Fog descended and masked the day. The clouds were dark and there was a curtain of rain as if it was night. The waters were calm, compressed beneath the weight of a fleet that was pushing down on the sea where scores of ships, lined irregularly into an unnatural formation bent around the land and shoals. They appeared like a bundle and hunks of floating metal but each vessel was as deadly as fire on an arid day. Their turrets fired rapidly until their men grew tired and their barrels overheated, their flash doors pried open with shells being raised from their armories to the breech of guns in a matter of minutes. A constant barrage pounded the city that was though hidden behind the smoke and a veil of mist, every sailor could see the flames and turmoil that they and their comrades had wrought. Screams and wails of innocents came from within the settlement called Haven as they were dragged to the gates of purgatory by the arms of hell, yet despite the firestorm that has ensued, the fleet had not yet been called to halt. The ships expended whatever munitions they had for their joy in massacre and whatever the cost, even if the city had already been reduced to ash, they were certain that they had to eradicate all life. The rain could not cool the earth and storms of flames ravaged the skyline shrouded by plumes of bitter smoke.
On the outskirts of the fleet floated a frigate. Its older guns were slower and more measly in power compared to the battleships in the center but no matter how less severe the vessel appeared, her force of fire rocked herself when her shells were lit. Working at a moderate pace, her only gun that was capable of any distance loaded and fired a round every minute. The upper deck was crewed by only a handful of sailors who stood back and watched the spectacle unfold except for one whose eyes were laid on the mist, trying to ignore the brutality of their one-sided attack. He tried to drown out the noises of desperate voices crying out for help but he was woken each time by the shock of the turret fire.
Among the many chattering voices, standing easy, only one man could be heard over the gunfire. “Jes žutoyně žukudz kudzer valkau měmav křpa javěn zak kukula. (I wouldn’t wanna be in their shoes even if ya paid in gold.)” An officer leaned over the railing, watching the shells dive over the walls. “Arї, Artř, kjapěts tu ěsěštal war mě? (Say, Artur, why’d ya sign up with us?)” He suddenly asked with the blasts of the nearby guns merging with his coarse bellow.
A sailor stood behind him in the shadow of the tower, a tall figure for his age who had features which were not purely Rus. His black hair was often a source of suspicion but never had anyone go as far as to question his background, assuming that he was an easterner from their allies’ lands. After all, the Rus needed every able body they could recruit, and for his lowly position, no one would ever complain about his being there and only then did the officer bring it up out of boredom and a want for conversation.
“Jesav těv štrjadal wor peldvěš war pats vjard un jdzїval…paštyaštau pasaka… (My father served on a ship with a similar name and he survived…through many wars…)” The young sailor replied but he seemed unsure about his own story. “Jes domal tas ěgau labav vejksme. (I thought it’d bring me good luck.)” He gave a reason that even he could hardly believe.
From his chest pocket, the officer drew a packet of cigarette and clasped a smoke between his teeth. “War těsnїvěš, tas eral šjudavdaÿl štjašt jes dzjrdal. (I must admit, that’s the shittiest story I’ve ever heard.)” He held a lighter behind his hand and tried to light his cigarette but all there was were sparks and no ember.
Worriedly, the sailor’s eyes rose and glared at the officer who was unaware, struggling to light his smoke and working the flint wheel until his thumb grew tired and even then, he would not admit defeat. He shook the lighter around hoping that there was some fuel left and attempted again but it was to no avail. Finally, the officer simply gave up, thinking that it was a message from the heavens telling him to quit and as if it had no sentimental value, he sighed and tossed his lighter and smoke into the sea. Realizing he was too preoccupied and that he was not paying too much attention to his story, the sailor lowered his head and stood at ease.
Watching as his lighter sank beneath the currents, the officer shook his head, more concerned as to what could fill in the hole in his heart if not for the smoke of tobacco. “Bo, mě kudzav adzÿjrїgav ěmesla. (But, we all have our reasons.)” He righted himself when the shine of the silver case was swallowed by the gentle waves that lapped against the hull. “Jes žutoy jdzmayu, udzčauktně. (I won’t take the piss at yours, don’t ya worry.)” With a smirk, the Rus looked over his shoulder and assured his sailor.
The fleet continued their barrage and lit the sky with flashes of gunfire, reflecting off the metal skin of ships, including the bow of one vessel much smaller than the frigate emerging out of the dark veil of fog and smoke. She sailed without much noise like a ghost ship, gently gliding across the waves that visibly rocked her but the currents did not change her course. It was clear that she was sailing towards the frigate though the flag of the Rus was present, the signals which were strung around the vessel may have appeared authentic to the common eye, but to the officer’s veteran sight, he knew something was wrong about this ship. They had no lamps nor lights to communicate nor was there a crew on deck. Moreover, the shape of the ship was unlike anything the Rus had in their arsenal nor could something like this ironclad sloop be favored by the admiral of the fleet. It was a model that had not been used for over a century and as the body of the ancient machine came closer, his suspicion became greater.
Leaning over the rail, the officers squinted as he stared at it. “Kos ertis šjud…? (What in the name of shit is this…?)” Confused, he knew not what to do with this information.
Taking a pace forward, the sailor had noticed the appearance of the sloop too and realizing what it was, his eyes widened with hope and conviction as if his spirit had lit a fire under him. He approached the officer from behind and unsheathed his knife. His movement was agile and his feet quickened. The officer heard the ring of a blade behind him but before he could turn around, he felt a hand cover his mouth and cold steel plunging into his neck. The sailor reversed his grip and dragged his blade across his neck until it struck his spine and drained of life, the officer did not have a moment to think or comprehend that he was a traitor for he only cared about saving his own life. Clawing for air, blood spewed and seeped through the gaps of his assaulter’s fingers, but when the blade met bone, he knew his struggle was over. Gathering all his strength into his knife, the traitor tore through his spine and the officer’s body slacked. The light in his eyes disappeared and his muffled voice fell silent. Slowly, the sailor moved his hand away and ripped the knife out of the corpse before pushing him overboard for him to become one with his lighter.
Saved from being discovered, the sloop docked by the frigate in the bridge’s blind corner and soldiers began to stream out of the cabin. In a file, they climbed aboard but the sailor did not bother helping their ascent, flicking his knife dry of excess blood, he waited for his true comrades. One lancer held onto the railing and appeared over the deck, scouting the ship before he leapt on board. His landing was unheard under the turret fire with many others following him closely.
Upon seeing his face, the sailor stood back in relief, feeling the cold air that had been trapped in his lungs being repulsed by his body. “You really left it to the last second, huh?” Lev scolded, his facade of usual playfulness had eroded away.
However, Arber did not scowl at him like he usually did, knowing that he was the one who had suffered the most in silence. He kept his neutral frame and turned around to help another comrade up who took his hand and was brought aboard. Thanking Arber, the corporal found Lev standing alone in the shadow, before him, excited to see his friend again, but his expression turned from one of joy to one of guilt, remembering that he was the cause of his pain.
When the Danner came beside him, he held onto his shoulder, hoping that he could reassure him. “Sorry, Lev.” said Julien in a simple yet kind manner.
Not knowing how to react nor what to say, the Rus broke out a brief smile. “Yeah…” Lev muttered.5Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhaXKnOwG6Q
