nose had completely covered his face. He tried to give himself a moment to recuperate despite the gunfire and rumble in the distance. His thoughts then turned to his comrades, all three of which were lying in several pools of blood in the snow. First he checked the man who took Caesar's boots to the head – his skull had a three square centimeter chunk missing. Dmitri's eyes followed Caesar's tracks in the snow. His conclusion: the young kid's boots must have had spikes in them for ice hiking. Next, he crawled over to the man who was punched. His eyes were open, lifeless and still; the point where he had been punched was bleeding slightly. Dmitri turned the motionless soldier's head to find that his skull had collapsed where Shelton's knuckles hit.

The young Dmitri took the deaths in stride. He was close to his comrades; they were the closest things to friends he had. Yet he was a soldier, and despite his age and his lack of experience, he was mentally prepared for their deaths. At that moment he needed to focus on the third one and pray that he was alright. There was more blood around him than the others, and if Caesar had spikes in his boots, it wasn't very likely the soldier would still be alive. Dmitri was naturally shocked when he noticed the erratic rise and fall of his friend's chest. He hurried to his side and observed the damage.

The blue of his uniform was now purple from blood; there were two large gashes across his torso, one in the lower abdomen and another dead center. He was shaking from the cold, loss of blood and certainly the immense pain he must have been in. Dmitri, calm in the face of his comrades' death, was panicked in the face of their pain.

"f**k!" he shouted. His hands scrambled to remove the blue uniform and view the wounds. They were deep with considerable bruising and swelling around them. More than likely, his ribs were broken and much of his organs severely damaged. "Oh, f**k! Mick, we've got to get you a doctor! s**t! Help! For f**k's sake! Somebody!"

Mick just laughed at Dmitri; it wasn't an easy laugh or a joyous laugh, it was a labored exercise done merely in the confusion caused by his pain and dread. "Christ, Dmitri," he managed to wheeze out from his damaged lungs. "You look like a virgin girl seeing a c**k for the first time."

"Don't joke around now," Dmitri said. He started to rip Mick's dirty uniform to create makeshift bandages in order to stop some of the bleeding.

"Do me a favor, Dee. Tell…" he stopped long enough to complete a painful breath. His body jolted a little when Dmitri's cold hands started to apply pressure on one of the wounds. After he swallowed, he said, "Tell 'em back home… I'm pretty strong, aren't I?"

"You sure are, Mick," Dmitri agreed. "If I was in your position, I'd be crying like a baby." With one hand still on the wound, his other hand reached to his side for the painkiller shot every soldier carried. Dmitri had resigned himself to reality; there was no way to save Mick, and the only humane thing to do was give him a shot to slow his heart and his ease him into death. "I won't forget," he whispered to him, "how strong you were." Before the needle could be shown to Mick, Dmitri stabbed it into his neck. Within seconds Mick was asleep, waiting for death.

Heavy hearted, Dmitri remained knelt next to Mick. The cold and blood eased its way through his pants and stung his kneecaps. He had no plan to move until a voice behind him squeaked, "Are you alright?" His focus went from Mick to the origin of the noise. It was a woman – no, a young woman – wrapped in a wool blanket. Behind her, a small child ducked away at the sight of the dead bodies. Sonya backed away a bit when she caught Dmitri's eye.

"That's my line," he said with a forced smile. He stood; his pants were soaked with blood, which accumulated into small droplets. It startled the two civilians. Were all soldiers so callus towards the death of their own? He approached them with a confident stroll and said, "You wouldn't happen to know who Antanas Fedorov is, do you? Because I was told by a young boy – about the same age as your little one here – that he was seen around here last night."

He ended up so close to Sonya he was practically stepping on her toes. The smell of blood made her sick and the close proximity startled her. She took a step back but slipped on the ice. The wool blanket was discarded as her hands focused on balance. Dmitri was quick to stabilize her; he wrapped one arm around her and held her up. Her frame shook out of pure fear under his gaze. Patiently he waited for her to speak. A good ten seconds passed before he realized she wasn't about to talk. Carefully, he eased his hand away from her back and helped her stand on her own two feet. His hands, covered in Mick's blood, left a deep red stain on her light pink dress.

"You're… not from around here," she observed.

"Bingo," he said. He leaned in real close to her and with a wild grin said, "Does that scare you? You know what they say about us Westerners. Well, I think we should start this off with an easy question. What's your name?"

"Sonya."

"That it?"

"Yes."

"Hm," he muttered as he rubbed his chin with his hand. Dried blood on his chin was covered with a fresh coat. Her eyes peered back up at him; she wasn't ashamed to show off the fact he scared her. He returned her frightened expression with a sideways glance. The conversation wasn't going his way, and his throbbing headache made him irritated. He removed is beret and ran his hand through his hair, dying it an amber color. "Well, I think it's safe to say somebody spent the night at your place. So I'll cut you a deal. You tell me all you know about Antanas Fedorov and whoever stayed with you last night, and I won't turn you over to the Stars. If you don't talk I'll f**k the information out of you."

Another step forward from Dmitri and he clutched her shoulders roughly with both hands. His threat, the smell of blood, the cool expression on his face – all of them crashed against her. Soldiers had always been like that. The only ones she could trust were men like Antanas and Shelton. How could she betray them now, to a soldier of all people? Her sense struggled to stay. Inside she battled between the pain and humiliation she would suffer at the hands of the young soldier in front of her versus the debt she felt she owed Antanas. It was evident in her eyes that she was in a struggle.

Dmitri leaned in and whispered, "Scared?"

The child that was clenching her leg leapt out from behind her and picked up one of the dead soldier's pistol. Despite his small frame he aimed high and shot immediately. It nicked Dmitri in the ear. Instinct took over; there was someone trying to hurt him, so he reached for his gun and fired at the small boy before he had time to think. The bullet grazed the boy's neck. The child cried out and smashed his tiny palm against the wound. Sonya screamed and broke free from the dazed Dmitri's grasps. He had never shot a weapon at a child before.

It took only a second for anger to seep into his eyes. Sonya's hand was just about to touch the boy when Dmitri grabbed her again. He ripped her small body towards him and smacked his pistol against her cheek. As she fell she grabbed him; the frozen ground provided no traction or balance so he toppled over on top of her.

"How could you shoot him?" she asked through her tears and sniffles. "You're only a child yourself!"

"I don't have time to waste, so talk or I'll force you!"

"Go ahead," she said.

Realization hit him. She wasn't afraid of any conventional threat to her. Instead, he had to aim for her most precious – literally. He aimed his pistol at the bleeding child and said, "If the next thing out of your mouth isn't what I want to hear, I'll blow his head off." Unable to call his bluff but not wanting to sellout Antanas, she hesitated for a moment. His eyes softened after a few seconds and he sighed. With a small laugh he said, "I can't do that. I'm sorry."

The pistol was returned to its holster. His body weight left her and he went to tend to the child. Using an old piece of Mick's uniform he created a bandage to wrap around the boy's neck. At first the boy backed away, but was unable to get very far before he resigned himself to Dmitri. As he covered the bleeding wound he became aware of the pain on the left side of his own head. He touched where his ear was supposed to be, only to wince and discover it was almost completely gone.

Wind from above caused everyone to look up. Two helicopters silently hovered near the shop. One was clearly military issued, while the other was smaller in size and white and blue in color. Dmitri caught the Eurasian Army emblem on the side of the larger one and sighed. How would he explain this mess? Unless the others had killed the enemy, he was the lone survivor. That idea didn't sit well in his stomach. All of his comrades dead in a single moment, thanks to a group of rebels. It was more sickening than anything he had ever faced.

Eight minutes later his head was being tended to by a medic. Dmitri was seated on a makeshift cot across the street from the shop. The chaos around the shop signified the severity of the loss. Word reached him quickly that two jeeps were destroyed and another heavily damaged. While there were three survivors, they were heavily burned and had lost a lot of blood.

A shiver ran from his destroyed ear down his neck. The medic noticed it and said, "You'll be one ugly bastard now, Sinclair."

He didn't respond; he wasn't in the mood for humor. His superior, Captain Milano, was nearby and overheard the exchange. He approached Dmitri and patted the medic on the back. "Watch your words, Olsen."

"Of course," the medic smiled. "Sorry, sir."

"Listen, Sinclair," Milano said. "You can't expect every outing to be like your first. Many men are fortunate to even survive."

"I know, Captain," Dmitri said with a nod.

Fortune was the last thing Dmitri felt he had been given. While it was true his first mission in blue was a resounding success – several dozen kills, several dozen captures – he had been cursed since. First it was the lack of action, then it was faulty equipment; now, he found himself the only one of his unit still standing. Dmitri casted a glance behind Milano where the three bodies were being carried away, covered by the white sheet they all dreaded to see.

"I heard a babe lived in there," a loud voice echoed from behind Dmitri. There was no need to turn around, because the voice easily gave away who it was. Now Dmitri knew who owned the civilian helicopter: Lev Fedorov. Compared to his older brother, Lev was a much stronger and taller; whereas Antanas had a cunning grin, Lev's was mad and fit in perfectly with his harder features. Many mistook Lev as the older brother.

"Yes, Mr. Fedorov," Milano said. "I believe she has a young child, also. There should be a medic tending to her and the child now."

"Make yourself useful then, Captain, and bring her here," Lev ordered.

Milano frowned as he twisted on the ice and marched towards the shop. There, surrounded by soldiers, Sonya and the little boy were being tended to by a medic. Milano retrieved her like Lev wanted; carefully he escorted the shivering woman wrapped in a wool blanket across the slowly thinning ice. He stopped quite a bit away from Lev and closer to Dmitri. Lev merely scooted his way around the cot and closer to the girl.

"Mm," he mumbled aloud as he examined her. At first, he observed her from a distance; eventually he cupped her chin and moved her head from side to side. "What do you think, sweetheart?"

The question was directed to his wife, who stayed behind Dmitri. "Whatever pleases you, dear," she obediently answered. That was why Dmitri disliked the aristocracy so much. The wives were silent and obedient to their husbands' disgusting and immoral behavior. Fighting for them wasn't his original plan, but he didn't want to end up like his father – a fat, repulsive pig of a man.

"I can't tell," he said. His hands ripped off the wool blanket and discarded it. "We need to get a better view of you. Huh?" The blood on her dress caught his eye. "What's this?" he asked as he began to examine her dress closer. He even lifted her dress up to see if she was injured. Undisturbed, she remained perfectly still; until his cold hand brushed against her inner thigh. She recoiled from the sudden touch. "Relax, relax. I'm just doing an inspection," he laughed. He straightened himself up. "I can't let a pretty little thing like you go to waste. But first we should get you checked out by a doctor."

"I'm fine," she assured him.

"I didn't mean for injuries," he wiggled his finger at her. "You see, Lev has come here to take you away from this hellhole, but he needs to make sure your fit to use."

She didn't appreciate the way he spoke to her. She wasn't five years old and she wasn't ignorant. Her eyes traveled back towards the shop, where the boy was getting a piece of bread from one of the soldiers as the medic finished wrapping his wound.

Lev noticed this and said, "Are you worried about him? How about this: You come with me, and that boy of yours will be sent to the best boarding school in Eurasia."

Her eyes lit up. "Really?" she asked. Maybe Lev wasn't such a bad guy after all.

"Absolutely," he assured her. "I'm a Fedorov. If I want to send your boy to boarding school, I can do it."

Fedorov, she repeated the name in her head. It offered her reassurance; if he was related to Antanas, she would trust him. Without a word she nodded at him and his ecstatic face showed that he understood her acceptance. Snapping his fingers, he ushered over an aide. The man escorted Sonya to the helicopter.

"Mr. Fedorov, with all due respect, human trafficking is illegal," Milano warned.

"Who said anything about that?" questioned Lev. "All I did was say I was going to send her boy to school, right? I didn't actually pay for her. Besides," he leaned in towards Milano and quietly ordered, "Find a use for him. Stick him in a labor camp, use him for target practice for the recruits, I don't care. He's just the son of w***e – he's worth nothing to me."

Dmitri and the medic watched as Milano went to fetch the boy, while Lev and his wife made their way towards his helicopter. When they were all out of ear shot, the medic patted Dmitri's missing ear and said, "All finished, pal."

"Ow!" Dmitri whined. "That hurts you know."

Olsen laughed loudly and handed Dmitri a towel to clean off his bloody face and neck. "I love you, Sinclair, really. I'd bet a day's worth of bread you never touched that woman," he said.

"Ah, but I did."

"You didn't finish."

"Never started," Dmitri corrected. "She almost fell so I caught her, that's all."

"That's just like you," the medic shrugged. "If only the rest of the greenhorns were more like good ol' Dmitri Sinclair."

Dmitri frowned. "Come on, Olsen, you know most of the guys out there are pretty straight," he said.

Several miles away Rex and his gang stopped to recuperate after the attack. They drove for about ten minutes after destroying the enemy vehicles. Unfortunately for Antanas, that meant being seated next to a man with half of his head missing. Armor piercing bullets had hit the IFV he was riding in and struck the man next to him in the head. Shrapnel – ripped from the IFV by the bullets – had been flung about the compartment and injured several of the men, Antanas included. The pain was nothing compared the disgust he felt upon having brain matter splattered across his face.

After vomiting for several minutes straight, Antanas was relieved when he was removed from the IFV. Most of his injuries were minor. The only notable one was the top of his left thigh, where a large chunk of shrapnel cut it fairly deep. While it was painful, it wasn't particularly life threatening so long as they stopped the bleeding. One soldier below gave him a boost up, while two soldiers carefully lifted him out of the IFV and eased him down to two more. Once the tradeoff was complete he was rested on a layer of blankets on the icy ground.

The entire time he screamed, "Can't you be any more careful?! That hurts! Ow! Ow!"

"We need anesthetic," Lena ordered.

"Sorry, ma'am," one soldier said. "We can't waste it. There are men who have more severe injuries, and we won't be able to resupply the rest of the journey."

She looked down at Antanas. His otherwise perfect face was marred with a fresh cut. She wiped the blood way from the wound to get a better look at it; it was small compared to his leg. Their eyes met for a brief moment and his widened once he registered the apologetic look she was giving him. Her hands went into the first aid kit and produced a needle and fishing wire.

"No!" he screamed. He kicked towards her and tried to move away, only to be grabbed by Antoine. Again, she passed him a look of apology. "f**k you, lady!" he yelled at her. A louder, more graphic string of curses exited his mouth when she began to actually sew up the wound. Each poke was felt; every bit of the thin line as it slithered in his skin was felt.

Petras was watching the scene with mild interest until one soldier motioned towards him and said, "You. I need your help." Petras went to help, assuming it was going to be basic first aid. Instead, the man pointed into the IFV. "See if you can be of use down there."

Petras poked his head down the entrance and was immediately overtaken by the smell; a weird combination of metal, sweat, blood, and vomit seeped into his nostrils. He whirled around and purged his own breakfast. His senses became completely blocked. He moved away from the entrance as he wiped away the puke from his face and said, "No, dear God, no. I'm not going in there. For Christ's sake!"

Shelton was away from the chaos, rested near the jeep. He watched as Antanas thrashed and cursed while his leg was tended to; he gazed in worry at Petras vomiting and screaming about the contents of the IFV. War was exciting, but the aftereffects were a bit of a nuisance. Not only was the ruckus bothering him, but despite the lack of heat he sweated quite a bit out of excitement and fear. Now his body felt frozen. Especially his brown hair, which was so stiff it wouldn't even move. All he could think about was a shower, a yummy meal, and a warm bed. Add a girl to the mix and he would consider the day a success.

Movement beside him caused his head to turn. Andrei perched himself on the jeep's hood. "It's been a long time since I've fired a gun," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Amazing I could still hit a target." His large hand landed onto Shelton's head and he ruffed up his stiff hair. "I would say nice job, but I don't want to nurture you into liking war. I'm glad my son's step father never actually fought in battle. I don't think I could live with myself knowing he kills for a living."

Shelton swatted Andrei's hand away and said, "He can't be that old!"

"Let's see… it's almost November, so he should be seventeen now," Andrei said.

"Wow!" Shelton cried. "You really are an old man!"

"You two!" Rex shouted. "Get your asses over here! Stay away from the open and keep near the vehicles! Marc! Move the jeep over here! Last thing I need is for the enemy to fly overhead and spot a bunch of idiots playing around in the snow. Move it!"

Andrei managed to get a hard hit against Shelton's head as they trotted towards the IFVs. He warned, "Just realize that as pretty as an exploding vehicle is, somebody, somewhere, lost somebody in a horrific way."

He wanted to retort, "We already lost a lot of people in rather horrific ways." But he didn't feel the need to justify himself to Andrei. Besides, surviving the rest of the trip was more important than philosophy.