***
As the dazed captain continued to stare out at the burning horizon, his headset blared with the voice from battalion command. They were receiving new marching orders—orders that he couldn’t believe. They were being sent south to Chelyabinsk. He passed the order on to the other vehicles and he looked down at his driver below. “Alright Kuzma, let’s head back to the main highway. The division is being sent to Chelyabinsk.”
“Chelyabinsk?” questioned the driver.
“Yes, Chelyabinsk.”
“Uh, who’s going to hold this area?” asked his gunner, Radimir. “We just can’t leave this place unsecured.”
“They didn’t say. Anyway, that’s for them to figure out. Our job here is done, so we need to get moving.” Kozlov himself had many questions about what was going on, but he knew that he didn’t have the time to discuss it with his crew. He flipped down his night vision, grabbed onto the turret mounted heavy machinegun, and aimed it out into the darkness.
“Sir…how do you explain those people coming back to life?” the frightened driver asked. “The ones we first ran into outside of the Antov.”
“What?” Kozlov asked as he tried to ignore his trooper’s question. In truth, he had wanted to avoid having such a conversation, but he knew that eventually they would have to talk about what they had experienced. He didn’t want to add any extra distractions to his crew and his unit, and he felt that if they didn’t discuss what they were thinking—keeping them sharp and focused instead—then they would be better off in the long run.
“I can’t really say that the dead are coming back to life.” Kozlov knew that he couldn’t allow his crew and his unit to become unraveled because of speculation and fear, so he was trying to choose his words carefully. “But something is happening…something beyond explanation.”
“That’s what Borya said back at division,” Kuzma explained. “He said that somehow the dead were returning to life and that they were killing everything in their path…that no one could explain it.”
“Look,” Kozlov said as he sighed, “it would be wise if you don’t spread those rumors to any of the other units. We don’t need to start a panic over a bunch of ghost stories. Now, just focus on your job and get those thoughts out of your head.” Kozlov peered down into the tank and pointed at the driver to make his point. “Now let’s get going.”
“Yes Captain,” Kuzma said.” He looked at Radimir in the dim red light of the tank interior. Fear was splayed over the man’s face.
The tanks and carriers slowly rumbled down a dirt track that weaved through the woods, connecting with one of the roads that linked Ozersk and Kyshtym. As Kozlov struggled to balance himself in his open hatch, three helicopters buzzed over the top of their formation. Through his night vision he could see their bright navigation lights and dark forms as they headed towards the burning town. Flying fast and low, the aircraft were out of his view within a matter of seconds. A few moments later, the sound of rocket fire could be heard, followed by the resonating thumps of explosions. The helicopters were firing into Ozersk.
As the captain contemplated the sudden order to withdraw from their position, his thoughts were broken by the loud and fear-filled voice of his driver. “Contact at our ten!”
Spinning around in the hatch, Kozlov looked to his left and began scanning for targets. His heart was racing and he was desperately searching through his night vision for any signs of movement when one of the carriers behind him began to fire at something off to his right. The captain immediately recognized that he had action on both sides of his column. More guns began to fire and the vehicles were illuminated by the bright flames that were leaping from the ends of their barrels.
Kozlov was able to catch sight of a group of people running full speed towards his tank. They were coming out into a clearing and he saw from their clothing that they were civilians. He aligned the sights of the turret mounted machine gun and opened up. The sudden and brilliant flash from the weapon flooded his night vision with a white light. When he let up off of the trigger, he could see several bodies scattered in front of his gun sights.
The survivors began to wave and scream at him. One chubby man in particular managed to make his way to the edge of the road, jumping up and down and flailing his arms frantically. A well placed burst from one of the carriers cut him in half. Kozlov could see his intestines as they exploded from out of his large belly.
As the captain fixed his sights on another group, he realized that they weren’t charging anymore. They were simply jumping up and down and they were whirling about. Some of them had actually turned and were retreating back into the woods. That’s when he saw one woman who was down on her bent knees, hands clasped together. It looked like she was begging.
Suddenly, it dawned on Kozlov what was taking place. Oh my God, these aren’t infected people! “Cease firing!” Kozlov screamed into his headset. They were murdering innocents! “Cease fire! These people aren’t infected! All units stop and turn on your lights!” He looked down at his driver and yelled at him to bring the tank to a halt. The guns immediately fell silent as all the vehicles came to a stop, kicking up dirt and grass into the air.
Kozlov unplugged the communication wire from his headset and frantically climbed out of his hatch, jumping down onto the rear deck. Through his night optics he could see some of the people taking refuge at the edge of the trees. He tried not to look at the bodies that were strewn over the clearing. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Don’t be afraid! Come out and we will take care of you!” He was trying to choke back his tears of guilt and shame as he called out into the darkness.
“Please don’t shoot anymore!” cried a voice from the tree line. “For God’s sake, we’re not sick! Please help us!”
Kozlov reached into the hatch and plugged himself back into the radio. “I want the infantry to dismount and bring the wounded and survivors back to the column. Now!”
“But sir,” questioned Kuzma, “won’t that expose the men?”
“We just slaughtered a bunch of helpless people. Would you have me leave them here? Besides, that’s the least we can do for them.”
The driver lowered his head, embarrassed. The captain climbed back down into the hatch and swung the machine gun around to cover the dismounting troops as they cautiously maneuvered away from the safety of their carriers. Moans and whimpering could be heard from all around. Unplugging himself again, Kozlov grabbed his rifle and sprung from his hatch, jumping down onto the hull. His heavy boots thudded on the steel of the tank.
A tall and lanky soldier was sprinting by the tank when Kozlov called down to him. “Sergeant Lebedev, we need to work as fast as we can. The longer we stay here, the more likely the infected will find us. He leapt down to the ground and unfolded the wire stock of his rifle.
“What about those who don’t look like they’re going to make it?” Lebedev asked.
“We’re not a surgical unit. If someone looks terminal, we leave them behind.” Kozlov couldn’t believe that he had just actually issued such an awful order, but he knew that he had to choose between the living and the dying. “Put the wounded and the elderly inside of the carriers. Everyone else rides on top, including us. Now hurry up and pass that on to the others.”
Lebedev trotted out towards the rest of the dismounted troops and relayed Kozlov’s orders. Several of the soldiers looked back at the captain with disbelief. With the spot lights crisscrossing on both sides of the column, Kozlov and several of his troops crept out to the edges of the illumination. They nervously aimed their weapons out into the darkness, not knowing what to expect. He was certain that his heart was about to burst from his chest as it pounded away with fear. He squinted his left eye as he strained to hear over the rumbling of the engines. Several of the civilians walked into the light and sheepishly approached Kozlov and his men. A few of them were dragging or carrying their mangled family members and friends.
“Please hurry,” the captain pleaded wit
h the traumatized civilians. “We don’t have much time.” Kozlov gingerly took one elderly woman by her arm and pointed her to the tanks. Just head to the lights.” After directing several other frightened and bewildered looking people to the column, he went in search Lebedev. The running engines were making him grow nervous—sooner or later someone else was bound to hear their rumble.
After sheepishly walking past several annihilated bodies, he found Lebedev standing with a group of civilians. It looked like they were huddled in a circle around something. As he walked up, he could hear that an argument was taking place. A younger looking man with glasses and messy hair was raising his arms in protest. As Kozlov stepped up behind Lebedev, he saw an older woman who was lying on the ground. She was bleeding profusely from a large wound in her abdomen.
“As I said, sir, we can’t take her,” Lebedev explained. “I know she is your mother, but there is nothing we can do for her. She’s near death and there’s no room for her.”
“You can’t leave her here!” the young man cried. He knelt down next to his mom and touched her forehead. “She just needs medical attention, that’s all.” He sobbed as he caressed her face.
“You don’t understand. The longer we stay here, the more we’re in danger. You’re endangering everyone else by refusing to board the troop carriers.”
Another man stepped up to Lebedev. He was wearing uniformed blue overalls. From his appearance, Lebedev figured that he was a worker from one of the nearby nuclear plants. The man looked down at the woman and then looked back up at the sergeant and the captain. With a flat resolve he said, “We’re not leaving without her.”
Lebedev looked over at Kozlov, waiting for his captain to say something. Kozlov knew that the man was dead set on not leaving the woman and it was obvious that he wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. The captain took a deep breath. “I’m sorry about your wife, but—”
“She’s not my wife. I don’t even know her, but she doesn’t deserve to be left behind. For God’s sake, you’re the ones who shot her. None of these injured people deserve this…deserve what you’ve done to them.”
“Yes, we don’t deserve this,” chimed a frazzled woman. Several other people began to express their agreement with the man in the overalls.
“I’m not sure if you know what we’re up against, but I can assure you that if we stay around here any longer, we’re all going to be in trouble.”
“I know what we’re up against,” the man in the blue overalls said. “I was there when it all started. I saw how everyone went mad and how they attacked all the soldiers who tried to get into the storage facility.”
“What?” Kozlov said with surprise. “What did you see?”
“I saw how those drunk idiots smashed a fork lift into the side of a containment tank. They had been drinking all night long and when shift change came, they were playing on the damn machine…as if it were a race car or something.”
“Which idiots?” Kozlov asked. “And what’s your name?”
“The maintenance workers for the storage warehouse where I worked at. At Antov. I saw the yellow smoke coming from the damaged tank and I knew that I needed to get out of there before I breathed in any of that shit. I guess the others weren’t so lucky. And my name is Boris.”
“But I thought they said it was rabies?” the grieving son said as he looked up from his mother. “That’s what the radio was saying.”
“That’s what they want you to believe,” Boris said. “It’s not rabies, its man-made…whatever it is.” He stepped back a bit and looked around at the crowd. “And it’s bringing back the dead.”
A collective sound of shock and disbelief rose from the group.
“Were any of these people there with you at the Antov?” Kozlov asked. “Are they infected?”
“No, I was the only one there. I met up with them as they were fleeing from Novaya Techa. And since I guess none of us are trying to kill you, we must be infection-free.” He looked over at the body of one unfortunate girl who had been killed by Kozlov’s vehicles. “I did notice something though. When people died at the Antov, they came back to life. Day before yesterday, I saw soldiers kill several people closer to Ozersk, and those ones didn’t come back to life. Like this poor young girl here,” he said, pointing to the bullet-riddled body of a ten year old child.
“These people that the soldiers killed,” Kozlov said as he tried to avoid looking at the dead girl, “were they infected?”
“No, they were just trying to escape. Luckily, I was hiding in the trees or they probably would have killed me too.”
That makes no sense, Kozlov thought. “Why would some of them come back and not others?”
“I’m not sure,” Boris said, “but I’m sure it has something to do with whatever leaked out of the tank.”
“Well, whatever it is, we need to get out of here.” Kozlov looked down at the boy and his mother and said, “And there is nothing we can do for your mother. I’m sorry.” His voice was flat and devoid of any emotion, but he didn’t notice that because he was too busy trying to rationalize what Boris had just told him.
“Then the hell with you!” blurted the son. “I’ll stay and die with my mother!”
Kozlov looked over at Lebedev. Running out of sympathy, his words became filled with anger and resolve. “Get everyone ready, we’re moving out in five minutes!” He slung his rifle across his back and grabbed the factory worker by his arm. “For all I care, you can all stay. I’m not going to stand here fucking around with you and let everyone else get slaughtered.” He let loose of the man’s arm and stepped back. “You can either come with us or stay behind! We’re leaving!”
“You cold hearted bastards!” the son screamed.
“Then go,” said Boris. He reached down, and in a compassionate gesture, placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “We’ll find someone else to help us.”
“I’m not staying,” said someone else from the group.
“Neither am I,” added another.
Kozlov turned and began to make his way back to the column with Lebedev trailing. Several of the civilians followed while several stayed with the worker and the distraught son. Kozlov returned to his tank and pulled himself back onto the rear deck.
“Cowards!” yelled someone from the group who had remained with the dying woman. “I hope you all rot in hell!”
Kozlov climbed back in his hatch and put away his weapon. He connected his headset back into the radio and said, “All Red Saber units, this is Red Saber Leader. Kill the lights and let’s head out. We’re going to try to make our way to an aid station just west of Chelyabinsk in Mirnyy. Also, I need counts on the number of wounded and non-wounded we just took on.” He re-engaged his night vision and looked down at Kuzma. “Let’s go,” he said angrily.
“But sir, why don’t we just go straight to Chelyabinsk?” the driver asked.
“Because Mirnyy is the closest location that the Army has set up for medical facilities. I want to rid myself of these civilians as soon as possible so we can carry on with our mission.” Seeing how frustrated Kozlov was, Kuzma decided it was best to end the questions and do as the captain ordered.
Kozlov switched his radio over to the division frequency and transmitted, “This is Red Saber to Mirnyy aid station. Do you copy?”
A static-filled voice responded. “This is Mirnyy, we read you.”
“I have wounded civilians from the Ozersk area that I’m bringing to you. Are you still operational?”
“We are operational. I don’t know for how much longer, but we are still here. We haven’t heard anything from command…and it looks like Chelyabinsk is burning. We have lost all contact with them.”
Stunned and shocked, Kozlov could not believe what he had just heard. How could Chelyabinsk be lost—so fast? What was going on? How was this happening? “Did you say you have lost contact with Chelyabinsk?”
“Yes, about two hours ago. We can see it burning from here. Do you know what
is going on? Another unit passed through here about an hour ago saying that plague had broken out. The called it ‘the plague of the dead’ or some nonsense like that. Do you know what they were talking about?”
“Where was that unit going to? Did they say anything else?” Kozlov intentionally ignored the ‘plague’ question.
“They said they were going to try to make it to the Kazakhstan border. I think they were running away. What about the plague? What have you heard?”
“I haven’t heard about a plague. We don’t know what’s going on. Just be ready to receive wounded. We should be there within two hours. Over and out.”
“We copy,” the aid station said. “Over and out.”
Kozlov looked down at Kuzma and with a grim voice said, “Mirnyy has lost contact with Chelyabinsk.” Terrified at his commander’s statement, the driver pressed his face to his viewport and tried to focus on the darkened road. It was no use. Kozlov’s words had filled the man with dread. Tears began to well up in the driver’s eyes.
The column began to rumble through the darkness. On the top of the carriers and several of the tanks rode the nervous troops who had been displaced from their troop holds by the civilians. Their eyes peered out into the obscurity of the night as they huddled next to each other, hanging onto the vehicles for dear life. Even though the roar of the engines was deafening, they all found themselves holding their breath—as if that would help them from being detected.
Awash in a soft red light, the faces of Kozlov’s driver and gunner were cast in crimson shadow. After riding in silence for several minutes, Kuzma finally said, “How can this be happening?” He looked over at the captain and again asked, “How can this be happening, sir?”
A Glimpse Of Decay (Book 1): Red Storm) Page 4