Przemek checked his watch: 09:04. He had overslept, a fact he realized the moment sunlight streaming through the window blinded him. He turned to see Sofia still deeply asleep beside him. She needed the rest, he thought. Over the past week, she had been drinking heavily, more so than anyone else, the private stock of wine and whiskey they had discovered in the manor didn’t help.
The room they were in was a far cry from the overcrowded cabin they had endured for months. It was a spacious, old-fashioned retreat, perfectly in keeping with the manor's grandeur.
As Przemek sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his boots, he felt Sofia’s hand gently touch his back.
“Where are you going?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.
“I have to go to the green house, I was supposed to be there half an hour ago” he replied, slipping a T-shirt over his head.
“Take Jonathan with you,” she murmured, already drifting back into the comfort of sleep.
Przemek nodded and quietly finished dressing, leaving Sofia to rest as he prepared to head out.
He left his rifle propped against the bed, its dark metal catching the morning light. After slipping into his jacket, he fastened a belt around his waist, securing his Glock holster to the side. The jacket’s fabric rustled softly as he adjusted the holster, making sure it was snug and accessible.
Przemek took a moment to glance around the room, appreciating the temporary comfort it offered. The village was well protected now, its defenses reinforced by the influx of people from Kristianstad. They had painstakingly moved every supply from the old location to here, a laborious task that had involved countless trips back and forth. Przemek remembered the long days spent driving, ensuring the convoy’s safety and providing security along the way.
With a final check of his gear, he grabbed a spare magazine and slipped it into his pocket. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. As he quietly left the room, he made a mental note to find Jonathan and brief him on the plan. The village was secure for now, but vigilance was still key in maintaining their hard-earned stability.
Przemek navigated the manor’s expansive hallway with purposeful strides. The corridor, bathed in the soft morning light filtering through tall, arched windows, echoed with the muted sounds of the bustling village beyond. The polished wooden floors beneath his boots seemed to amplify each step, and the ornate tapestries hanging on the walls cast shifting shadows with every movement.
His gaze swept over the intricate moldings and antique furniture that adorned the hall, reminders of the manor’s once opulent past.
Przemek approached Jonathan’s room, the door marked by a simple wooden sign bearing his name. He paused briefly, listening for any sounds from within. Hearing nothing, he raised his hand and knocked firmly, the sound sharp and deliberate against the quiet of the corridor.
After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open just a sliver. Jonathan, naked if it wasn’t for the sheet around his waist stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of curiosity and annoyance.
“What’s the password?” he asked with a hint of a smirk.
“Gówniarz!” Przemek shot back, the insult clear in his tone. Jonathan’s smirk faded into a grimace, but he kept his composure.
“What do you want?” Jonathan asked, his patience wearing thin.
“We need to see that guy about the seeds. We’re already running late,” Przemek said, his frustration evident.
“Why me?” Jonathan protested, shifting his weight uneasily.
“You wanted to another job than carrying a machine gun around, remember?” Przemek replied, his voice rising. “You’re lucky we even let you take on that role, especially with how immature you’ve been lately.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes but knew better than to argue further. “Alright, alright, cut it out. I’ll get dressed,” he said, turning to go back inside.
As Jonathan moved to his dresser, Przemek’s gaze inadvertently fell on the bed. A young woman lay there, naked and asleep. Przemek quickly looked away, focusing on the task at hand. He shifted uncomfortably, realizing that time was slipping away while Jonathan prepared.
Jonathan joined Przemek in the hallway, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctance. As they descended the grand staircase of the manor, Przemek shot him a sharp look.
“If she shows up with a kid in nine months, it’s your ass! I’m done covering for you,” Przemek said, his voice edged with frustration.
Jonathan grumbled as he adjusted his jacket, the rifle slung awkwardly on his back. “Hey, why are you giving me crap? I don’t hear you talking like this to Nikolaj or Ming. Besides, you’re the one sharing a bed with Sofia.”
Przemek stopped on the staircase, his expression hardening. “Let me set the record straight,” he said, his tone firm. “There’s nothing going on between Sofia and me. We’re sharing a bed because the manor’s setup is tight and we’re both tired. It’s practical, not personal.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced. “So what’s the deal then?”
Przemek shook his head. “Look, it’s not like you think. We’re all trying to make it work. And if you’d stop being so self-centered, you’d see that everyone’s making sacrifices. You’re the only one with a room for yourself remember. So just get your head in the game and focus on the task at hand.”
Jonathan huffed but nodded, not sold by Przemek’s explanation. “Alright, alright. Let’s just get this over with.”
They made their way across the village, their boots crunching through the blackened, melted snow. Jonathan muttered curses as he nearly lost his footing on the icy patches.
“You think it’s gonna stop snowing anytime soon?” he asked Przemek, frustration evident in his voice.
“What do I know? Do I look like a weatherman?” Przemek shot back, his annoyance apparent. “You’re the one from Scandinavia!”
Jonathan scowled. “I told you before, it doesn’t snow in Denmark.”
Przemek added as they approached the greenhouse. “Yeah, and it’s not exactly tropical there, either.”
Jonathan grumbled about how frustrating it was to transport all the vegetables and growing pots from Kristianstad to their new location. The process had been a logistical nightmare, and the snow only added to the misery.
Jonathan struggled to stay focused as the head gardener, a seasoned expert with a grizzled face and a no-nonsense demeanor, explained the intricacies of managing the greenhouse. The gardener’s voice was steady and authoritative, cutting through Jonathan’s throbbing headache. “Potatoes need loose, well-drained soil. Plant them about a foot apart and ensure they’re buried six inches deep. They prefer cooler weather, so keep the temperature stable.”
Jonathan squinted, trying to block out the persistent throb behind his eyes as he noted what he was saying in his notebook. The light from the grow lamps felt unusually harsh, intensifying his discomfort. He nodded occasionally, but the details about soil types and planting depths were hard to grasp through the haze of his hangover.
The gardener moved on to spinach, his hands illustrating the spacing and watering requirements. “Spinach likes cooler temperatures and needs consistent moisture in the soil. Space the seeds two inches apart and ensure they get plenty of light.”
Jonathan’s attention drifted. The humming of the ventilation system seemed louder than usual, and the strong smell of the greenhouse soil was almost overwhelming. He fought to keep his eyes open, battling the urge to slump against the nearest stack of seed trays.
Finally, the gardener approached the cabbage section. “For cabbage, space them a foot apart. They’re resilient but need lots of nutrients. Regular feeding and adequate watering are crucial.”
Jonathan’s stomach churned as he tried to absorb the information. He could barely concentrate, feeling the after effects of last night’s drinking session and the short night he had. His mind kept wandering to the disarray of supplies and the looming tasks ahead. The hangover made everything seem more complex than it probably was.
Przemek, more alert and engaged, asked detailed questions, making notes as the gardener spoke. Jonathan, meanwhile, forced himself to focus, though his responses were delayed and lacking in energy only writing half of what the man was saying down.
As the head gardener wrapped up, Jonathan let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling the weight of his hangover lift slightly now that the briefing was over. He gave a weak smile and attempted to steady himself, hoping the rest of the day would be less demanding.
The gardener handed over a well-worn notebook, its pages filled with detailed procedures for growing potatoes, spinach, and cabbage. Przemek took it with a nod and then, with a decisive shove, handed it over to Jonathan, who accepted it with a grimace.
“Thanks,” Jonathan muttered, though his voice lacked conviction as he put it in his back pocket.
Przemek then reached for a bag of seeds before handing it to Jonathan, the weight of it adding to the already heavy sense of discomfort. With a quick shake of the gardener’s hand, Przemek signaled their departure.
“Let’s get something in your stomach,” Przemek said, casting a concerned glance at Jonathan. The worry in his eyes was evident, though Jonathan’s own reflection of the morning’s struggle was clear.
They walked through the frosty village, the cold air sharp against Jonathan’s face, a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat of the greenhouse. The streets were quiet, and the few villagers they passed gave them polite nods, seemingly already used to seeing the pair involved in one task or another.
As they approached the communal kitchen, a modest building a few houses down from the manor, Jonathan’s stomach growled in protest. The thought of food was both a relief and a source of mild dread, but he knew it was necessary to stave off the lingering effects of his hangover.
The communal kitchen was a modest but vital, situated just a few houses down from the manor. Its exterior was unremarkable, a simple, sturdy structure with weathered wooden planks and a tin roof, but inside it was a warm and welcoming space, bustling with the hum of daily life.
As Przemek and Jonathan entered, they realized they were relieved to see that they had missed the morning rush. The kitchen’s interior was practical and functional, with a large, old-fashioned stove dominating one side of the room. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with jars of preserved fruits, vegetables, and other essentials. The counters were cluttered with various pots and utensils, evidence of the kitchen’s constant use.
Long wooden tables occupied the center of the room, covered with mismatched but sturdy chairs. The tables were strewn with bowls, spoons, and freshly baked bread. The floor was a patchwork of worn tiles and wooden planks, scrubbed clean from countless meals.
Przemek and Jonathan joined the line forming at the counter where the pottage was being served. The line was orderly, with the few people chatting quietly and sharing small talk. A large pot of steaming pottage sat on the counter, its scent was nothing to write home about. A few volunteers, busy with ladles and bowls, dished out generous portions of the thick, hearty soup, enriched with vegetables.
Jonathan’s hangover made him acutely aware of the room's sounds: the clatter of spoons, the murmurs of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter. He focused on the warmth and comfort promised by the meal ahead, trying to ignore the dull ache in his head.
Przemek, glanced around the room, the people behind in the open kitchen seemed to mostly clean after what must have been busy early morning. Do one boy was still serving food, he instantly recognized him. He nodded towards the teenage boy who was serving the pottage, the same boy he had helped subdue a few weeks ago on the wall when they broke in. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember his name despite having had a few conversations with him since then.
As they reached the front of the line, the boy ladled out steaming portions of pottage into their bowls. Jonathan accepted his with a grateful nod, and Przemek grabbed a couple of pieces of bread. They made their way to a nearby table, settling down with their meal. “This should help. Eat up.” He said.
Jonathan and Przemek settled at a long wooden table, their bowls of pottage steaming in front of them. The pottage was hearty and filling, but it was nothing to write home about—a straightforward mix of vegetables and meat, with just a hint of herbs. Jonathan stirred his bowl absentmindedly, occasionally dipping a chunk of bread into the thick, comforting soup.
Przemek, sitting across from him, focused on his meal with a kind of subdued practicality. His spoon methodically scooped up the pottage, and he occasionally tore off a piece of bread to mop up the soup.
Jonathan took a sip of his pottage, grimacing slightly as he tried to shake off the last remnants of his hangover. The simple, unadorned taste of the soup was a far cry from the rich meals he might have had before all this chaos. After a moment of quiet chewing, he glanced up at Przemek.
“So, what’s Sofia’s deal?” Jonathan asked, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity. “How old is she, anyway?”
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Przemek looked up from his bowl, chewing thoughtfully before replying. “She’s thirty-two. Why do you ask?”
Jonathan shrugged, breaking off another piece of bread to dip into his soup. “Just curious. And what about you? How old are you?”
Przemek chuckled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “I’m thirty-three. Why the sudden interest in ages?”
Jonathan chuckled, leaning back in his chair as he tore off another piece of bread “Isn’t that a coincidence. How lucky.”
Przemek laughed before answering “You should focus on drinking less instead of trying to become our third wheel.” He said with a smile.
“Third wheel? Please, I’m more like the spare tire, always there when you need me,” he teased, winking at Przemek.
Przemek shook his head, his grin widening. “You’re reading too much into it, man. We’re just trying to get by like everyone else. But if you’re so interested in our dynamic, maybe you should get your own thing going instead of sticking your nose in ours.”
Jonathan held up his hands in mock surrender, still smirking. “Hey, no judgment here. I’m just saying, you two have a good thing going. And besides, I’m perfectly happy playing the lone wolf for now. Less drama that way.”
“Oh yeah though guy? Does that girl in your bed know you aint planning on sticking around?” Przemek answered with a laugh as he finished his bowl.
Przemek took a sip of his coffee, savoring the taste. “I sure hope they get those beans in order,” he said, the steam from his cup curling up toward his face.
“What beans?” Jonathan asked as he took a sip from his coffee. While Przemek stared at him amazed by his stupidity.
“Oh, right, the coffee!” Jonathan said loudly, the realization hitting him like a delayed punchline.
Przemek shook his head, amused. “Yeah, they’ll have it growing in no time. Turns out the guy who gave us the class earlier has a PhD in agriculture from some university.”
Jonathan’s eyes widened slightly. “A PhD? And now he’s growing potatoes and coffee for us?”
“Seems that way,” Przemek said, taking another sip. “I guess he’s found a way to put all that education to good use. Lucky for us.”
“Bet he’s happier now aswell.” Przemek added.
Przemek tossed his belt onto the chair in the corner of the bedroom before pulling off his T-shirt. He paused for a moment, standing in front of the small mirror on the wall. His reflection stared back at him, showing a body that had seen better days. He had lost some muscle mass, the long months of stress and scarcity taking their toll. But even with the leaner frame, he was content with what he saw. The definition in his arms and chest was still there.
He couldn’t afford to be weak or injured, not now. Too much depended on his ability to stay strong, to keep going. He ran a hand over the faint scars that marked his skin. They were part of him now, just like the resolve that had kept him alive.
Przemek sighed, letting the tension in his shoulders ease a little. Przemek’s eyes lingered on the "Kotwica" tattoo, the symbol etched deep into his skin. He remembered the day he’d gotten it, a few years into his military service. It was during a bleak winter, stationed near the Belarus border—a time when the cold seemed to seep into their bones, and the endless stretch of forest made the world feel isolated and harsh.
One of his colleagues, a wiry guy with a knack for needlework, had offered to tattoo him during one of their long, restless nights. They had set up in a makeshift barrack, the walls thin and the wind howling outside.
Przemek had sat on an old wooden chair, his arm stretched out, while his friend prepared the ink. There wasn’t much to the setup—just a needle, some ink, and a steady hand. He hoped his colleagues were alright. He'd heard that the Polish army had held out longer than most of the other European forces, a fact that both filled him with pride and gnawed at him with regret. The thought that he hadn't made it back to his old unit when everything went to hell weighed heavily on him. He couldn't shake the disappointment in himself for not being there, for not standing alongside the men he had trained with, bled with, and shared so much with when it mattered most.
Przemek glanced at his watch: 10:12 a.m. He still had time, just enough to steal a few more moments of rest. Slipping back into bed, he nestled beside Sofia, careful not to wake her. For a while, he simply watched her, her face peaceful in sleep, the lines of worry and fatigue smoothed away. As he lay there, the weight of the morning lifted slightly, and he let his eyes drift shut, allowing himself the comfort of her presence before the world called him back again.
It was early in the evening as Ming, Nikolaj and Jonathan were waiting for Przemek and Sofia in the library.
In the manor’s expansive library, the usual quiet was replaced by the sharp, rhythmic clack of a ping-pong ball bouncing off a table. Jonathan and Ming were deep into a heated game, their laughter and playful taunts breaking the library’s solemn atmosphere.
Ming, focused and nimble, darted around the table with impressive agility, her paddle a blur as she returned every shot with precision. Jonathan, on the other hand, was struggling to keep up. His movements were slower, his shots increasingly erratic. Despite his best efforts, Ming’s serves and returns were too swift, her technique too flawless.
Nikolaj, sat comfortably on one of the library’s antique wooden chairs with a book propped open on his chest, glanced up occasionally from his reading. His feet rested casually on the table, and he seemed to be enjoying the unintended comedy of the situation. The book, an old, leather-bound volume, was a stark contrast to the energetic ping-pong match unfolding nearby.
As Ming landed yet another decisive shot, Jonathan swiped at the ball, missing it entirely. He let out a dramatic groan. “Helvede! You’re Chinese, how am I supposed to keep up?” he quipped, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.
Ming shot him a mock glare, her concentration never faltering. “Focus more on the game and less on racism.” her voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Jonathan laughed, running a hand through his hair, his frustration melting into good-natured acceptance. “Alright, alright. You’re lucky I’m hung over.”
Nikolaj, still absorbed in his book, shook his head with a smirk. “If you’re done complaining, you might want to consider taking a few lessons from Ming.”
Sofia strolled into the library, followed closely by Przemek, who carried his well-worn notebook like a prized possession. The room's lively atmosphere shifted slightly as they entered, the playful energy of the ping-pong game momentarily giving way to a more serious tone.
“Officer on deck!” Jonathan called out with a grin, his voice teasing but respectful.
Przemek raised his notebook theatrically, as if about to swat Jonathan with it.
Jonathan chuckled and quickly sat down with Ming around the familiar wooden table. The group had grown accustomed to this daily ritual over the past week: gathering here to review their plans and tackle next day's tasks.
Nikolaj set his book down with a deliberate thud, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at Sofia and Przemek. “So, how was it with Sven today?” he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. He was keenly aware of the tension between them.
Ming, standing on the other side of the room, threw a book at Nikolaj with a sharp flick of her wrist. The book landed on the table with a soft thud, barely missing Nikolaj's head.
Nikolaj grinned, ducking slightly to avoid the thrown book. “Alright, alright, point taken.” he said, his smirk betraying his amusement.
Przemek opened his notebook. They had just left Sven and a few of the village “leaders” for their daily meeting.
“The power will be out tomorrow from noon until at worst the early evening. The electricians have to work things out with the solar panels. They are using all three now while one should just suffice so they will rewire everything to one of them as to not wear the other two.” He said in a monotonous tone.
Nikolaj and Jonathan exchanged glances, their faces contorted into exaggerated grimaces as they gave each other exaggerated nods.
“Oh, those smiles won’t last long,” Przemek said, his tone flat and unchanging. “Next on the agenda: we’re implementing night watches at the walls and the miradors. Each of us will take three-hour shifts, twice a week.”
He glanced around the room, continuing without missing a beat. “It’s essential to give the guys who’ve been on duty since we arrived a break. We need to be considerate; after all, we’re part of this community now.”
Ming, Nikolaj, and Jonathan all let out a collective sigh as Przemek carried on. “The schedule for the night watches is posted on the drawboard next to the front door,” he said, his tone steady. “There’s a designated person each week who’s in charge. If, by some miracle, you can’t make your shift, you need to notify that person at least a day in advance to arrange a replacement.”
Sofia flipped to the next page of the notebook that layed between her and Przemek, her gaze steady as she continued. “The local kids are putting on a play in the manor ballroom tomorrow. It’s something they’ve been working hard on, and it’s important to them.”
she glanced at Jonathan, who was fidgeting with his fingers. “I expect everyone to attend, especially you, Jonathan. Consider it part of our duty to integrate with the community and support their efforts.” She added in a half serious tone.
“I’ll be in the clinic all day tomorrow” she said. “There are several injured individuals who need assistance with their rehabilitation. I might continue to be there from now on. Nikolaj don’t forget to come over as well so we can take a look at your ankle.”
Przemek turned his attention to Nikolaj. “Nikolaj, got an update for me?” he asked, shifting his gaze.
Nikolaj nodded and pulled a folded piece of paper from his chest pocket. “Yeah, I finished the inventory,” he said, unfolding the paper.
He cleared his throat and began. “For 5.56mm ammunition, we’ve got 1,300 rounds in total. Everyone still has their own magazines, but if you need more, just come see me. I’ve got some spare 5.56 magazines.”
He glanced at the paper again. “For 7.62mm, we’ve got 600 rounds in belts. That should keep Jonathan going for a while, but we’ll need to find more if we’re planning to head north come summer.”
Przemek nodded, jotting the details into his notebook.
Nikolaj continued, “As for gasoline, it’s still looking grim. The jeep’s tank’s got 75 liters, and we’ve got four spare jerrycans—so that should be good for another tank.”
Ming, who had been listening, added, “I spoke to that guy at the bar you mentioned. He told me there isn’t a single jerrycan to be found between Malmö and Stockholm. So we might have to face the fact that car transport won’t be feasible much longer.”
Ming had the mysterious ability to be able to haggle with any trader they met. She was so good at it that she was the one they appointed for such duties. It was a task she enjoyed and that she excelled at.
“What was that about the oil refinery?” Sofia asked.
Jonathan answered.
“Yeah, uhm apparently some soldiers and engineers took over the refinery there and are trying to get it running again. Despite everything, turns out some of the oil platforms in the North Sea are still running and they’re trying to secure a vessel to carry oil from there to the refinery.” He added. Dropping a curve ball on everyone present.
Przemek stunned, asked “And where did you hear that?”
“Well Peter is the one behind the radio 11 hours a day, I talked to him. I’m surprised Sven hadn’t brought that up. They’re looking for help to protect the refinery. Their strength is one battalion worth of men apparently which is nothing to laugh at. “ Jonathan answered.
“Did Peter find out anything new about the lunatics?” Ming asked, her tone edged with concern. “It’s been suspiciously quiet lately.”
Jonathan nodded, a grim expression on his face. “Yeah, apparently the winter has subdued them a bit, but they’re still very much around. There’s been a troubling development: an outpost in Gothenburg went dark after reporting that their numbers were increasing in that area. It’s only three hour’s drive, a day’s walk away. I’d be shocked if Sven didn’t bring this up in your private politburo meetings.”
“There's a settlement of communists in Bohus, right between us and Gothenburg,” Przemek said, aiming to ease the tension between his group and Sven. “If they do decide to head our way, they’d most likely have to go through them, even if they try going north. Sven’s aware of that.”
“Anyone have anything else to add?” Sofia asked, looking around the room.
Everyone shook their heads in unison.
“Alright then,” Przemek concluded, “meeting adjourned.”
The ballroom was different than the state it was in a week ago. What had been a battlefield of shattered glass and scattered debris was now a pristine, almost serene space. The remnants of their recent skirmish—bullet casings, shards of glass, and dirt—had all been meticulously cleared away. The supplies had been redistributed, stored efficiently in the basement, or moved to more practical locations. The room had been cleaned thoroughly, its old grandeur somewhat restored.
Przemek, Sofia, Nikolaj and Jonathan sat around a table in the center of the ballroom.
Jonathan leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “So, this guy decides to take a shower, right? He leaves his rifle in the changing room. We we’re supposed to have our rifle at all time with us but, thinking all the drill instructors are already asleep. He’s feeling pretty smug, thinking he’s pulled off the perfect stealth move.”
He paused for effect, enjoying the anticipation in the room. “He comes out of the shower, completely relaxed, only to find his rifle has vanished. Just gone. Now, instead of waking us up to help him find it or even going to the drill instructors—who would have definitely made a fuss—he just assumes the instructors have taken it and that they’re going to go absolutely ballistic in the morning.”
Jonathan chuckled, shaking his head. “So, what does he do? He dries off, gets into bed, and has the best sleep of his life, completely convinced he’s going to get it in the neck the next day.”
Nikolaj and Przemek both having been in the army laughed. “Oh I know where this is going” Nikolaj laughed as he took another sip from his wine glass.
Jonathan's grin widened as he continued the story. “So the next morning, before we head back into the forest, they line us up. This is basic training, mind you—missed a single pair of socks, and you’re paying for it with push-ups. Everyone’s standing there, meticulously laid out gear in front of them, and there’s our guy, still wearing that stupid grin.”
He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Our staff sergeant walks down the line, ticking off items in his notebook, his eyes scanning each kit with a practiced gaze as he goes down his list. You can practically see the steam coming out of his ears as he checks everything. Just waiting for on recruit to miss a woolen hat to make him pay for it.”
Jonathan paused for effect, savoring the moment. “He gets to our guy’s gear, and when he notices the missing rifle, he just stops. Dead in his tracks. There’s this heavy silence, and then he slowly looks up at our guy, who’s still grinning like he’s just had the best sleep of his life. Guy had a bit of autism I think, he realized too late that it wasn’t the best moment to stand there with a shit eating grin”
Jonathan leaned back, mimicking the staff sergeant’s stern accent with exaggerated seriousness. “Where’s your rifle, soldier?” he growled.
He then shifted to the recruit’s response, adopting a deadpan expression. “Uhm, I thought you had it, sir?” he replied, his voice unwavering.
Jonathan paused for dramatic effect, his eyes widening as he described the scene. “It was like everyone turned around in unison and stared him down. You could practically feel the collective shock radiating from the group. Heads turned, eyes locked on him, and the silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You could see the staff sergeant’s jaw twitching as he tried to process the absurdity of it all. The recruit’s calm, clueless expression only made it worse.”
“That was two weeks after some nutjob had sneaked out an assault rifle from a base and shot up a police station. If ever there was a moment to lose a rifle this wasn’t it. Immediately they had all of us in a planking position while the drill instructors ran around like chickens without heads trying to figure out what to do. They damn near dragged the kid by the ear to the changing room to have him explain exactly what happened.”
“Did they find it?” Nikolaj asked as he chuckled.
Jonathan leaned back, his grin widening as he wrapped up the story. “Yeah, it turns out one of the soldiers on gate duty had gone out for a piss and spotted a perfectly good rifle just lying there. He kept it for the night and took it to our drill instructors with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen and managed to squeeze two six-packs of beer out of them to keep the whole story under wraps.”
He flicked the candle flame on the table with his fingers, the light dancing with his words.
“Did that kid pay for it?” Sofia asked.
“Oh yeah, guy had to carry a heavy tree branch everywhere with him for a week. The thing weighed as much as a machine gun” He said finishing his glass of wine.
Ming approached the table with a casual stride, her gaze softening as she addressed Nikolaj. “Hey, come to bed.”
Nikolaj glanced at his watch and let out a theatrical yawn. “Yeah, I should probably get going,” he said, stretching his arms and pretending to be more tired than he actually was.
He stood up, casting a final look around the room before following Ming out of the ballroom.
Time seemed to fly by as the conversation flowed.
“Stockholm doesn’t hold a candle to Berlin,” Jonathan said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.
“You’ve been there?” Przemek asked, curiosity piqued. “I lived there for a while myself.”
“Yeah, a handful of times, I think Nikolaj lived there aswell if I remember correctly” Jonathan replied with a grin. “Mostly for the parties. Getting into Berghain without paying is definitely one of my proudest moments.”
Sofia, intrigued by Jonathan's mention of Berghain, leaned forward slightly. “What’s Berghain?” she asked, her curiosity evident.
Jonathan’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Oh, Berghain—it's this legendary nightclub in Berlin. It’s famous for its techno music. It’s like a cultural icon. People travel from all over just to experience it. People would line up for hours to get in. I mean, at least it was until all of this—”
He paused, a shadow of realization crossing his face. The weight of his words seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders. His gaze turned distant as he stared into his glass of wine, the flickering candlelight casting soft shadows on his face.
“Goodbye kebabs, rave music and ketamine.” He said as he lifted his glass. The pain apparent on his face.
On the balcony of the manor, Przemek and Sofia stood side by side, exchanging a cigar between them. The night air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint aroma of smoke mingling with the fresh scent of the forest. They leaned against the railing, looking out at the fiery spectacle in the distance. The street was even emptier than usual. They could see the silhouette of someone patrolling the outer wall.