Pyrrhic Victory

1. Where there’s smoke…

Not all the tears streaming from Nikola’s eyes were from the acrid smoke filling the room. Tinny coughs echoed from close by, adding to the ringing in his ears, giving a tiny sense of comfort that he wasn’t the only one alive. Though even that faded rapidly as something warm and sticky seeped into his left eye. He gingerly wiped the back of his sooty hand over it, horror creeping up his chest as it came away crimson. Right eye staring, left eye blinking spasmodically, anyone might have guessed he was a mad scientist on the brink of a life-changing discovery. Only, it was his life on the brink. Of going crazy. At the discovery of his blood outside his body.

“Argh!” Nikola shrieked as a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“Niki,” a hoarse voice joined the hand. “You okay?”

Nikola turned, looking for who would ask such a dumb question after their shelter was just hit by a bomb. Or was it a missile? The blue eyes looked familiar, but the soot-smeared face, rivulets of red gently meandering down, and the bits of glass almost prettily peppering it, blocked all recognition. He dumbly blinked at the harlequin-makeup-gone-wrong face, not sure whether to laugh or run away screaming.

“Niki,” a female voice lilted from between the cracked lips. “Are you okay?” Only when the lips widened in a reassuring smile, did he recognize Ruslana’s pearl white perfect teeth with the alluring gap between the top incisors.

“Da,” the word barely audible over the din of his thudding heart. “You said we’d be safe in this shelter.”

Frantically he scanned the room, taking in the devastation, the shattered glass and splinters strewn everywhere, the small fires adding to the heat and smoke. He stared at Ores laying close to the door, a red halo spreading slowly around his head.

“This was not supposed to happen,” he gaped at the massive hole in the wall. “You promised we’d be safe!” His voice shrill.

Ruslana placed her hands on his shoulders gently. “Nikola, look at me my friend. We are safe. A bit shook up, but alive.” Her blue eyes bored into him, forcing him to focus, shifting her head sideways to block his view. “That’s it. Look at me. Look at me!” She squeezed slightly harder. “We are safe Nikola. But we have to get out. The Russians are close. It’s not safe here anymore.”

“Yes. Da. True.” echoed several voices from around the room. Some moved intrepidly towards the hole in the wall whilst others stepped gingerly over debris to get to the door.

“I see some over by the fountain in the park,” growled a man in camouflage hunkering down, using the shattered wall as cover. The AK47 gripped firmly in both hands was aimed at the Russians, but he knew better than to try at such a range. “They couldn’t have used an RPG. Blast was too small. Must be a tank somewhere.” He carefully scanned for the distinctive silhouette of a T72.

“Krystiyan, can we go out that way?” An old woman asked from where she sat cradling her granddaughter, oblivious to the dust that coated them in a funereal layer of bone white.

“No babuna,” giving her and little Nastasiya a wan smile in reassurance. “There is no cover out this way.” He nodded at the park. “They are coming, about thirteen of them. We gotta go.”

Nikola shot to his feet like a grenade exploded under him, knocking Ruslana onto her bum, and dashed to the door. “Get out of my way. You heard him. They are coming! Run!” Fear giving him strength and speed belying his small frame. He pushed Big Borysko to the ground and was out the door before anyone could stop him. His echoing footsteps receded down the long passageway.

Krystiyan extended a hand to Ruslana, helping her up. As she stood she turned and made to move toward the door. Krystiyan grabbed her arm and pulled close to her, speaking softly only for her ears. “Let him go, Ruslana. His fear is a Molotov Cocktail waiting to ignite. One spark and he drenches all of us in that fear. And you know once a Molotow hits something it doesn’t stop burning.”

She stared coolly up into his grey eyes. “He is my friend. He is scared. We all are.”

“Scared? Yes,” he nodded solemnly, “but we do not run away. Only cowards run. This is our country. We Ukrainians fight for our land.” His other hand waved the assault rifle vaguely at the fountain. “Our freedom!”

He nodded to the door, “if your friend runs, then he is no man. He is no Ukrainian. We are better off without him.”

Ruslana did not flinch under his harsh glare. “Not all of us have combat training like you, Krystiyan. He did not have a gun in his hand until two hours ago. Now you are so quick to judge him? Do you know what his job was before this madness? A tailor. Suits and dresses were his creations, things of beauty.” Sadness creased her face, yet she bit back the sudden sting that flared from the glass shards embedded in her face.

Slowly, purposefully, she prized his fingers from her arm. “He is Ukrainian. Scared. Terrified. But still a Ukrainian. He needs me.” She took three steps to the door before she stopped and turned to Krystiyan. “Lead the rest to ‘Kharkova Cafe’ two streets east. I know Vasyklo has a group there, and they have some ammunition. We will meet you there.” With that she turned and disappeared down the passageway in search of her friend.

Krystiyan gave short, sharp orders to the survivors and led the other eight down the passageway in the opposite direction. He paused only briefly so mutter a prayer for poor Orest, crushed by fallen masonry, then crept carefully to the building entrance after casting a quick glance back at the last of the dozen shelled shocked survivors trailing him.

“Damn!” he cursed under his breathe, “Only two guns between us.” We better not meet any Russian patrol before we got to the cafe, or we’re toast. He thought as he peeked through the cracked glass window in the entrance door.

“Gather round,” he gestured. “Once we hit the road, stay low and close to me until we get to ‘Kharkova’s’, okay?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes as he look everyone in their face. He drew in a deep breathe and let it out slowly. “Let’s go.”

From a drone’s-eye view the dusty nine made for a strange, drunken, jerky snake slithering from alcove to doorway to any large obscuring piece of rubble.

Krystiyan crept up to the corner of a ruined apartment block overlooking the park and stopped. “Right. We just need to go down this road, take a left and then down another block and we’re there. Come on. We can do this.”

“Hey,” the old grandma croaked, “where are the soldiers that were in the park?” She pointed her bony hand at the trees.

Krystiyan scanned the splintered trees and shattered statues, brow knitting worryingly. “They must have gone into the building. Through the hole they made. Good thing we left when we did, hey?” But the sight tremor in his voice belied his bravado. “Now, let’s go. Before they find us.”

He hoisted his assault rifle, nodded grimly at the others and stepped around the corner. He hadn’t taken a full step before the butt of an AK74 cracked against his temple, flooring him. Shouts and gun barrels assaulted the stunned survivors as a squad of soviets quickly surrounded them. The stunned survivor holding the last AK47 didn’t get a chance to raise it before he was grabbed and beaten to the ground.

“You are armed and in direct conflict with the liberating army of the illustrious Russian Union.” A burly soldier addressed them as they were searched and lined against the building. “You are found guilty of being Nazis, bearing illegal weapons, and endangering the lives of noble Russians.” He spat on Krystiyan and kicked him savagely in the ribs.

“You are sentenced to death.” He turned curtly to his sergeant. “Signal the tank to come forward. We smoked the scum from their bolthole.”

“Tak, kapitan,” the sergeant snapped a salute.

“You men,” he barked. “Line up and get ready to execute these rats on my command.”

The squad shuffled into line and held their AK74s at the ready.

“But kapitan,” a pasty-faced blonde, not much older than nineteen, spoke out, “there is a babushka and little girl. And none are armed. If this is only an exercise, why are we shooting civilians?” He knew he’d said too much when the kapitan turned his cold eyes on him, drew his pistol and pointed it at his head.

“You question my orders one more time boy, and you go home. In a box. Ty ponyal?”

“Da kapitan!” The soldier shouted and gulped down his fear and relief.

The kapitan kept the pistol leveled at the soldier’s a few seconds longer before holstering it. He faced the dust covered survivors by the apartment block wall, two holding up Krystiyan, the little girl sobbing with her face buried in her babuna’s skirt. All standing straight and proud.

“Ready!” The kapitan’s voice cut through the sobbing.

“Ukraine Free!” Babuna spoke out loud and clear.

“Aim!” Annoyance soured the kapitan’s face.

“Ukraine Forever!” Krystiyan screamed as loud as he could.

The kapitan’s face darkened in anger. He opened his mouth to silence the scum rats that Ukrainians are…

2 … there’s fire!

Tears blurred Nikola’s vision as he stumbled blindly down the passageway. He caromed drunkenly off the walls, frantically searching for an exit. Any exit! He could not breathe, iron bands of pure fear constricting his lungs. I must get out. I’m gonna die! It felt like his head would explode.

And then he was falling. Falling through where the back door used to be. Falling among the bricks and concrete scattered around the courtyard like some kid’s forgotten toy blocks. No cry came from his parched lips when the sharp stones dug into his shins and arms, lacerating his hands. The sudden impact shocked his lungs back into action. He drew in a huge lungful of the smokey air. Panic surged once more in his heaving chest. Nikola tried to focus on his shaking hands, but a black haze descended over his eyes.

Whimpers mewled from his twisted mouth as uncontrollable chills shook him, his body curling into a fetus. He felt no pain from the many cuts seeping blood. He felt no shame as his bladder and bowels emptied. For long minutes he felt absolutely nothing. He almost did not feel the hand gently shaking him.

“Niki,” Ruslana’s warm voice eased past his dulled senses. “Hey, it’s me. It’s okay now. I’m here.”

Her face swam into focus as his tears slowed to a trickled, then finally stopped. “Ruslana?” His dry throat rasped her name incredulously.

“Come my friend,” she slipped her hands under his armpits and eased him up, ignoring the odor rising with him. “We need to get to ‘Kharkova’s Cafe.’”

Nikola blinked at her in incomprehension. He then looked around at the destruction, seeing it for the first time. “What?” His head shook in denial as he registered more of the scale of the conflict that was happening around him.

Ruslana braced his right arm in both of hers and walked him out of the courtyard. “We need to go. There is help close by. I promise you, I will stay close by you all the time now.” She gave him a warm, reassuring smile, hiding the jolt of pain shooting across her face.

They staggered onto the street, deserted except for a crushed tricycle. Fresh clouds of smoke billowed from the bakery to their left.

“We have to go to the right, where Krystiyan took the others,” she gestured with her head.

A deep growl built from behind them. Out of the smoke stalked the biggest tank Nikola had ever seen. He froze up as the behemoth bore down on them. Just as he thought they’d be squashed like bugs it rumbled to a halt scant feet from them.

A hatch on the turret popped open and a head peered over the edge, scanning them for any weapons. Seeing none, he rose to waist height and banged the turret thrice.

“It’s okay boys. Only some shit pants and a nice piece of ass - if you cover her bloody face first.” He laughed at his joke. He climbed down and slung his AK74 from a shoulder, but kept the short muzzle pointed at them.

Two more hatches creaked open and young, grimy faces peered at them in disgust and lust. “Pity old Dmitry got himself shot up. He would’ve enjoyed making her scream his name.” All three turned to the rolled tarp on the rear of the tank and gave it a curt nod.

“One of you stay with the tank,” the tanker who showed his head first called to the others. “In case ‘Kapitan’ calls in for support.”

“Hell no!” they both shouted in unison. “We ain’t missing out on some side action while you have first dibs.” They both hopped down and joined him in front of the tank.

When he aimed the assault rifle at Nikola’, he froze and wet himself again. Tears streamed anew from wide eyes, snot bubbling as he mumbled incomprehensibly and started to shake uncontrollably.

Gales of laughter echoed off the walls. “He’s not worth the bullet, Aleksiy. Leave him. He’s useless,” The driver winked at Ruslana. “Let’s not waste time. Hello, cutie.” He grabbed Ruslana round the waist and started dragging her back to the courtyard.

She struggled so fiercely that it took the other two to help carry her. When she kicked one in the face, it brought more laughter from the one holding her arms. Not so funny for the face guy, who spat out blood and punched her hard in the stomach. Ruslana doubled over as air whooshed from her lungs. She fought to get oxygen in her lungs, helpless now to stop the soldiers from dragging her to the “privacy” of the courtyard. Only when one started ripping at her blouse did she find her voice and shouted as loud as she could. She kept shouting ‘No!’ even as they smacked and kicked her and tore at her clothes.

“No!” Ruslana’s voice pierced the barriers in Nikola mind. “No!” Her voice called out to him. “No!”

She needs me. She needs my help. His mind slowly registered her cries for help. My friend needs me.

He steadied himself and looked for Ruslana. “No!” Her voice reached for him from the courtyard. Nikola clenched his fists as a firm resolve pumped through his body, warmth spreading to his fingers and toes. He bent and picked up a piece of a wood from a window frame. Resolutely he ran to Ruslana, her plea spurring him faster. He came upon them bent over her like wolves at a fresh kill. They didn’t hear him. Didn’t see him. Until it was too late. Until the makeshift weapon came crashing down.

“Niki,” Ruslana’s warm voice broke through the red mist of his hate and anger unleashed. Blinking in surprise, he looked at the piece of wood in his hand and the comatose soldiers at his feet.

“Niki,” Sobs wracked her as she flung her arms around him.

They stood there, each with arms wrapped tightly around the other, both holding the other up. Ruslana pulled back and held Nikola at arms length. “You saved me, Niki,” she smiled. “You saved me.”

Just then static sounded from the tank, followed by incoherent Russian. They both looked at the tank, at each other and blinked. Ruslana picked up the AK74 and ran to the tank.

“What’s he saying?” Nikola asked as Ruslana scrambled into the turret. He found himself looking into the driver’s section with all its buttons, switches and levers. Not so much different from the tractor on grandpa’s farm, he thought, pleased that he had climbed onto the tank without fear or indecision.

“It sounds like they have Krystiyan and the others. On the other side of the park. Do you know how to handle one of these?”

“It’s a caterpillar track, like my grandpa’s tractor,” he yelled back. “Yes!”

“Then move! They going to shoot them!”

Nikola hopped in, gunned the engine and engaged both tracks. The tank shot forward, rumbling down the street, smashing everything in its path. For a few seconds he thought he saw the soldiers and the Ukrainians, but lost them as more smoke obscured the road. He didn’t slow, hoping that he was driving in the right direction.

The T72 burst from the dense smoke with a defiant roar and bore down on the soldiers aiming their guns at the survivors. They scattered, throwing themselves out of the way. The kapitan only stared at the tank like a deer caught in headlights, not believing his eyes as the 45 ton monster slammed into him, sending him flying lifeless into the building wall. Nikola pressed the brakes and pulled the levers to neutral.

I did it. I saved the others. He smiled and decided he liked this new giddy feeling.

He gripped the rim of the driver’s copula, ready to hoist himself out, already thinking of a comment for Krystiyan. His smile widened as he heard shouts of “Ukraine!” and “Freedom!” coming from down the road.

A faint whistling sound made him look up just as he was about to exit the tank. A Molotov Cocktail exploded against the driver’s seat, wrapping Nikola in its burning embrace.

“Niki!” was the last sound he heard, before blinding pain engulfed him.

Not all the tears streaming from Nikola’s eyes were from the acrid smoke.