chapter 4

Chapter Four

Saturday, the eighth of the year 1886. This was the first day I took part in a patrol. Before that, three patrols had passed without any problems. Today, a foot patrol was scheduled. We lined up, and the names of the 20 participants for this time were called. Boris, Raziel, and I were among them, along with 17 others I didn't know. The mission was led by Sergeant Major Makar Medon, with Corporal Samuel Meer as second in command. We got ready and received our weapons; I had been issued a folding-stock Kadynokov. We packed our supplies—just two magazines and 20 bullets. I put on a two-pocket ammunition vest that tied at the front, grabbed my backpack, and we prepared to set off after receiving the briefing for today's mission: a foot patrol near the Kiftar Hills, eight kilometers northeast of the camp.

I bid farewell to Nikolai and we set off. We walked through a barren landscape where there was nothing but sky and flat, swampy land. By noon, we had reached rocky terrain. Sergeant Major Makar thought it was a good spot to rest and have lunch. Some of us took shelter under large rocks. We pulled out our canned beans and started eating while four men kept watch over the area. I noticed Boris and Raziel talking as they leaned against a boulder. They caught me looking at them, so I averted my gaze, pretending to be engrossed in eating the bitter cold beans. Moments later, I sensed Raziel sitting beside me.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Terrible. I'm sweating bullets while eating cold beans."

He laughed and said, "Why don't you come and sit with us over there?"

"No thanks."

"You're so stubborn."

He waited until I was done and asked, "Are you finished?"

"Yes... Why?"

"Come with me." He grabbed my hand, pulled me up, and led me to where he was sitting with Boris.

"Sit down," he said.

"I don't want to."

"Come on, Boris won't bite."

Boris was scowling, turning his face away in annoyance. I sat down, Boris to my left.

Boris said, "Why'd you bring him? Let him sweat it out and fiddle with his gun."

"Enough, Boris," Raziel chided. I was irritated but remained silent, waiting for the order to move out again.

"Three volunteers," Boris suddenly said.

"Three?"

"Three volunteers died from heatstroke."

Raziel was lying on his back, stifling a smile, as if he knew something.

I didn't respond. Boris continued, "They were southerners, just like you."

I honestly didn't know what he meant—was it a compliment or an insult?

Finally, the order came to continue the march. We all got up, but I noticed Boris was the most careless and sluggish. Sure, we were all undertrained and out of shape, but despite his sturdy build, Boris showed a distinct lack of seriousness.

We headed west, circled around a small, rugged mountain, and took a paved road that passed by a security checkpoint at the start of the road leading to the valley. We greeted the guard, who sat in a small room. On the way up, there was a small outpost consisting of two rooms. It was a security point overlooking the entrance to the road leading to the village we were heading towards. Then we began climbing a steep hill, moving between connected hills that grew higher and steeper with each step. Everyone was sweating profusely, our weapons growing hot under the sun. I could hear the heavy breathing of many and the coughing of some smokers.

By now, everyone had overtaken me. Boris and Raziel were ahead of me when I tripped and fell. Boris noticed and began laughing mockingly. A thin man with a mustache saw me and helped me up, grabbing me by the arm. "You're a poor excuse for a soldier," he said, "laughing instead of helping your comrade?"

Boris retorted, "At least I don't look like I escaped a famine."

The older man ignored him, muttering under his breath. Raziel said, "Boris, isn't it time you grew up a little?"

Boris rolled his eyes, sighed, and kept walking. It seemed he didn't enjoy arguing with Raziel.

Raziel walked beside me as we climbed, our pace matching. I said, "It seems Boris doesn't like arguing with you."

Raziel wiped the sweat from his brow and replied, "Not exactly. He never respected me like he did others."

"What happened, then?"

"Well, keep what I'm about to say between us... Understood?"

"I promise," I said, my curiosity overcoming any hesitation.

"Alright. He used to be an eager young man, but I saved him from getting his head blown off by a sniper... He lost his nerve after one of his friends was killed in front of him, making him an easy target. You can see his right ear."

"A scar?"

"Exactly. I'm not sure if it's because I dragged him by the collar to cover or if the sniper was a bad shot—despite having killed four others."

I looked at him as he pointed to a spot on his forehead.

"Right here," he said.

"I see."

"But that was before Sukania conducted its sweeps and airstrikes, which reduced the rebels' activity... So my advice to you is: the moment you hear anything unusual, hit the ground and stay close to anything that can offer cover, even if it's just a tree."

"I understand. I'll do that."

By then, we had reached a flat summit about 150 meters high. It was two in the afternoon.

We sat down and were ordered to watch the area and the valley below, which had a road leading to what appeared to be a village.

Makar used his binoculars for half an hour, scanning the village, while the snipers watched every movement, every vehicle passing on the road below. We kept an eye on the surrounding hills. I won't lie—there was something contemplative about the sight of the hills around us, and my heart began to race. I found myself staring into the distance, lost in thought. Then Makar signaled to the communications boy, who carried a rectangular metal radio on his back like a backpack.

Makar handed him the headset and microphone and called out:

"This is Goat to base, Goat to base."

"I hear you," came the reply.

"We've reached the summit of Kiftar Hill and have detected no unusual activity. Awaiting orders."

As he awaited a response, the sound of jet engines began to roar in the distance, growing louder. Two fighter jets streaked across the sky at low altitude, carrying large bombs. Their deafening roar faded into the distance, leaving behind a trail of black smoke until they disappeared into the horizon.

Makar updated the base, "We detected two jets heading south."

Base responded, "Wait for them to pass, then return to camp... Any other movements?"

"No, sir."

"Alright, complete today's mission."

"Understood."

We began descending, passing the same checkpoint.

Raziel said, "I didn't know Sukania had 17-du fighters."

Boris replied, "What's that?"

"It's a ground-support fighter."

I asked, "How do you know that?"

"I once saw a Sukania Air Force display, and there was no mention of the 17-du."

The thin man chimed in, "How do you know? They build their own fighters."

Raziel stared at him for a moment, then turned away.

We returned around five in the afternoon, nearly exhausted. Our clothes were soaked with sweat. None of us southerners were used to this kind of heat. Our limbs felt numb, weak, and useless. But as soon as you lay your head down, all the exhaustion disappears.