war -short story based on ukraine war situation

War

 

Our hands are in the blood of our brothers!

We walked along enemy trenches. Me and my brother in arms - Artyom. The sky hung low and grey. The fog spread across the ground in wisps. It seemed that it was not fog at all, but smoke rising from artillery bombing.

The battlefield was no longer a place of war, but a graveyard. Smoke clung to the earth like a shroud, and the silence was broken only by crows tearing at flesh. The traces of violence were fresh, still warm, as if the ground itself remembered. It seemed that there was not a single living soul in the area, only crows methodically gnawing the flesh of the dead soldiers. The sight was heavy: bodies lay everywhere: some with their faces on the ground, some on their backs, looking with empty eyes into the fog - if they even had eyes.

It was impossible to tell from the shape whether they were our own or someone else's. Dirt and blood erased differences. It was a field where there were no sides or winners.

The smell was heavy - cadaverous. It ate into our throats so much that over time we stopped noticing it.

Exhausted and tired, completely empty, like the magazines of our machine guns, we walked in search of provisions, ammunition, weapons and cigarettes. Mostly cigarettes. The radios didn't work. There was no connection with the outside world.

After much wandering, we came across an enemy dugout.

He was whole. There was light leaking from inside - and it was alarming. Gathering all our courage and despair, we decided to look inside. Inside, an unexpected surprise awaited us, not in the form of an ambush or a tripwire - on the contrary: there was no one inside, it was completely filled with provisions - food, booze and cigarettes. Even beds where you could rest and catch your breath.

We put down our machine guns, took off our helmets and, for the first time in a long time, allowed ourselves to relax. Cans of stew, canned food, beans - we filled our bellies silently and greedily. We haven't eaten so much in a very long time.

Having had our fill, we decided to fully enjoy the meal and lit a cigarette. These were the best minutes in a long time. After days of hardship, artillery hail and heavy assault, we received our reward - a few minutes of bliss for surviving.

“Fuck...” I exhaled, taking a drag. “I’ve already forgotten what it’s like to eat without running.”

“Remember,” Artyom grinned. - Suddenly the last time.

I chuckled and was silent.

• Do you think we'll get out?

He shrugged.

• Today - yes. And then... It's a matter of chance.

“The main thing is that not now,” I answered and put out the cigarette. - Now I’d like to play a little.

The food and silence dragged us into a light slumber. We allowed ourselves to relax and fell asleep in this hell surrounding us. I even had a dream. Home. Mother. A feeling of longing for everything that surrounded me before. I knew that I would never return there. This was the life of that guy before the war - but not me now. All this is no longer there.

The dream began to crumble from other people's voices. Sounds outside. I woke up and saw that Artyom had also woken up. We silently jumped out of bed and walked up to the passage. Someone was approaching the dugout. From the language they spoke, it was clear that they were Russian. The two of us tensed. I glanced at the machine guns in the corner of the room, but immediately pushed this thought out of my head: there were still no cartridges. A feeling of fear washed over me like a wave. I could already imagine how my brains would decorate the wall of this cosy dugout. But my fantasies were interrupted by the sound of the shutter jamming. We listened to their conversation. “Yes, a fucking mouth...” came a voice. - It’s sticking again.

“Throw him to hell,” answered the second one. - Still no bullets.

This was our chance for salvation.

• Quiet. Do you see the light? - said a voice from outside.

• Do you think someone is alive?

• Who knows...

Armed with blankets from the beds to cover them from head to toe, we waited for them to approach the entrance. Holding my breath, I listened to the footsteps, which became louder and louder until they died down at the threshold.

• Is there anyone here? - asked the voice.

At that very second we attacked them. In one movement, they knocked them down and fell on top with all their weight, and began to fiercely beat them with their fists. Adrenaline was raging wildly. The brain turned off. I stopped being human. I became an animal.

Feeling resistance, I tried with my whole body to keep it under me. His hands slid over my face trying to snatch at least something: mouth, nose, eyes. Save yourself at any cost.

In this commotion, my gaze slid to the stone lying nearby. The hands reached out on their own and a second later the first blows with a stone followed. Artyom did the same.

The resistance beneath me quickly disappeared, but I didn't stop.

The blanket turned red where the head should have been. A helmet rolled out from under him - completely covered in blood. I heard a crunch. It was a skull.

I stopped only when, exhausted, with burning pain in my muscles, I could not lift the stone. The entire fabric was completely soaked in blood - from bottom to top. Looking up, I noticed that it was already starting to get dark. Artyom was not nearby.

Having risen, I noticed with horror the hand of the poor guy I had been working on for a long half hour. More precisely, the sleeve - it had a patch of an allied battalion on it.

Hearing footsteps behind me, I turned around and said with a trembling voice

“This can’t be…” I whispered. - This... this is not ours.

He was silent for a few seconds, then exhaled.

• Maybe. We made a mistake. In the panic, they didn’t figure out who was who.

With these words, he walked up to the bloody blanket and threw it away, revealing to me a terrible picture of a mutilated body. Where the head had once been, there was now a pool of blood, brains, crushed bones and scraps of skin and hair. Artem was tougher than me. He began methodically searching the corpse.

“But…” my voice broke. — They spoke Russian.

“Well, so do we,” he answered quietly.

Seeing that he had thrown the machine gun over his shoulder and was about to leave, I asked

• Are we just going to leave? Maybe we should bury them?..

He shook his head.

• Earth is stone. By morning my fingers will fall off.

• But you can’t do that...

“In war, anything is possible,” he snapped. - Went. Until they themselves lay down next to each other.

Following his example, I searched the body. Supplies. Cigarettes. Telephone. The phone attracted my attention most of all, since it was working and without a password.

“It’s time to go,” I heard Artyom’s voice.

Having taken my things from the dugout, I looked at the body for the last time and thought: did I really do this to a person? I turned away and we went on our way. By late evening we were already in camp. It was possible to exhale.

After having dinner with the guys by the warm stove, I went out to smoke alone in the fresh air. The sky has cleared. The stars were big and bright. Looking at them, thoughts began to come to me. Memories of today's events. I remembered the phone found on the soldier I killed. Unblocked. The blue light of the screen blinded me for a moment and illuminated the steam emanating from my breath. It was freezing.

My attention was immediately drawn to the red blood stains left by the former owner on the glass, not without my help. A terrible picture from my memories surfaced before my eyes. I tried to throw it away and concentrate on the phone. The first thing I saw was my browser search history: “when the war ends.” He just wanted it all to end. I wanted to go home, like the rest of us.

I wondered what was in the gallery, because that’s where all our memories are. His whole life was revealed to me: his photographs - he was a very young guy, about twenty to twenty-five. Video with a girl. Apparently he loves her very much. Loved... Family photos. Mothers. For a moment I put the phone down and imagined her finding out what had been done to her son. What did I do to her son? He sees and cannot recognize. Will she believe it's him? Her son. I wouldn't want my mom to go through that. A lump rose in my throat. Tears came to my eyes. For a moment I forgot.

The phone in my hand made itself known. A message arrived:

Favourite: “Hello. Are you okay?

I squeezed the cigarette until my fingers hurt.

“No,” he whispered into the void. - Not anymore. I locked my phone and threw it into the darkness with all my might, trying to escape responsibility for someone else's life.

The tears came on their own. I made sure that there was no one nearby and gave in.

The first snowflakes touched my cheek. And I was already lighting a new cigarette, hoping that there would be a snowstorm at night and it would sweep away all my sins.

I looked at the stars, trying to get lost in the cold depths of space and forget today.