When the enemy got to our camp and started looking around, I heard Anika’s bird call, indicating she would take her first shot in five seconds. I aimed at the one who appeared to be in charge and counted down. A split-second before I fired, I heard a BANG from her rifle. As my own went off, I saw an explosion of blood from one of the men. She had hit him in the neck! I got enough of a glimpse to tell my shot was on target, hitting the leader in the chest as the recoil thrust my shoulder back.
I rapidly cycled the bolt and aimed for another shot. I fired and heard one scream as my bullet pierced his belly, quickly followed by a small explosion and more screams. I reloaded again and started searching for another target. I saw three bodies on the ground and THREE MEN ON FIRE! One shot himself in the mouth to escape the torment of the burning white phosphorus all over him. The other two frantically struggled to get the intensely burning fragments off their faces and clothing. To spare them from additional fiery agony, we finished them off with headshots.
When the last of them stopped moving, we returned to our camp. I knew what my sister liked, so I handed her one of the enemy’s fully automatic carbines. She bashfully admitted, “I was aiming and started to sneeze. Shooting the phosphorus grenade by accident was a miracle.”
I happily declared, “If any more miracles happen, I’ll take ‘em!”
She agreed, “Good. Here’s a real sniper rifle, with a 16-power scope on it.” I’d been wanting one for years, but for hunting instead of fighting. It would be a huge improvement. My old rifle worked but was made during World War 2. I should be able to hit targets close to two kilometers away now, instead of ‘only’ five or six hundred meters.
–
One afternoon I saw a large bull moose close enough for a good shot. I slowly took aim as it approached, happily knowing it would provide at least 200 kilos of meat! I was about to squeeze the trigger when Anika whispered, “No! Don’t waste it.” I realized she was right. I sighed and lowered my new sniper rifle. We didn’t pray or belong to any church but understood that taking the life of a large animal for only a few meals would be a sin against nature. It would be different if we had a whole village to feed but we could survive without it. We allowed the magnificent beast to wander away.
I thought it might be a reward for our self-restraint, when Anika caught a very large fish the next day. It was nearly as big as my leg! We cut it into kilo-sized pieces and cooked and ate our fill. We let the remainder freeze and saved it for later. After another three days, we saw a sign warning the Soviet border was ten km ahead. There had been a few cross-border skirmishes in the past. They were officially neutral but strongly disliked the Corporates, so we hoped they might help us.
We knew we were almost to the border when we saw the edge of the forest and a wide field of snow as the sun was beginning to set. Our countries had cleared a kilometer of forest on both sides of the dividing line, and bulldozed it flat as a tabletop. It would make any incursions obvious and force any invaders to be terribly vulnerable as they crossed the featureless plain.
We were happy to be so near our goal, but Anika and I knew we needed to cross into Soviet territory intelligently. If we skied or walked across at night, our body heat would make us stand out like beacons for anybody or anything with night vision or IR cameras. Counter to common sense, we would be much harder to spot in the middle of the day, crossing the snow field in our all-white clothing. The glare of the sun reflecting off snow and ice would likely blind most cameras.
As Anika started digging another snow cave, I prepared supper. I saw a sparkle in the sky and discovered there was a drone flying south to north over the border line. We ate some crackers with fish and vegetable soup. We decided to start across the border a little before noon. Skiing would be faster, but rapid movement would make it easier to detect us. We’d cross on snowshoes but be ready to change to skis quickly if we were noticed.
We snowshoed slowly, taking nearly an hour to reach the middle of the two-kilometer plain. I spotted a drone, but as it approached I saw it was Russian. We walked a little farther and heard engines in the distance. We looked around and saw eight soldiers on snow machines far behind us. We abandoned our snowshoes and skied for our lives. I was surprised they didn’t shoot, until I remembered their main goal was capturing Ostnordians to sell as slaves.
They were only a hundred meters behind when we reached a small village. We skied behind a barn and saw an old woman getting firewood from a pile. She heard the engines and waved us in her direction. We followed as she led us around a house and into the middle of the village. The Corp soldiers drove around the corner. They hopped off their snow machines, pointed their guns at us, and yelled for us to surrender. The old woman picked up a large metal funnel, holding it to her mouth like a megaphone. She shouted, “RODINA UUURRRAAAH!” – ‘For Mother Russia!’
Suddenly gun barrels protruded from every door and half the windows! There must have been a hundred! A few even had RPG rocket launchers! The Corp soldiers dropped their guns and held their hands up. Instead of capturing us, they became prisoners of the Soviets. Later I heard they were ‘reeducated to be good socialists’ by working in a mine for five years.
An elderly couple kindly invited us into their home. They gave Anika and I tea and food and were excited to have visitors. They called a government office and said an agent would come talk to us the next day. They were very kind, and the lady reminded me a bit of Great-grandmother. We were happy to sleep on their living room floor, indoors for the first time in two weeks. We wore only our underwear and a single blanket, but felt a little too warm.
Surprisingly, the Soviet government was efficient. The immigration agent arrived with a pair of soldiers before lunch. She was a tall, thin, angry-looking lady. Anika spoke to her, since she was older and understood Russian better. In the back of the agent’s car, she explained, “In the Russian immigration system, young men and women live in different buildings. I told her our last names are the same because we’re married. That’s the only way we can stay together. She got you a job loading trucks, and I’ll be a cook. We’ll have a small apartment in Volkhov. Once we’ve been here two years, we can join the Soviet Army.”
I objected, “That’s almost forever!”
She shrugged. “I know, but it’s the only way.” She cheered me up with, “We’ll have a week off work, since this is our honeymoon. Imagine warming each other up in a real bed, or maybe even a hot bath!”
I switched to Russian and said, “I love you, wife!” I kissed her. The next day we heard the government of Ostnordia had fallen. Our nation was no more. We consoled each other with cheesy potatoes, caviar on toast, vodka, and lots of sex.