Fog descended, the clouds were dark, and there was a curtain of rain that turned day to night. The waters were calm, compressed beneath the weight of a fleet pushing down on the sea where scores of ships bent around land and shoals. They were like bundles of floating metal, but each vessel was as deadly as a bush fire on an arid day. Their turrets fired rapidly until their men grew tired and their barrels overheated, their flash doors pried open with shells being raised from their armouries to the breech of guns in a matter of minutes. A constant barrage pounded the city that was, though hidden behind the smoke and mist, in flames. Screams and wails of innocents came from within the settlement as they were being dragged to the gates of purgatory by the arms of hell, yet despite the firestorm that ensued, the fleet had not yet been called to halt. The ships expended whatever munitions they had at whatever the cost. Even if the city had already been reduced to ash, they had to eradicate all life. Rain failed to cool the earth, and plumes of bitter smoke shrouded the storms of flames that ravaged the skyline.
On the outskirts of the fleet floated a frigate. Its older guns were slower and more modest in power compared to the battleships in the centre. The upper deck was crewed only by a handful of sailors who stood back and watched the spectacle unfold except for one whose eyes were lain on the mist, trying to ignore the brutality of their one-sided attack. He tried to drown out the noises of desperate voices crying out for help, but he was woken each time by the shock of the turret fire.
One man stood out among the many chattering voices over the gunfire. “Jes žutoyně žukudz kudzer valkau měmav křpa javěn zak kukula. (I wouldn’t wanna be in their shoes even if ya paid me in gold.)” An officer leaned over the railing, watching the shells dive over the walls. “Arї, Artř, kjapěts tu ěsěštal war mě? (Say, Artur, why’d ya sign up with us?)” He suddenly asked his subordinate, with the blasts of the nearby guns merging with his coarse bellow.
A sailor stood behind him in the shadow of the tower, a tall figure for his age who had features which were not purely Rus. His black hair came with suspicion but no one went as far as to question his background, assuming that he was an Easterner from their allies’ lands. After all, the Rus needed every able body they could recruit.
“Jesav těv štrjadal wor peldvěš war pats vjard un jdzїval… paštyaštau pasaka… (My father served on a ship with a similar name, and he survived… many wars…)” The young sailor replied, but he seemed unsure about his story. “Jes domal tas ěgau labav vejksme. (I thought it’d bring me good luck.)” He gave his reason that even he could hardly believe.
From his chest pocket, the officer drew out a packet of cigarettes and clasped a smoke between his teeth. “War těsnїvěš, tas eral šjudavdaÿl štjašt jes dzjrdal. (I must admit, that’s the most turd-filled story I’ve ever heard.)” He held a lighter behind his hand and attempted to light his cigarette, but only sparks appeared.
Worriedly, the sailor’s eyes turned to the officer, who was unaware of his surroundings, struggling to light his smoke and working the flint wheel until his thumb grew tired. Even then, he would not admit defeat. He shook the lighter around, hoping that there was some fuel left, and attempted to light it again, but it was to no avail. Finally, the officer gave up, thinking that it was a message from the heavens telling him to quit, and as if it had no sentimental value to him, he sighed and tossed his lighter and smoke into the sea. Realising he was too preoccupied and not paying much attention to his story, the sailor lowered his head and stood at ease again.
Watching as his lighter sank beneath the waves, the officer shook his head, more concerned as to what could fill in the hole in his heart if not for the smoke of tobacco. “Bo, mě kudzav adzÿjrїgav ěmesla. (But, we all have our reasons.)” He righted himself when the shine of the silver case was swallowed by the gentle sea that lapped against the hull. “Jes žutoy jdzmayu, udzčauktně. (I won’t take the piss outta yours, don’t ya worry.)” Smirking, the Rus glanced over his shoulder and reassured his sailor.
The fleet continued their barrage and lit the sky with flashes of gunfire, reflecting off the metal skin of ships, including the bow of one vessel much smaller than the frigate emerging out of the dark fog and smoke. She sailed without noise like a ghost ship, gently gliding across the waves that visibly rocked her, but the currents did not change her course.
The flag of the Rus was present, and the signals which were strung around the vessel may have appeared authentic to the common eye, but to the officer’s veteran sight, he knew something was wrong about this ship. They had no lamps nor lights to communicate, nor was there a crew on deck. Moreover, the shape of the ship was unlike anything the Rus had in their arsenal, nor could something like this ironclad sloop be favoured by the admiral of the fleet. It was a model that had not been used for over a century, and as the body of the ancient machine came closer, his suspicion became greater.
Leaning over the rail, the officer squinted as he stared at it. “Kos ertis šjud…? (What in the name of shit is this…?)” Confused, he did not know what to do with this information.
Taking a pace forward, the sailor noticed the sloop too, and his eyes widened with conviction as if his spirit had lit a fire under him. He approached the officer from behind and unsheathed his knife. His movement was agile, and his feet quickened. The officer heard the ring of a blade come from behind him, but before he could turn around, he felt a hand cover his mouth and cold steel plunging into his neck. The sailor reversed his grip and dragged his blade across his neck until it struck his spine. Clawing for air, blood spewed and seeped through the gaps of his assailant’s fingers, but when the blade met bone, he knew his struggle was over. The traitor tore through his spine, and the officer’s body slacked. The light in his eyes disappeared, and his muffled voice fell silent. Slowly, the sailor moved his hand away and ripped the knife out of the corpse before pushing him overboard so that he could become one with his lighter.295Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoGcCnNaO44
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