Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #22 January 2016 | Page 11
“I want them to come back,” Elsa says. She
does not seem to be tired at all. Under the blankets
her uniform is saturated with Mitchell’s blood. She
grips the stock of the MG240 and peers deep into
snow flurries between the black pine trunks. “I want
those fuckers to come back.”
Suzi mutters.
Day 327
We lay siege to a convoy from out the west.
It is the third one we have destroyed in as many
weeks. Felled trees block the trail, explosives and
anti-tank rockets chop the column up into isolated
pockets. The Banlites are in their element, firing
with their characteristic flat slap-crack sound from
prepared positions, dominating a mile of the broad,
snow-covered trail.
Day 286
We are advancing. Incredibly, we have been
reinforced, re-equipped and supplied within less than
a week. Suzi is back with us, cheerful, but wincing
as the stitches pull on the shrapnel wounds in her
legs and stomach, her face still bandaged from flash
burns.
This is a different army than the one that so
casually battered us over a month ago. The troops
are tall, sallow-skinned, with dark, oriental eyes.
Under their winter camo they wear midnight blue
silk underclothes, padded and quilted. It is light,
warm, and breathable. Suzi says it is aspirational
clothing and soon we all have some.
As soon as the orderly leaves, Suzi strips
off the bandages. Her face is bright pink, shiny, soft
with new skin. She has one eyebrow. She gives Elsa
a hug. Mitchell has lost both legs, one above the
knee, one below. He is going home.
The four of us can still man the guns but lack
rifle defence so we are reassigned again, this time to
support an infantry unit, freshly arrived, all in snow
camouflage, skis and winter equipment. We scrounge
fresh clothing and join the briefing late.
Life has become comfortable. Light patrols
rove a hundred square miles of boreal forest,
locating the slow-moving columns. Then we move
ahead of them, travelling fast on skis, pulling
home-made toboggans. Like most of the other men,
Kosygyn and I have grown full beards. It is now too
cold for lice.
The officer, broad-shouldered, lean, with
wind-burnt skin, glances at us and carries on talking.
“We have no idea who they are. Intelligence now
believe they didn’t know we were here either.
Our forward units were on their flank, they hit us
and kept on going. Ships in the night, ladies and
gentlemen.”
Sometimes Kosygyn and Elsa go hunting.
Mainly we live off what we capture: food, clothing,
medical supplies and weapons. The infantry major,
Lenzl-Wington, has a free brief, able to conduct
operations in any way and for as long as he sees fit.
We are dozens of miles behind what we think of
as enemy lines, far to the north of the mountains,
though in truth the war here is an east-west one,
fought between two armies we never knew existed
until we blundered into them. Now we feast on
them.
Suzi and I exchange glances.
“This is the plan: 05:00 hours we move d YB