Hale slung his rifle over his shoulder again and glanced at the ground. He instantly spotted what he was looking for. My skis. He placed his booted feet into the skis and hurriedly strapped them in. As he drove his ski poles into the snow and started moving forward the crack from three rifles washed over him. A moment later three bullets impacted into the snow around his feet. The impact caused the snow to leap from the ground for a moment before falling back to earth.
As Hale built up speed, a group of Soviet’s standing atop the same ridge where he dropped several of their companions moments before, fired their rifles at Hale’s retreating zigzagging form. As Hale made his way up the opposite ridgeline bullets flew past him, some near enough that he could hear a faint buzzing sound and felt a wisp of wind as they passed.
As soon as Hale topped the ridge and disappeared from the sight of the oncoming soldiers, he changed direction to the south. He continued in this direction for several minutes. He fell into a familiar rhythm as he made his way across the countryside. Right pole, right leg forward, left leg pushing, then left leg forward, and left pole to pull him forward.
Hale had gone several hundred feet before he heard the voices of several Soviet soldiers behind them. Unable to understand what they were saying; he imagined their confusion as he wasn’t in sight. It won’t be long before they see my tracks and figure it out. He thought.
He slipped back over the ridge in the direction of the road. Finding a large oak tree amongst the birch. He came to a stop and placed the trunk of the tree between him and his trail. He then knelt and opened his overcoat. Underneath, over his shirt he wore two belts that held dozens of 7.62 x 54R rounds for his SK Nagant.
Hale took his gloves off, dropped them into his lap, and then reached into his left pocket to grab one of the empty magazine clips. He wore his ammo belts inside his coat to keep the bullets warm. This enabled him to do this barehanded reload quickly. He slipped the end of the first bullet into the clip he held, then the second, the third, fourth and finally the fifth.
Task complete, he hit the tab on his rifle that ejected the magazine. He let that one drop into his lap, where it landed on top of his gloves, and slapped the loaded magazine into place. He quickly reloaded each of the clips until his right pocket was again filled with three full magazines of bullets.
As Hale completed loading his last magazine, the sounds of footsteps crunching in the snow on the other side of the ridge behind him could be heard. He slipped his gloves on, and then pulled the bolt on his rifle, so that a bullet dropped into place in the chamber. Preparation complete he quietly stood up.
Hale heard the voice of the first soldier on top the ridge line. The man said, “Syuda.” The voice sounded young like his own. Such a waste. We should all be inside by a warm fire, not trying to kill each other. He thought to himself.
He peeked around the tree trunk he hid behind and quickly stole a quick glance at the enemy. The young Soviet soldier, who missed Hale’s quick glance, looked much like the rest of the soldiers he had killed. Green fur cap, with a red star emblazoned on it, black leather boots and gloves, with a dark green overcoat that stretched down to the man’s knees. A small lock of blond hair was visible hanging down from the hat, Same color as mine. Hale thought.
As Hale stepped out from the protection of the oak tree, the Russian soldier was looking back at his companions on the other side of the ridge. Hale quickly raised his rifle, took aim, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet slammed into the back young man’s head with a dull smack and he fell backwards. His green cap and body fell separately, as they disappeared and tumbled down the hill. As the corpse came to rest at the bottom of the gorge, another senseless and nameless victim of Stalin’s aggression, the lose lock of blond hair became matted in the young man’s blood.
Hale quickly retreated behind the trunk of the tree to wait. He heard the voices of the man’s companions as they talked hurriedly in Russian. After chattering excitedly for several moments, they came to a consensus on what to do next. Silent now, they began to creep forward toward the top of the ridgeline that separated them from Hale.
Hale heard the men crawling forward and then stop, What are they doing? Do they know where I’m at? He thought.
Before he could decide on his next course of action, the men rose up with a roar and began charging down the hill toward Hale’s oak tree. Not knowing what else to do, Hale sat down so that he would blend in with the snow, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and pulled out his Lahti pistol. Next, he removed his gloves and checked the clip to ensure all was in order. The metal of the gun felt cold against his skin. Task complete, he held it with the barrel pointed skyward and his right index finger on the trigger.
Without warning, the squad of Russians barreled past him as they ran down the hill. As they rushed past, they seemed heedless of him as his white overcoat helped him blend in with the snow on the ground. Hale stood and stole a glance around his oak, back in the direction the Russians had just come from. There were two more of them standing on the ridgeline, I’m surrounded. He thought in dismay.
Not knowing what else to do, Hale raised his pistol and took aim at the Russian that was furthest away from him as the man charged down the hill and squeezed the trigger of his pistol. The Lahti bucked in Hale’s hand as the bullet found the back of the Soviet’s neck. The unfortunate, fell face forward into the snow and slid for several feet before coming to a stop.
The seven other members of the squad dropped to the ground in reaction, as the single shot rang out. Hale managed to put a bullet into another of the green clad soldiers as they dove for the earth. The forest became silent save for the injured man’s cries of pain.
The two Russian’s behind him on the ridgeline conversed hurriedly in their native tongue, Trying to figure out where the shot came from. Hale thought.
Coming to a consensus, the two enemy soldiers started slowly creeping forward toward Hale. Panic ensued as the reality of the situation set in. What do I do now? I’m trapped between two groups and it won’t be long before they figure out exactly where I’m at. Hale thought.
Hale’s thoughts slipped away from reality as he remembered back to a time when he was in a similar situation. He glanced down at the cold water he stood in and shivered, Must stay quiet or they will find me.
He had sat in the cold creek for what had seemed like hours as two older boys, hunted him. Hale had made them look the fool in front of the other children at recess earlier that day in school and now they aimed to even the score. The sound of the trickling water from the creek reminded him that his bladder was full. The gurgling, bubbly, frothing water tormented him as he continued to try and out wait the boys that hunted him. He gritted his teeth as he resisted the urge to let it go. I’d never hear the end of it, if they found me, beat me up, and I pissed myself.
As one of the larger boys drew near, Hale crouched down further into the creek bed trying to make himself invisible. It didn’t work. Without warning, two large hands painfully grasped his shoulders and jerked him to his feet as the voice behind those hands said, “I’ve found the little worm!”
Hale shuddered as his thoughts snapped back into reality. A Russian, another young man like himself, stood over him and yelled, “Bot Oh!”
As the Soviet’s rifle swung upward, Hale took aim with his Lahti, and put a bullet in the man’s head. The soldier, slain, fell backward as his rifle tumbled to the ground. Hale, hearing movement directly behind him, swung his pistol toward the noise and fired.
Another man, his eyes wide as his faced filled with a look that was one-part horror and one-part shock, was a mere three feet from his own. The man’s stunned look and wispy hints of his first beard would forever be emblazoned in Hale’s memory. As a scarlet spray exploded from the Soviet’s neck. He stumbled back a step and tried to place his left hand over the wound to staunch the bleeding. It didn’t work. Must have hit an artery. Hale thought.
Without warning a pair of arms grasped him from behind forcing him to drop his p
istol. Oh God not again! The thought exploded into Hale’s mind as anxiety took over.
At the same time, the dying enemy soldier in front of him staggered forward and raised his right hand to grasp him. Hale grabbed the knife from the bleeding man’s belt with his left hand and thrust it over his right shoulder. The arms around him slackened and fell away without a sound. He then kicked the dying man in front of him in the stomach. The breath knocked out of him, the man Hale had shot tumbled down the hill. As he rolled, he tried to warn his comrades but all that came out of his mouth were red bubbles and a hiss as his lungs filled with blood.
Hale dropped to the ground to retrieve his pistol. He glanced to the right to confirm that the man he had stabbed wouldn’t be a threat. The man would never be a threat to anyone ever again, as Hale’s desperate thrust had put the knife right through the man’s left eye. Hale glanced around and shuddered at the gruesome sight. The snow around him had turned red from the blood of his enemies.
He felt a pang of guilt before his heart hardened and his thoughts shifted to rage. The soil of my homeland will feast upon the blood of every last one of you filthy invaders.
A few shots rang out from the group that had ran past Hale in his general direction. He heard a few of the bullets slam into the trunks of nearby birch trees. Hale crouched down, careful not to get any of the blood on his white pants and great coat. He searched the body of the soldier he had slain with the knife. As he searched his hand wrapped around the cool metal cylinder he was hoping to find, a grenade. The word Bingo, flashed through his mind.
Hale took the grenade and twisted the cap, so that it was armed. He wrapped the fingers of his right hand around the wooden shaft and threw it down the hill toward the origin of the poorly aimed gunfire. Moments later an explosion erupted and the gunfire ceased. The grenade, created a large fireball that expanded and reached up toward the heavens.
Using the grenade explosion as a distraction, Hale immediately stood up and began using his ski poles to pull himself toward the top of the hill. Moments before he reached the ridge a shot rang out. Hale felt a huge crushing weight slam into his back which caused him to topple over the top of the ridge just in front of him. He lost his balance and tumbled down the hillside. Just before he reached the bottom of the gully, he crashed into a tree. Pain now wracked both the front and back of his body.
He took a few moments to take stock of the situation through his pain addled mind. I’m hit! He thought, his inner voice laced with panic as fear exploded in his mind.
Hale took a deep breath and removed his rifle from his shoulder. The pain in his back shifted to a dull throb. I thought being shot would feel worse than this.
He reached around with his left hand and felt the place on his back that throbbed. He brought his hand back around and stared at it for a moment, No blood?
Surprised, Hale then looked at his rifle. Just below the bolt, and right where the metal section joined with the wooden stock, was a faint indention on the metal. He breathed in silent relief and looked up at the sky, Thank you God.
His moment of reverie was abruptly ended by the voices of several Russians. They had returned to the top of the ridgeline that he had just tumbled from. The Soviets were hunting for him. As they gazed down the hillside, they saw his movement, raised their rifles, and simultaneously snapped off three shots in his direction. The bullets impacted the ground around him and kicked up snow. Hale, stayed low, and quickly checked his rifle to ensure it was in working order.
When Hale was done with his rifle, he looked up at the source of the gunfire. He saw three enemy soldiers. Their green forms were silhouetted by the gray sky behind them. He raised his rifle in the direction of the middle one and took aim. He pulled the trigger and felt his Nagant kick against his shoulder as it roared and sent death on its way. Nearly an instant later all three men dropped to the ground seeking cover. One of them would never rise again.
Hale pulled the bolt on his rifle ejecting the spent bullet. Two more shots rang out. This time the bullets were nowhere near him, Just trying to keep me down. They can’t see me now that they are on the ground. He thought.
Hale released his boots from his skis and crawled around to the other side of the tree to put it between himself and the enemy. As he did so several more shots rang out. They were all too high, The cowards are scared to rise and take aim. Hale thought in amusement.
Without warning his mind slipped back to that day he hid in the creek bed. The two larger boys, one with red hair, the other with black, had pushed him up against a large elm tree. The largest, a boy of perhaps fourteen who had been far too fond of sweets, grinned at Hale and said, “Did you think you were going to get away with that little worm?”
Hale’s eyes narrowed as he glared back at the fat boy and struggled against the arms that grasped him from behind before smiling and saying, “Of course, everyone knows you’re the dumbest boy in the school.”
The larger boy’s plump cheeks flushed until they matched the color of his hair. Enraged, he let out a scream and slammed his fist into Hale’s abdomen. Hale gasped as pain exploded in his stomach. The red hair boy’s freckled face contorted into a menacing grin as he said, “I hope you enjoyed that you little shit. There is more to come. Much more.”
The fat boy’s voice trailed off as Hale looked down at the bully’s shoes. He could see his reflection in their black well-polished leather. The reflection of his face taunted him. He looked back up at the red headed boy, smiled, and spat in his face.
Enraged at Hale’s defiance, the overweight bully screamed, and threw punch after punch at Hale. Hale’s mind exploded in anguish at the pain of that day as the memory faded and his thoughts returned to reality as another volley of bullets zipped by overhead.
Hale stood up and took a quick glance around the tree trunk. The attempt was awarded with a shot and a bullet that whistled by where his head had been a moment before. They’ve figured out my exact location. Hale looked at the forest around him. He sighed as he saw no avenue of escape, that left one option, I’ve got to take them down before they get me.
Hale pondered the situation for a moment. As he did so, another bullet slammed into the tree he was using as a shield between himself and the Soviet soldiers. I need a distraction. Hale took stock of everything he had with him, his rifle, pistol, magazines, clothing and coat. Everything he wore, save his pants, was the color of snow. Then his eyes shifted to the fur lined cap on his head and he grinned. Worth a shot I guess. Maybe two. He silently chuckled at his own pun.
Hale raised his rifle up with his left hand and rested the stock on his shoulder. With his right, he removed his hat, and then reached around the tree and threw it toward the two soldiers on the top of the hill. Two shots immediately reverberated through the trees as Hale dropped his own rifle into place and took aim at one of the figures sitting on the ridgeline. He took a deep breath and held it. Both men operated the bolts on their own rifles as they glanced nervously down at Hale’s form taking aim at them.
As they started to raise their rifles, Hale fired his rifle. His target’s green cap flew off his head as his bullet found its mark and he crumpled to the ground. The other man quickly returned fire at Hale. He missed. Unphased by the return fire, Hale quickly operated the bolt on his rifle as the hastily fired shot sailed past him. He took aim on the second man as he frantically operated the bolt on his rifle to drop another bullet into the chamber.
The rifle jammed, and the man’s resolve broke. He stood to flee down the hillside behind him. He didn’t make it. Hale crouched back down behind the tree he used to hide from the slain soldiers and listened. The only sounds that filled his ears was those of the woodland. Snowflakes striking the earth, and the sounds tree branches creaking in the wind. Gone was the sound of voices, footsteps, and gunfire. He was alone.
He sat there for several minutes just listening to the frantic beat of his heart as it thundered in his ears. When it finally slowed, he gathered up his skis and slowly made
his way toward the corpses of his enemies. The first one he found nearby at the bottom of the hill in front of him. He searched it and found two things of interest to him, a bottle of vodka, and a grenade.
Hale slipped the grenade into his belt and stood. He unscrewed the cap off the vodka, and took a sip. As the vodka burned its way down his throat, he heard a shot ring out off to his north. He smiled and thought, The day was young and there were many more invaders that needed killing.
Byzantium Infected Box Set Page 107