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Description
Petrav stood on the threshold. The dingy little bar was dimly lit, and reeked a rancid mingling of vomit and sweat. It was not the filth that held him back or perhaps it was, just not in the way you and I would think. It was life, that sickening infestation of life that the bar played host to. It was the patrons, the bar tender, the light music and heavy set voices half-way to drunken stupor. It was the flickering lights and the sound of clinking glass that made him want to cry out. Not tonight he thought, tonight was too important.
He reigned in his anxiety, his fear, his now instinctual need to wretch. And as he stepped into the bar he stumbled and reached for the wall. What he felt was not the warm solid timber of the bar and as he righted himself he realised the dirt covering his hand was cold, wet earth. He was back in that different time. He looked down at the dull uniform, the trailing straps of his pouches, the dead black eyes of his gas mask and the gleaming butt of his pistol.
‘Hello old friends.’
Petrav smiled as he recognised that feeling of familiar absurdity. He recalled a real friend of his once saying that “Nostalgia is a feeling caught somewhere between fond reminiscence and chaotic obsession” and he quietly whispered,
‘Which side of the trench do you reckon I’m sitting on eh?’
He looked at each of them in turn but most stayed silent save his strap buckles clicking as he finally moved off to see what was going on around. There were lights strung along the trench, dim and flickering in a long stretch like pulses of a vein. If there was a sound of a beating heart it was drowned by distant shells whistling through the night sky, cushioned by darkness. Blind shots for eager listening gun crews waiting to hear men scream. The lights in the trenches were decoys and they were smart enough to ignore them.
Petrav crouched below the string of bulbs, hoping to stop his silhouette from signalling that life scurried about in this particular trench. There was no doubt however that there were others there, hiding in pockets of darkness with cigarette tips held aloof in cupped hands. He found them huddled, a small group of ten or so, staring at the lighted path he had come off from. They nodded at him as he shuffled past but kept their glares fixed, waiting for the other side’s ordnance to home in.
He knew their fear; saw firsthand the effectiveness of a shell landing in a crowded trench. In the back of his mind he mocked them for trying to tempt the guns away like flies to a lit candle but he knew why. Hope was a strong motivator, better to die knowing they had done all they could have than to hear each other scream and thinking they could have tried to do something.
‘Night’s gone quiet.’ one said leaning in to offer him a cigarette.
Petrav reached out and gently slid one from the dented packet but didn’t light it, it was a kind gift he thought and stowed it in his breast pocket.
‘It may not mean anything, they could just be reloading’ came the nervous response of one of the younger looking ones.
‘No, they would’ve finished by now. They’re choosing a target.’
He couldn’t see their faces but Petrav heard the sighs and decided he would look for a lighter. He saw light glinting off of one and started to move towards it but found his ears ringing from something exploding behind him. He felt heat and cold air rush past his neck and found himself sprawled across the hard floorboards of the bar. Someone was talking to him but he couldn’t make out the words, he barely felt himself being pulled through what he could make out as a gaping hole where the bar door had been.
Petrav stared up at the night sky as he allowed himself to be dragged by his collar through the remains and the rubble of the street. He heard them, the roar of their engines like the sound of angels. He saw them, the planes like heralds soaring through the clouds, announcing the coming day of judgement. It was not His day though. It couldn’t be, he thought, he had too much left to pay for.
It was a while before Petrav became properly aware that he was being dragged and he didn’t like it. The last time it happened was a long while back and the stars looked different. With effort he waved his arms about, trying to catch the other one dragging him and managed to tap its shoulder. He was subsequently let go, and helped to stand.
‘Can you run?’ came her voice, at least he was pretty sure it was a her. His head was still buzzing but he blinked it back.
‘Mmm yeah, yeah.’ was all he managed to get out before she grabbed his arm and led him around the burning cars and mounds of levelled brickwork. The road was devoid of life, not a soul was on it but their corpses littered the streets. Why today? He thought as they ducked beneath the shadow of a church. He glanced through a window and there laid one of them, undetonated at the feet of Christ.
‘Here, we should be safe here; we’ve been running in the opposite direction the bombers were heading in’.
Petrav edged slowly onto the vacant sofa of the small apartment she had led him to. He watched her cross the length of the room and lean against the windows.
‘Thank uhm...’ he murmured.
‘I think they’re headed towards the city centre, its lucky we were on the outskirts, we’re probably one of the first places that got hit. The damage will be worse as we go deeper in.’
‘Thank You.’ he said with a little more confidence.
Petrav thought he made out a smirk when she looked over her shoulder but it was dark. Her slim hands pulled the curtains shut and fumbled for the switch of the lamp nearby. The dim bulb flickered to life as she turned to face him and he realised who she was. He couldn’t have recognised her voice; he’d never spoken to her before. She sat down next to him.
‘You’re welcome, mr...?’
‘Petrav’
‘Just Petrav?’
‘First names aren’t much important where I come from, they take up too much time.’
‘Ah, you’re from the trenches.’ His eyes narrowed.
‘You’re rather observant ms...?’
‘Katerina.’ So that’s what it was, her name, that elusive thing that meant nothing and everything at once. She grimaced a little, ‘my brother was in the trenches, I know the look.’
Petrav nodded. There wasn’t much to add to that.
‘How soon do you think before their army reaches us?’ she was looking right at him and for a moment he was caught like in a spotlight, confined and yet unbound.
‘A couple of days at best, not tonight though so we’re safe for now, but tomorrow...tomorrow we need to move and move fast.’
She nodded and looked at the floor hard, considering something then just as suddenly looked back at him. All over him.
‘Are you hurt? You were pretty close to the door when it got blown in.’
‘I’m fine. I feel...fine’. He considered himself and realised he was intact.
‘Were you living with anyone? Anyone you want to go looking for?’ she was standing up and looking around the apartment, occasionally stopping to rummage through drawers.
‘No, I’m...alone here. What about you? Your brother? Family?’
She stopped and looked straight into him, eyes glazed over, ‘They’re dead. My brother died in the hospital after he came back from the front, I never knew my father but my mother...she killed herself after Nickolai passed.’ Her tears never came.
Petrav looked down at his feet and realised he knew what she felt.
‘War is hell.’
Katerina slid shut the drawer she was looking in and sat back down on the sofa.
‘No,’ she whispered, ‘I think if hell was anything like war, the devil would be looking over his own shoulder'.
He agreed, he understood, how could he not? She had said it better than he could have. He was only surprised it had come from her, someone who’d never been there. Then again he supposed this was proof that not all of them possessed an arrogant ignorance of what the war was like. Petrav couldn’t help smiling, but kept it to himself.
Petrav got up and looked around the apartment. He found a bedroom with one bed and small crucifix nailed to the wall. He touched it as he walked back into the other room.
‘It’s getting late, take the bed and i’ll keep watch out here.’
She looked as though she was going to argue but nodded silently instead.
He allowed himself a slight smile.
‘Try and get some sleep. I want us leaving at dawn, when the light is up so at least when I have to look over my shoulder I’ll be able to see what we’re going to have to deal with.’

.end

Description
Petrav stood on the threshold. The dingy little bar was dimly lit, and reeked a rancid mingling of vomit and sweat. It was not the filth that held him back or perhaps it was, just not in the way you and I would think. It was life, that sickening infestation of life that the bar played host to. It was the patrons, the bar tender, the light music and heavy set voices half-way to drunken stupor. It was the flickering lights and the sound of clinking glass that made him want to cry out. Not tonight he thought, tonight was too important.
He reigned in his anxiety, his fear, his now instinctual need to wretch. And as he stepped into the bar he stumbled and reached for the wall. What he felt was not the warm solid timber of the bar and as he righted himself he realised the dirt covering his hand was cold, wet earth. He was back in that different time. He looked down at the dull uniform, the trailing straps of his pouches, the dead black eyes of his gas mask and the gleaming butt of his pistol.
‘Hello old friends.’
Petrav smiled as he recognised that feeling of familiar absurdity. He recalled a real friend of his once saying that “Nostalgia is a feeling caught somewhere between fond reminiscence and chaotic obsession” and he quietly whispered,
‘Which side of the trench do you reckon I’m sitting on eh?’
He looked at each of them in turn but most stayed silent save his strap buckles clicking as he finally moved off to see what was going on around. There were lights strung along the trench, dim and flickering in a long stretch like pulses of a vein. If there was a sound of a beating heart it was drowned by distant shells whistling through the night sky, cushioned by darkness. Blind shots for eager listening gun crews waiting to hear men scream. The lights in the trenches were decoys and they were smart enough to ignore them.
Petrav crouched below the string of bulbs, hoping to stop his silhouette from signalling that life scurried about in this particular trench. There was no doubt however that there were others there, hiding in pockets of darkness with cigarette tips held aloof in cupped hands. He found them huddled, a small group of ten or so, staring at the lighted path he had come off from. They nodded at him as he shuffled past but kept their glares fixed, waiting for the other side’s ordnance to home in.
He knew their fear; saw firsthand the effectiveness of a shell landing in a crowded trench. In the back of his mind he mocked them for trying to tempt the guns away like flies to a lit candle but he knew why. Hope was a strong motivator, better to die knowing they had done all they could have than to hear each other scream and thinking they could have tried to do something.
‘Night’s gone quiet.’ one said leaning in to offer him a cigarette.
Petrav reached out and gently slid one from the dented packet but didn’t light it, it was a kind gift he thought and stowed it in his breast pocket.
‘It may not mean anything, they could just be reloading’ came the nervous response of one of the younger looking ones.
‘No, they would’ve finished by now. They’re choosing a target.’
He couldn’t see their faces but Petrav heard the sighs and decided he would look for a lighter. He saw light glinting off of one and started to move towards it but found his ears ringing from something exploding behind him. He felt heat and cold air rush past his neck and found himself sprawled across the hard floorboards of the bar. Someone was talking to him but he couldn’t make out the words, he barely felt himself being pulled through what he could make out as a gaping hole where the bar door had been.
Petrav stared up at the night sky as he allowed himself to be dragged by his collar through the remains and the rubble of the street. He heard them, the roar of their engines like the sound of angels. He saw them, the planes like heralds soaring through the clouds, announcing the coming day of judgement. It was not His day though. It couldn’t be, he thought, he had too much left to pay for.
It was a while before Petrav became properly aware that he was being dragged and he didn’t like it. The last time it happened was a long while back and the stars looked different. With effort he waved his arms about, trying to catch the other one dragging him and managed to tap its shoulder. He was subsequently let go, and helped to stand.
‘Can you run?’ came her voice, at least he was pretty sure it was a her. His head was still buzzing but he blinked it back.
‘Mmm yeah, yeah.’ was all he managed to get out before she grabbed his arm and led him around the burning cars and mounds of levelled brickwork. The road was devoid of life, not a soul was on it but their corpses littered the streets. Why today? He thought as they ducked beneath the shadow of a church. He glanced through a window and there laid one of them, undetonated at the feet of Christ.
‘Here, we should be safe here; we’ve been running in the opposite direction the bombers were heading in’.
Petrav edged slowly onto the vacant sofa of the small apartment she had led him to. He watched her cross the length of the room and lean against the windows.
‘Thank uhm...’ he murmured.
‘I think they’re headed towards the city centre, its lucky we were on the outskirts, we’re probably one of the first places that got hit. The damage will be worse as we go deeper in.’
‘Thank You.’ he said with a little more confidence.
Petrav thought he made out a smirk when she looked over her shoulder but it was dark. Her slim hands pulled the curtains shut and fumbled for the switch of the lamp nearby. The dim bulb flickered to life as she turned to face him and he realised who she was. He couldn’t have recognised her voice; he’d never spoken to her before. She sat down next to him.
‘You’re welcome, mr...?’
‘Petrav’
‘Just Petrav?’
‘First names aren’t much important where I come from, they take up too much time.’
‘Ah, you’re from the trenches.’ His eyes narrowed.
‘You’re rather observant ms...?’
‘Katerina.’ So that’s what it was, her name, that elusive thing that meant nothing and everything at once. She grimaced a little, ‘my brother was in the trenches, I know the look.’
Petrav nodded. There wasn’t much to add to that.
‘How soon do you think before their army reaches us?’ she was looking right at him and for a moment he was caught like in a spotlight, confined and yet unbound.
‘A couple of days at best, not tonight though so we’re safe for now, but tomorrow...tomorrow we need to move and move fast.’
She nodded and looked at the floor hard, considering something then just as suddenly looked back at him. All over him.
‘Are you hurt? You were pretty close to the door when it got blown in.’
‘I’m fine. I feel...fine’. He considered himself and realised he was intact.
‘Were you living with anyone? Anyone you want to go looking for?’ she was standing up and looking around the apartment, occasionally stopping to rummage through drawers.
‘No, I’m...alone here. What about you? Your brother? Family?’
She stopped and looked straight into him, eyes glazed over, ‘They’re dead. My brother died in the hospital after he came back from the front, I never knew my father but my mother...she killed herself after Nickolai passed.’ Her tears never came.
Petrav looked down at his feet and realised he knew what she felt.
‘War is hell.’
Katerina slid shut the drawer she was looking in and sat back down on the sofa.
‘No,’ she whispered, ‘I think if hell was anything like war, the devil would be looking over his own shoulder'.
He agreed, he understood, how could he not? She had said it better than he could have. He was only surprised it had come from her, someone who’d never been there. Then again he supposed this was proof that not all of them possessed an arrogant ignorance of what the war was like. Petrav couldn’t help smiling, but kept it to himself.
Petrav got up and looked around the apartment. He found a bedroom with one bed and small crucifix nailed to the wall. He touched it as he walked back into the other room.
‘It’s getting late, take the bed and i’ll keep watch out here.’
She looked as though she was going to argue but nodded silently instead.
He allowed himself a slight smile.
‘Try and get some sleep. I want us leaving at dawn, when the light is up so at least when I have to look over my shoulder I’ll be able to see what we’re going to have to deal with.’

.end