A day in D-tent

By: G. Anderson Lake

            As Carlos Itchevez woke up to his disheveled part of D-tent, he knew today would be a bad day. He had an intuition about these things that he often warped and twisted as the end of the world. Standing at his full height of six foot three, Carlos walked up to Slayvak, a soldier with the most demure personality Carlos had ever met, so he could wake him up. Carlos was always an early riser, because he, unlike most of the men, grew up on the warm side of Russia as a farm boy. Every one was sleeping until he stepped on shards of broken glass. One of the men woke up and spewed a line of epithets at Carlos. The man who did this was Forveski an effigy of the people he represented, the old KGB, and always took the opportunity to articulate himself, usually in curses and disrespectful terms for authorities. Every one in D-tent liked him though, not just because he never told his men to disperse, or stay collaborative through thick and thin, but because he was one of the most honorable man any of them had ever met.

            When everyone was outside the smell of gun powder and old blood lingered in the air. They saw Naomi Datzhov walk over; she was, surprisingly, the leader of the entire encampment. With her broad shoulders and faultless hips, she easily made her way into every man’s reverie, but they were anything but brazen when it came to her. The first time she entered the camp one of the soldiers gave her a “hey Baby,” he also spent the next four weeks in the doctor’s tent with a broken jaw, three missing teeth, and a bullet wound in the foot. They were harried if they said anything but “Yes mam,” and “right away.” Other than that none of the men liked her because she was always perverse and mean. Carlos just knew today would be bad if she had orders. The only time she had orders when war broke out or they were starting a war, which for Russia usually meant it was from the inside the political system and power would soon change. This was definitely a bad day.

“Alright Men,” said Gen. Datzhov “Russia has been overtaken by a group of marauders. A medley of KGB, peasants, and ex-cabinet members are involved in the uprising. They are using an ingenious plan and are intent on overthrowing parliament in Moscow. As far as we know their plan is to encompass Moscow get as many followers as possible with their ‘Convert or Die’ campaign and then raid parliament, killing everyone inside. We of course are laden with the trouble of stopping them. On the bright side of it though we are receiving succor from the north by Lt. Zorbachof.”

            “Permission to Speak,” Forveski shouted at Datzhov obviously having an idea that would in the end be shot down, but everyone knew it would work even Datzhov. “Permission granted, Major,” Datzhov replied already knowing what he was going to say, as well did everyone else, a question that would, to anyone else, would have had him decommissioned, permanently.

            “Why, don’t the tyran-, er, president and cabinet members rather, just leave?” Forveski questioned already knowing Datzhov’s answer and his reply.

            “I don’t know, they did not include it in the mission report.” Replied Datzhov referring to a file folder containing just about everything they need to know, or rather all the information the political leaders needed them to know. Then Forveski took his next shot “Don’t you have full military clearance for that kind of stuff?” Everyone looked back at her, “Full military clearance yes, but when it comes to politics I have as much worth as a peasant farmer.”

            “Which apparently are trying to change their status.” Itchevez whispered under his breath to Slayvak. “Excuse me private,” Datzhov scornfully applying an excess of emphasis on private. She twirled her fingers in her plait; she did this when something bothered her. “Sorry General it was nothing, General.”

            “That better be the last, nothing, or I will have you decommissioned. Now back to my point, I was Imposed to have you imbued by the end of the week to perpetually push their forces  away from Moscow into the North into an ambush in the hills where Lt. Zorbachof is stationed, as long as the plan works.” Her speech left them with a languor. The plan itself was apparently improvised, because if Itchevez was right their path led them over a precipitous cliff. However they would receive no condolences for not following orders.

            After the briefing every one either went to the showers or to the armory to check guns and armor. However private Itchevez and Slayvak walked towards the ridge to the Southeast of the camp, it was a sheer drop off and had the most beautiful view in the entire world at 6:35 in the morning. The sun rose right over the trees and the far away mountains and reflected of the snowcaps right onto the cliff. Itchevez and Slayvak often came here to talk, usually before battle.

            “She had an incognito about her,” Slayvak said looking haggard and languid which looked like the complete opposite of the stout and rakish appearance of Itchevez, “it’s quite inscrutable. She reminds me of the Baba Yaga stories, but a lot prettier.”  Itchevez was completely shocked Slayvak was never so insolent and derisive.

            “You better be-,” out of no where the alarms started blaring, which meant invasion, “- careful?” Slayvak had practically fallen off the cliff. Itchevez turned around and saw everyone was distraught. Then he saw it at the west end of the camp was a small cliff leading to the base of the mountain they were on, they were on a level plain at 7, 578 feet. What he saw was a group of what he was sure was the marauders hurtling over the small cliff into the outer edge of the camp and a few tanks trundling over the cliff to the south smashing some of the tents and what Itchevez was sure was some of his friends in F-tent.

            Everyone in the armory came busting out throwing weapons and chest armor to everyone. By this Itchevez and Slayvak had run away from the cliff and toward the sandbags that had been set up and landed themselves right next to Captain Markszen, who had just came out of the armory holding Itchevez’ s and Slayvak’ s guns and armor. The three of them were best buddies since training and were always together in battle. “Live a Russian, Die a Friend,” was their saying. Both sides started cannonading because there was no warning or even an insinuation of an attack. There was no message from ground camp; these marauders were fast, to fast.

            Then out of the first tank came Major General Zorbachof. “Listen here you curs, you know me as Zorbachof but my real name will stay anonymous. We have you surrounded so surrender your weapons and you will be spared.”

            Then out of her tent Datzhov came out and shouted, “ You heard him, give up your weapons or die!”

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After Zorbachof’s men threw over 575 troops into the mess hall tent, he and the rest of the marauders left the mountain camp as far as Itchevez could tell. By now he imagined they would be at the ford to cross over into the small valley village of Kilzenworth which had a direct road cutting through the mountain right into Moscow it was about a 100 day journey on  foot but with the vehicles they had they would reach Moscow in thirty forty-five days. The regiment had little time to catch up to them. Even if they had they would have to endeavor to refrain the marauder’s main force and the only way they could do that is if the force loitered in the city gave up all their weapons and vehicles and simultaneously the regiment received all their weapons back and received about 5,000 troops for reinforcement.

            Not only was the regiment tied up but the marauders had launched a projectile into the middle of the encampment that had been irradiating a low amount of radiation which Itchevez  guessed was set to explode fairly soon fifteen to twenty minutes he assumed. A certain Colonel Gertchov, who was sitting across from Itchevez, had a certain suavity about him ever since he had taken up Buddhism, however none of that mattered now ,what did matter though is that Gertchov had so far done a pretty good job of escaping. Itchevez had an omen while thinking about his last days which, thirty minutes ago, seemed liked an hour from then. He had imagined the regiment charging into Moscow, and all that was left was a pile of rubble. Itchevez never really noticed how capacious the mess hall was, but none of that mattered now.

            Forveski was being impertinent as always, he was tied up to the right of Itchevez. The men were tied separately the in groups of four North, South, East, and West. Forveski was facing south, and had an insatiable itch on his back which made him buffet about occasionally. Every time we asked him to stop because he was making the knots tighter he would ominously scowl at the. Soon Gertchov would be free as would the rest of the regiment and no matter what the odds they had orders to follow.