08-18-2023, 05:24 AM
(Sequel to https://idugov.com/forum/showthread.php?...1#pid22691 and https://idugov.com/forum/showthread.php?...9#pid22719)
Lieutenant Natalija Petrova had never felt so hopeless, so alone, so close to death. And after over a year in a prison run by Xiomeran mercenaries, that was saying something.
The uncomfortable and rickety transport truck that she and a number of fellow prisoners were shoved into hit a large bump in the road, causing Petrova to grip the metal bench. I swear, the driver must be aiming for every pothole, as some last torture before we're executed.
She looked around grimly at her fellow passengers, each of them in various stages of dejection. She could tell immediately which soldiers were newer captures versus the battered veterans. Some of the newest still had a glimmer of hope in their eyes, like this truck was taking them to their freedom. Unfortunately, Petrova knew better, having overheard a number of their prison guards joking about their true fate. As if they’d let us go. They can't sustain us anymore, and we can't give them information. They're gonna bury us in the Aurian countryside, and we'll be just another statistic. "Missing in Action," they'll label us.
Even though she had began to come to terms with her imminent death, the thought of her family still brought her to tears. Karlis, Ivan, Mom, Dad… they'll never know what happened to me for sure. They'll be stuck waiting, if they haven't given up hope already. Why did it have to be my plane that was struck down?
That question bothered her on multiple levels, and she shook her head, wiping a tear away from her eye. No. My last moments will not be filled with self-centered wallowing. I always knew that this was a possibility. I knew that from my first day in the service. I just wish I could've had more time.
The transport truck lurched to a stop suddenly, causing Natalija to slam into the bench in front of her. She groaned and clutched her bruised arm, mentally cursing the driver and his compatriots. [i[Cowards and sadists, all of them. I can’t wait until they’re forced to relive what they’ve done to us over and over again.[/i]*(1)
A number of soldiers in faded Orange filed onto the bus, unshackling and dragging prisoners off one by one. A tall, lanky one stood at the edge of Natalija’s bench and glared down at her. “Tei staviet,” he ordered, his Aurian accent making the command sound muddled to Petrova’s ears. Still, she complied, slowly standing and following the soldier out the back of the transport. Her heart was in her stomach, knowing what was about to happen, and her handcuffed hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
The smell of a storm hit her nostrils as she exited, and raindrops quickly turned her dirty blond hair brown. Great. Executed in the middle of a rainstorm. She glanced around, noting her surroundings. The trucks had seemingly stopped in the middle of a forest which had been either bombed out or wrecked by a storm. Every other tree was damaged or uprooted, and even the trees that survived had bullet scars.
Natalija was put at the front of a line with a number of fellow prisoners. An Aurian officer approached her, his boots barely audible over the rain. His gaze was intense, but Petrova looked pointedly at the broken road beneath her feet. “Noms?” He asked. She remained silent.
“Kuois es jues noms, emprizanēta? Kuois tei zaunis?” His angry questioning got louder, but the Eirian pilot remained silent. She glanced up at him, and with the little energy she could muster, she spit in his face.
The infuriated officer wiped his face and gripped Petrova’s bruised arm, causing bolts of pain to shoot through her body. She winced and keeled over, looking back up at the officer with sheer hatred in her eyes. Why does he want to know my name? I already told that to the interrogators. Still, she couldn’t stand the pain any longer, and she reluctantly spoke in a faded, gravely voice. “Petrova. Natalija Petrova.”
The officer let go and gave her a satisfied grin. “Cas nē nasva kurš, eh?”*(2) He looked towards one of his subordinates, who handed his commander a small object. He turned back to Petrova, and she got a good look at the object: a set of rudimentary dog tags.
The officer got closer to the Eirian, and she could smell the stank of cigarettes on him. He wrapped the dog tag chain around her next, gave her one last glare, then moved on to the next soldier in line. Natalija breathed a sigh of relief, glancing down at her new tags. Why would they label us if they’re just going to execute us? Why would they care about that?
Once each prisoner had been given their dog tags, the officer returned to Petrova with a number of soldiers accompanying him, causing her heart to sink once again. “Keniet, nag.” Move, now. She followed that order, marching to a slow mental cadence. She could see that up ahead, the desolate woods surrounding the woods faded to a clearing. Along the edge of the forest, there were several barricades with figures stood behind them.
The Garda officer stopped and looked towards Petrova, and, to her shock, took off her handcuffs. He then gave her a rough shove forward. “Keep going. Don’t stop if I stop, or I’ll shoot you for your disobedience.” She began to march again, her confusion only growing. Why would they put barricades around where they execute prisoners? And why did he uncuff me? Each step of the hundred meter march towards the mysterious barricades felt like an eternity. As she inched closer, she noticed that a few of the figures behind the barricades were walking to meet her.
Wait.
Those aren’t Garda or Xiomeran uniforms.
She started walking faster, almost breaking into a full sprint at the sight of a familiar uniform silhouette. She could hear more feet behind her, but in that moment, she didn’t care if it was her fellow soldiers or her captors. Even though she stumbled and almost fell, she still kept going, and almost flew into the arms of the nearest figure, who was dressed like an Eirian army soldier. The soldier propped her up, bringing her behind the barricade and slowly easing her onto the ground. “Are you okay?” She asked, her accent very noticeably Central Eirian.
Petrova could only nod as the soldier examined her makeshift dog tags. “Well, Natalija, you’re safe now. We’ll bring you to a field hospital that’s not far from here, then you’ll be brought back home. There is a ceasefire currently in effect right now, and part of the deal was the return of all prisoners. I know you’ve been through a lot, but you’re safe with us. Can you stand?”
Natalija nodded, and shakily stood up. She saw a number of her fellow prisoners getting similar help from soldiers in a variety of different uniforms, from various Eirian uniforms to Lauchenoirian, Huenyan, and even Milintican ones. The soldier who was helping her put her arm around Petrova’s soldier, and the now-free pilot noticed that her name plate said “Astier,” and she was wearing the insignia of a Corporal. The pair slowly made their way over to an Eirian medic, who took one look at her before immediately going to fetch supplies.
Corporal Astier gave her a small smile. “What’s your rank, Kuren* Petrova?”
Natalija cleared her throat. “First Lieutenant, Corps of Naval Aviators. I am… or was… stationed on the EIS Arion.”
Astier raised her eyebrows. “You outrank me then, Lieutenant! Navy pilot, eh? Impressive.” The army soldier leaned against one of the barricades as the medic returned with some water, a small ration pack, and some medical supplies for Natalija. As the medic worked on Petrova’s arm, Astier squatted down. “Thank you for your service, Lieutenant Petrova. You have gone through more than anyone should have to go through. We’ll take care of you while you rest, okay? I’ll let him finish up, and then you can eat and drink while we drive back to base. I don’t exactly think you want to sleep on the front lines.”
The reality of her situation caught up to her, and Petrova’s eyes filled with tears (joyful ones, this time). The Corporal’s face filled with concern, but Natalija shook her head. “No, no. It’s a good thing. I just can’t believe…”
I’m going home.
________
*(1) Unitists believe in a recursive punishment after death; Before your soul can pass on to the afterlife, you must relive all of the harm you've done to others, from their perspective.
*(2) "That wasn't too hard, eh?"
*(3) Polite honorific, akin to "Sir/Ma'am"
Lieutenant Natalija Petrova had never felt so hopeless, so alone, so close to death. And after over a year in a prison run by Xiomeran mercenaries, that was saying something.
The uncomfortable and rickety transport truck that she and a number of fellow prisoners were shoved into hit a large bump in the road, causing Petrova to grip the metal bench. I swear, the driver must be aiming for every pothole, as some last torture before we're executed.
She looked around grimly at her fellow passengers, each of them in various stages of dejection. She could tell immediately which soldiers were newer captures versus the battered veterans. Some of the newest still had a glimmer of hope in their eyes, like this truck was taking them to their freedom. Unfortunately, Petrova knew better, having overheard a number of their prison guards joking about their true fate. As if they’d let us go. They can't sustain us anymore, and we can't give them information. They're gonna bury us in the Aurian countryside, and we'll be just another statistic. "Missing in Action," they'll label us.
Even though she had began to come to terms with her imminent death, the thought of her family still brought her to tears. Karlis, Ivan, Mom, Dad… they'll never know what happened to me for sure. They'll be stuck waiting, if they haven't given up hope already. Why did it have to be my plane that was struck down?
That question bothered her on multiple levels, and she shook her head, wiping a tear away from her eye. No. My last moments will not be filled with self-centered wallowing. I always knew that this was a possibility. I knew that from my first day in the service. I just wish I could've had more time.
The transport truck lurched to a stop suddenly, causing Natalija to slam into the bench in front of her. She groaned and clutched her bruised arm, mentally cursing the driver and his compatriots. [i[Cowards and sadists, all of them. I can’t wait until they’re forced to relive what they’ve done to us over and over again.[/i]*(1)
A number of soldiers in faded Orange filed onto the bus, unshackling and dragging prisoners off one by one. A tall, lanky one stood at the edge of Natalija’s bench and glared down at her. “Tei staviet,” he ordered, his Aurian accent making the command sound muddled to Petrova’s ears. Still, she complied, slowly standing and following the soldier out the back of the transport. Her heart was in her stomach, knowing what was about to happen, and her handcuffed hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
The smell of a storm hit her nostrils as she exited, and raindrops quickly turned her dirty blond hair brown. Great. Executed in the middle of a rainstorm. She glanced around, noting her surroundings. The trucks had seemingly stopped in the middle of a forest which had been either bombed out or wrecked by a storm. Every other tree was damaged or uprooted, and even the trees that survived had bullet scars.
Natalija was put at the front of a line with a number of fellow prisoners. An Aurian officer approached her, his boots barely audible over the rain. His gaze was intense, but Petrova looked pointedly at the broken road beneath her feet. “Noms?” He asked. She remained silent.
“Kuois es jues noms, emprizanēta? Kuois tei zaunis?” His angry questioning got louder, but the Eirian pilot remained silent. She glanced up at him, and with the little energy she could muster, she spit in his face.
The infuriated officer wiped his face and gripped Petrova’s bruised arm, causing bolts of pain to shoot through her body. She winced and keeled over, looking back up at the officer with sheer hatred in her eyes. Why does he want to know my name? I already told that to the interrogators. Still, she couldn’t stand the pain any longer, and she reluctantly spoke in a faded, gravely voice. “Petrova. Natalija Petrova.”
The officer let go and gave her a satisfied grin. “Cas nē nasva kurš, eh?”*(2) He looked towards one of his subordinates, who handed his commander a small object. He turned back to Petrova, and she got a good look at the object: a set of rudimentary dog tags.
The officer got closer to the Eirian, and she could smell the stank of cigarettes on him. He wrapped the dog tag chain around her next, gave her one last glare, then moved on to the next soldier in line. Natalija breathed a sigh of relief, glancing down at her new tags. Why would they label us if they’re just going to execute us? Why would they care about that?
Once each prisoner had been given their dog tags, the officer returned to Petrova with a number of soldiers accompanying him, causing her heart to sink once again. “Keniet, nag.” Move, now. She followed that order, marching to a slow mental cadence. She could see that up ahead, the desolate woods surrounding the woods faded to a clearing. Along the edge of the forest, there were several barricades with figures stood behind them.
The Garda officer stopped and looked towards Petrova, and, to her shock, took off her handcuffs. He then gave her a rough shove forward. “Keep going. Don’t stop if I stop, or I’ll shoot you for your disobedience.” She began to march again, her confusion only growing. Why would they put barricades around where they execute prisoners? And why did he uncuff me? Each step of the hundred meter march towards the mysterious barricades felt like an eternity. As she inched closer, she noticed that a few of the figures behind the barricades were walking to meet her.
Wait.
Those aren’t Garda or Xiomeran uniforms.
She started walking faster, almost breaking into a full sprint at the sight of a familiar uniform silhouette. She could hear more feet behind her, but in that moment, she didn’t care if it was her fellow soldiers or her captors. Even though she stumbled and almost fell, she still kept going, and almost flew into the arms of the nearest figure, who was dressed like an Eirian army soldier. The soldier propped her up, bringing her behind the barricade and slowly easing her onto the ground. “Are you okay?” She asked, her accent very noticeably Central Eirian.
Petrova could only nod as the soldier examined her makeshift dog tags. “Well, Natalija, you’re safe now. We’ll bring you to a field hospital that’s not far from here, then you’ll be brought back home. There is a ceasefire currently in effect right now, and part of the deal was the return of all prisoners. I know you’ve been through a lot, but you’re safe with us. Can you stand?”
Natalija nodded, and shakily stood up. She saw a number of her fellow prisoners getting similar help from soldiers in a variety of different uniforms, from various Eirian uniforms to Lauchenoirian, Huenyan, and even Milintican ones. The soldier who was helping her put her arm around Petrova’s soldier, and the now-free pilot noticed that her name plate said “Astier,” and she was wearing the insignia of a Corporal. The pair slowly made their way over to an Eirian medic, who took one look at her before immediately going to fetch supplies.
Corporal Astier gave her a small smile. “What’s your rank, Kuren* Petrova?”
Natalija cleared her throat. “First Lieutenant, Corps of Naval Aviators. I am… or was… stationed on the EIS Arion.”
Astier raised her eyebrows. “You outrank me then, Lieutenant! Navy pilot, eh? Impressive.” The army soldier leaned against one of the barricades as the medic returned with some water, a small ration pack, and some medical supplies for Natalija. As the medic worked on Petrova’s arm, Astier squatted down. “Thank you for your service, Lieutenant Petrova. You have gone through more than anyone should have to go through. We’ll take care of you while you rest, okay? I’ll let him finish up, and then you can eat and drink while we drive back to base. I don’t exactly think you want to sleep on the front lines.”
The reality of her situation caught up to her, and Petrova’s eyes filled with tears (joyful ones, this time). The Corporal’s face filled with concern, but Natalija shook her head. “No, no. It’s a good thing. I just can’t believe…”
I’m going home.
________
*(1) Unitists believe in a recursive punishment after death; Before your soul can pass on to the afterlife, you must relive all of the harm you've done to others, from their perspective.
*(2) "That wasn't too hard, eh?"
*(3) Polite honorific, akin to "Sir/Ma'am"
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