Soul Taker

by John Garforth

  To his friends, he was one of the best, someone that you could rely on, he would always give a helping hand, nothing was too much. To his family he was a wastrel, a womaniser and a nasty, sadistic bully who would drink the rent money, then hide himself away when the collector came. He would sit by the fire, smoking his pipe and watch Tanya, Nik’s mother, polish his boots, make his meals and bring him a drink and any argument or complaint was settled with a fist.

  Two years after Nik was born, he was followed by his sister, Olga, the two-year-old Nik constantly struggled with her name and in the end called her Olly from birth and somehow the name stuck. His father doted on his sister to the exclusion of Nik, shunning and ignoring the boy at every opportunity. Life was hard, both children were raised in modest poverty, more fortunate than some, they didn’t starve, but there was never quite enough food to go around. The badly maintained home that they rented was owned by and lay in shadow of the Kapotnya oil refinery, the biggest employer in one of the poorest regions of Moscow.

  Although his wife had mistakenly loved her husband when they had married and was totally innocent of any wrong doing, he had become increasingly bitter, convincing himself that the boy she’d given birth to was a bastard and not his son. Throughout his childhood, the identity of Nik’s biological father sparked many bitter rows, consumed with insane, unfounded jealousy his father would lash out at anyone that was in the room. Often it was Nik who was on the receiving end, until, as usual, his mother leapt to his defence and ended up, beaten, bruised and bloodied for her trouble.

  He grew into his teenage years in a cold, loveless home, amidst a sour, frosty atmosphere where prickly silences had become the norm. Along with his mother, he loved his sister dearly, they were close and she was the only one he would open to, they both slept in the same room, with a privacy blanket nailed to the ceiling and hanging between them, to Nik it had always been symbolic of his dysfunctional family.

  Much to his sister’s angst, he began to seek solace with the gangs that ruled the streets in his neighbourhood. They were mean streets and Nik was handy with his fists, he’d had to learn to fight as soon as he could walk, it seemed a natural progression to start working the streets, dodging the police, running wild, skipping school and gaining ‘respect’ by acting the heavy in various rackets. Nik relished the one positive thing that came out of his life of crime, it forever changed his father’s perception of him, he graduated from punch bag to object of fear.

  At the beginning of autumn, the police chief in the Kapotnya region had just left the house of his new Mistress and was being driven to work, when he died in a hail of bullets. The hit had been organised by one of the local drug Barons who had bribed the chief to keep his brother out of jail, but when his sibling was sent down for fifteen years, the Gangster had felt that he wasn’t really getting value for money.

  The replacement head of department was a new broom and he drafted in more police and ordered a crackdown on the street crime, one cold October night, the police went out in force, rounding up as many of the juvenile gangs that they could find. Nik was one of those caught in the net, pulled off the streets and thrown into a cell for the night. His mother and sister had been notified the previous evening and when the morning came they were waiting at the Station desk, Nik was taken into an interview room and questioned, if he’d only have answered the routine questions with a simple yes or no, he could’ve gone home with his family.

  But he’d decided to show the police that the swaggering Nik Federov should be treated with respect, when that wasn’t forthcoming, he decided to tell them where they could stick their questions. The officers in charge of the proceedings weren’t bad people, but they were tired and wanted to go home, they’d been up all night and were not in the best of moods, so, just for fun, they beat him unconscious with their truncheons and then kicked the shit out of him for good luck. He ended up in the Hospital for two weeks, then he was wheelchaired to the courthouse and on to a young offender’s institution for twelve months.

  On the day of his release, his mother and his sister Olga, who was the only one that he listened to, confronted him and laid it on the line, telling him that he was on a slippery slope, Prison and a painful, violent death was all that he had to look forward to. This was his last chance and if he ignored them, turned his back and walked away, then he was on his own. Something in his sister’s tone convinced him, so, listening to their advice, he tried to join the army and with the help of a kind letter from a local magistrate he was eventually accepted. His induction and basic training were hell, marred by his in your face attitude, he projected himself as a bored know it all, with better things to do than piss about playing at soldiers. This attitude infuriated the regulars on the base and in the space of a week he was back in Hospital after another kicking.

  This was when he first came into contact with his nemesis and saviour all rolled into one, Sergeant Andrei Sokolov, a big, broad shouldered man, with a low forehead and small sunken eyes, thin lipped with a lantern jaw, the kind of man that you just don’t argue with. But, Sergeant Sokolov, scourge of the barracks, saw something in Nik that no one else did and he thought it might just be worth saving. So, he decided to take the boy under his wing, which turned out to be a nightmare for Nik, he drove the boy hard, almost to breaking point, he pushed him and dragged him, screaming and kicking, from morning ‘till night and then when Nik could hardly stand up, he made him do it all again.

  When he finally fell into bed, unconscious rather than just sleeping, Sergeant Sokolov would come in and drag him back out onto the parade ground, shake him awake and make him run ‘till morning. Wherever he was or wherever he hid, Sokolov was on his case, working him, screaming at him, slapping him. Until finally, on the day that he became a man, he held Nik in his arms, as he broke down and sobbed out all the black bitterness that filled his soul.

  From that day on Nik’s life changed, he buckled down and applied himself, he looked up to and admired Sokolov like the father he’d never had. Eventually, he moved on to officer training, but he never forgot the man who had made it possible and he kept in touch with cards and letters. He only got two letters back, Sargeant Sokolov was not a scholar, his letters were short and written in a childish hand, but they encouraged him and wished him well and hoped to see him soon. Then, one black day, he received a letter from the Sergeant’s Widow, telling him that Sokolov had died, the victim of a sniper’s bullet in Syria, amongst his belongings she’d found Nik’s letters in a cigar box tied with string and she knew that he would have wanted Nik to know what had happened.

  It took years and there was many a wobble along the way, but at twenty-six he was promoted to Captain in the Russian Army, which spoke volumes about his new-found attitude to hard work and dedication. His mother broke his heart by dying suddenly that year from an un-diagnosed brain aneurysm, a peaceful end, she went to sleep one night and just never woke up. So, looking back, Nik was pleased that she and his sister had come to his passing out ceremony, nobody else had bothered, but then, Nik didn’t really mind, Sergeant Sokolov was the only one that was really missing, Nik hoped he would have been proud.

  • • •

  When he was out on operations, Nik slept fully clothed, as they all did, but the cabin that they slept in was so cold that it felt like the skin on his face was burning, it was at least minus 20˚C outside, so he pulled on his balaclava as he slipped into his cold boots.

  “Private Vasilev,” he shouted, “get the engine started, let’s get some light and heat on in here. Sergeant Popov, check with the colonel, see if he’s feeling any better, Petrov, get some tea made, this could be a long night.”

  He lifted the phone from its cradle and was greeted by a recording, the young female voice that had been trapped on the message loop for years, had belonged to a struggling 20-year-old actress called Nadia, hard up and behind on her rent, she’d jumped at the chance of a voice over when her agent had telephoned her with the job. The words, that she’d spoken in
to a microphone on a warm August afternoon in Moscow, had lain dormant on a hard drive for many years. Nadia never did make it as an actress, in fact she never made it at anything, heroine took over her life and she died in squalor seven years after the recording. But today on the 12th April 2020, at the end of days, she was finally the star that she’d always wanted to be, with a captive audience that hung on her every word.

  “I repeat, this is not a drill, the current code is 3233.”

  Somewhere at the back of his mind, Nik had heard the great beast’s engines kicking in and the three bulkhead lights began to glow, flickering at first, then remaining steady. Condensation was still trickling down the grey metal walls, he rubbed the thick frost from a small window and looked out into the darkness, driven by a strengthening wind, snow billowed and danced around the shaft of light. The metal cabin stank of sweat and flatulence, he looked around at the tired faces of the men he was serving with, they looked as haggard as he did, their features thrown into stark relief by the harsh white lights.

  They were parked up, on the edge of a forest, in the middle of nowhere, halfway through a tough, three-week tour of duty, putting two of the large Topol mobile nuclear missile launchers through their paces. Each one of the two giant transporters carried an RS-24 Yars nuclear missile armed with multiple warheads, they were just two of the many Russian mobile response units, which by their very nature had to be ready to go at any time.

  “Any luck with the colonel, Popov?” Nik shouted hopefully, towards the front of the missile launcher.

  “Naw,” came the faint reply, “the bastards still pissed.”

  Nik sighed, then, shuffling sideways, he squeezed his way towards the front of the Launcher. Colonel Yegor Lebedev, was the commanding officer, he was also a sad alcoholic who’d been on a bender for the last week. He’d been off his face for days and was still snoring when Nik reached him, slumped unconscious, in the seat behind the driver and third in command, Sergeant Popov. Unzipping the Colonel’s Parka, Nik pushed his hand down through his open collar, searching for the key that he carried around his neck, a strong smell of stale urine told Nik that the man had wet himself again. Nik’s shook his head in dis-belief, making a mental note to find some clean trousers for his commanding officer as his hand closed around the thin chain draped around the man’s sagging chest.

  Amongst the crew it was common knowledge that the Colonel was a drunk, his whole life had come tumbling down about four months ago, when his wife had, without any warning, left him. That’s when he turned to the bottle, like many more before him, he thought that alcohol would take away the pain, when all it really took away was his dignity. From the very beginning of their relationship, his wife and he had decided that there would be no children, they went everywhere and did everything together, he was so devoted to her that there just wasn’t room in the relationship for children.

  Then, out of the blue, last Christmas, she’d left him, after fifteen years together, she moved in with another woman. The marriage breakup saddened his friends, but his wife’s lesbian relationship brought out the worst in the rest of the barracks, he became an overnight laughing stock. He hadn’t many real friends in the Regiment and a few weeks ago, over drinks, he’d poured his heart out to Nik, acknowledging that he realised that he was the laughing stock, but stressing that he didn’t care, it was nothing to him.

  “Like water of a Duck’s back,” he’d said.

  The thing that consumed him, that tore him apart, was the helpless, hopelessness of everything, the fact that he could never ever win her back. He was so much in love with her that he would gladly forgive any affair she might have had with anyone, but because his wife’s lover was another woman, he felt that this was one battle that he could never hope to win and that he had lost her forever.

  The loyal transporter team, were a tight lipped, decent bunch, they felt sorry for the Colonel and put up with his periods of ‘illness’, as long as Nik was around to keep the ship steady, they would cover for him.

  Nik gave the chain around the Colonels neck a sharp tug and it snapped against the man’s throat, the Colonel, who was still unconscious, began coughing, the phlegm in his throat ruttling as he retched, a thin line of mucous dribbled down his chin. Nik stumbled back to the computer console, his head banging from the hangover and his nerves strung out like piano wire, this was one time that he could have done with the Colonel taking charge.

  After two attempts, he managed to slide the small silver key into the red safe that was bolted to the wall, it clicked open. His shaking hand had trouble pulling the thin, pristine paperback book out of the small metal box, Nik had a bad habit of nail biting and his stubby finger ends found it difficult to get purchase on the shiny cover. In frustration, he scrunched and pulled, creasing the white cover that was emblazoned with the Russian Eagle, he licked his fingers and flicked through the pages quickly, looking for the heading reference 3233. He found it on the next to the last page, in capital letters beneath it were the words IMMEDIATE LAUNCH, followed by the destination code DH3LB63.

  CHAPTER 2

  The air was electric, he felt desperately inadequate, the blood was singing in his ears, he couldn’t breath and he was convinced that he was about to vomit, he knew he was having a panic attack and struggled to calm down. Everybody in the small cabin was looking at him, waiting for what was to come next, frightened at the enormity of what they might have to do, he wanted to tell them that they could stand down, relax and go back to bed, the top brass had fouled up again, it had all been a big mistake. But he couldn’t do that, he knew that their wives, girlfriends, children and themselves, plus many millions more were probably all about to die, before today was over. How many times had he been told, ‘It was his duty to do to others, what was being done to Mother Russia’, but now, the hopeless futility of it all pressed down upon him, threatening to crush him, he cleared his throat.

  “It’s a launch.” Was all he could say.

  The need to urinate had become urgent and he pushed his way down the launcher yet again and climbed out of the passenger door. The frigid wind took his breath away and the snow from the blizzard stung his face as he emptied his bladder and wept.

  After a while, he climbed back up the side of the launcher and opened the passenger door, slipping into the driver’s passenger seat.

  “Time to go Ivan,” he said, half-heartedly, “let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Come on then Captain,” said sergeant Popov, “what’s going on, is this it, or is it an exercise?

  “Dunno,” shrugged Nik, trying to be nonchalant, yet feeling sick with anxiety, deep down he was certain that this was it.

  “All that I know is that we’ve got to get down to our designated launch site. Jump through all the hoops, get the missile ready, type in the launch codes and then we see what happens,” he hesitated for a moment, he couldn’t lie to Popov, he’d known him too long, “but to be honest Ivan, yes, I’ve got this strange feeling that this is it, God help us all, but I’m almost sure that this is the end of everything.”

  Ivan was quiet for a moment, looking out through the windshield, lost in a very dark world of his own, then his eyes filled with tears and he turned to Nik.

  “If this really is it Nik, then when we’ve done our little bit for Armageddon, I’m leaving, I’ll get off here, so please, don’t try and stop me, we’ll all be dead in an hour or two anyway, so what does it matter? You know that I’ve got this girl in Krokhalevka don’t you?”

  Nik nodded sombrely.

  “You and I both know that there’s no way on earth that I could get to my wife and kids in Omsk, so, god forgive me, but I’m going to spend my last moments with Alice.”

  Nik shrugged, there was no more to be said, if the rockets flew it was the end of everything for everybody and it would be every man for himself, the thought left him feeling profoundly depressed. He picked up the radio phone and called Artur, the Sargent driving the other launcher that was parked fifty yards
to the left of them.

  “Are you ready for go Artur, we should be moving into the woods as I speak.”

  “moving now sir, by the way, is the colonel feeling any better?”

  Nik could see the other launcher’s headlights flash on as it lurched to the right and started moving into the trees.

  “Sorry Artur, the Colonel is still indisposed, I’ll get us underway then I’ll see if he’ll take any tea.”

  He nodded at Popov and they began to roll down the small hill on which the launcher stood, sliding sideways in the deepening snow. Ivan drove very slowly in the icy conditions, engaging the lowest four-wheel drive that he had, frightened of using the brake that could pivot the huge transporter around. Over compensating on the next bend made the back end of the launcher slip into an old stream bed, the slowly turning rear wheels vanished into the thick black mud. The launchers diesel engine bellowed as Ivan jammed his foot down, but it only dug the wheels in deeper. Nik, still feeling panicky and conscious that their launch window was passing, used the loudhailer to get everybody out into the bitter cold with a shovel in their hand.

  There were sheets of ribbed tracking, along with shovels, in the long metal box that was welded to the side of the launcher. As Ivan switched on the rear spotlights, Nik dropped down into the deep snow, feeling the extreme temperature biting his face, nobody spoke, fear, anxiety and the bitter cold stifled conversation. Conditions were dreadful, in just minutes, the men were covered in snow, the ribbed tracking was rammed in and the wheels spat it out within seconds, they dragged the tracking back to the mud hole and doubled it up, two sheets under each set of wheels. This time it worked, sergeant Popov managed to get some traction, and get the huge transporter back on the dirt track.