When Zhukov returned, Sergei bombarded him with questions concerning the aircraft that had passed nearby. Zhukov shook his head to show that he was listening, though his mind was clearly on something else. Finding few answers and gaining only more questions, Sergei gave up on the interrogation.
The two spent the night in the church sleeping amongst the clovers. At first Sergei protested, wanting to instead find a comfy bed over in the residential district, but at Zhukov’s insistence he stayed. Surprisingly, the inside of the church was actually quite warm, in contrast to the cold winds that blew just outside its doors. The clovers also proved to be more comfortable than first thought and the two quickly fell asleep while craddling their rifles.
The next morning Sergei woke to a small bee landing on his nose. He yelped in surprise and jumped up to find many of its comrades tending to the plants inside the church. It was a beautiful sight watching them nestle on the flowering plants, gathering nectar and spreading pollen. The bees left as quickly as they had arrived, disappearing into the crystal embedded within the tree one by one. Sergei turned to where Zhukov had been sleeping and found his comrade smiling with a relaxed expression. Sergei didn’t press the matter, being simply satisfied that whatever worries plagued Zhukov had disappeared. Just like the bees.
The two munched on some rations before leaving the church. When they opened the bulky doors at the entrance they were greeted by the warm light of the morning sun. The sight from the church would have been grossly incandescent, if it weren’t for the undead still dancing outside. Apparently they had forgotten about them after seeing the planes lighting up the sky like fireworks.
“Stop dancing and assemble here.”
At Zhukov’s command the undead from all over the village came lumbering and crawling over. In total there were 57 undead, with three of them being German soldiers. Upon closer inspection the undead Germans were wearing outfits akin to those that the German tankers wore. They must have been the missing crew of the Tiger I. Sadly, all but one were missing their weapons. Even the one who still had an MP40 slung was missing the magazine for it. Making the gun all but useless.
Seeing the massive amount of undead in the village had frightened Zhukov. If they hadn’t run into the church they would have surely died by their hands.
“Hey Sergei, how much ammo have you got left?”
To answer Zhukov’s question, Sergei removed the magazine from his rifle. After seeing that there were no rounds left in the magazine he pulled back the bolt, a round that had still been chambered was ejected. He held up the sole bullet as if it were a trophy of sorts.
“One.”
“Just one?”
“Well I only used my Avt-40. I still have three magazines for my M1911.”
“Wait…how many times did you shoot that man then?”
“The one in black? Nine times.”
“Holy shit!”
“What? He surprised me.”
“But I remember seeing only two bullet wounds!”
“You trying aiming accurately with this in full auto!”
“Then why use it!”
“Because is sexy rifle.”
Zhukov seemed offended by this statement and shoved his Mosin Nagant into Sergei’s face.
“Bah, only sexy rifle here is mine.”
Sergei cradled his AVT-40 and attempted to comfort it while whispering.
“Shh, is okay baby. Zhukov is too primitive to understand the beauty of your gas cycling system."
After the heated confrontation settled down the two decided to perform maintenance on their rifles before heading back to report their findings. Zhukov sent Sergei off to collect a metal container while he himself gathered wood for a fire. By the time Sergei returned with a bucket he’d found, a small fire was already crackling in the plaza. They hung the bucket over the fire, using some sticks, and filled it with snow. While they waited for the water to heat up they each fired off three rounds to loosen up some of the grime in the barrels of their rifles. Though Zhukov had to lend Sergei some of his bullets.
When the water heated up they filled their canteens and poured the boiling water down the down into the barrel from the receiver. They then pulled out their cleaning kits and removed the cleaning rods that were attached to their rifles. After assembling the cleaning rod and attaching the muzzle protectors to their rifles, the two began to scrub the bores with wire brushes. They repeated pouring water and scrubbing with the brushes a few more times. After feeling satisfied with their work, the two switched the wire brushes for cloth patches and went down the bores a few more times.
The ammunition they had used was berdan primed and very corrosive. If left unchecked the corrosive chemicals would cause irreparable damage the the rifling. The two had seen many a rifle ruined by this and didn’t want theirs to end up having the same fate. Luckily boiling water was able wash out the chemicals. If the barrel had been heated up through firing the process was even easier and resulted in a cleaner bore.
To finish off their maintenance, the two lightly coated another patch of cloth with oil and ran it down the barrel a few times. Though water was as equally dangerous to the rifle as the corrosive ammo, as long as they dried and lightly oiled the metal no rust would form.
Since they had cleaned the rifles from the muzzle instead of the breech, gunk had been dumped into the receivers. They needed to spend extra time cleaning out the receivers of their rifles because of this. Time that could have been saved if they’d cleaned the rifle from the breech, but sadly, the cleaning rods they were issued were not long enough to do so.
Zhukov also went on to oil all of his rifle’s bolt except the handle. While Sergei lightly coated the moving parts in the receiver of his rifle. This helped prevent casings from jamming upon being ejected and ensured that the bolts would work smooth as butter.
Feeling very satisfied with their work the two put away the cleaning supplies and put out the fire. They were almost ready to head back.
But, before leaving they had to address the crowd of undead that had still not dispersed from the plaza. Zhukov went up to the closest one, a familiar undead with a gaping hole in his stomach, and shook his hand.
“Farewell my new comrades, may we meet again soon.”
However he was a bit too vigorous with the handshake, accidentally detaching the arm of the corpse from its body. Zhukov tried to reattached the dismembered limb, only to see it limply fall back to the ground. He shrugged and gave up, leaving the limb where it lie.
“Eh, don’t worry friend. You only need one arm to punch fascist after all.”
Zhukov also ordered the undead to prepare a surprise for his comrades, whom he would be bringing back. Finally Zhukov and Sergei departed and began retracing their way back to the cave.
…………….
Back out in the cold winter tundra, Zhukov and Sergei were once again slowly making their way through the seemingly endless field of snow.
“So Zhukov, I don’t think I’ve had a chance to show you this.”
Sergei pulled out the map scrap and handed it to Zhukov, who quickly looked it over.
“Hmm, it would would seem there is another village to the northeast.”
“Those planes we saw last night were heading that way too.”
“Indeed, perhaps we are close to the frontlines after all. Though…”
Zhukov paused for a moment, thinking back to the moving corpses they had recently encountered.
“…I am fearful we may have ended up near a testing site for some sort of horrendous new weapon.”
“If only there was a survivor…”
“I think there was one.”
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“Really?”
Sergei was surprised, he didn’t remember seeing any survivors.
“Yeah, you shot him.”
Sergei went silent after that.
The two soon came across the abandoned Tiger I, which signified that it was time for Zhukov to break out his compass again.
………
Hours later the two were back at the entrance of the cave. Luckily, no snowstorms had hindered their progress this time. Making the trip nice and easy.
A bonfire burned gently at the entrance, Yakov close by. However the others were nowhere in sight. When Yakov saw the two approach he cried out in glee.
“Zhukov you’re back!”
Sergei mumbled something about not being appreciated, while Zhukov expressed his concern over the whereabouts of the others.
“Yakov, where are the others?”
“Vasily…he ran deeper into the cave…Igor chased after him. I tried to follow, but it was to dark to see anything!”
“Dammit, did he say anything before he left?”
“No, but we found rations left out to rot this morning, again.”
“Shit, Sergei stay here with Yakov. I’m going after those two.”
Zhukov left his rifle at the makeshift camp, instead wielding the flashlight as he ran into the darkness. Sergei and Yakov were left to watch as the light from the flashlight was slowly eaten by the darkness.
At first Zhukov only heard the echos of his own footsteps, but soon he was able to make out the sounds of voices. As he grew closer to the origin of the voices he was able to make out more and more of what they were saying. Eventually he could hear Igor speaking.
“Vasily…we all have our demons. People like us…we wake only to the harsh pain of reality. Our scars…never fade.”
Zhukov could see that Igor was holding a flaming torch. Next to him sat Vasily, who was staring absentmindedly at the wall at the end of the cave. Before Zhukov could interrupt, Igor had pulled Vasily up on to his feet, grabbing the pendant that dangled from his neck.
“We do not live because we want to. We live because we must.”
Igor opened the pendant and showed Vasily the pictures inside. It was a tattered black and white photo that showed Vasily’s family in better times, when they were still alive. Vasily was smiling, his arm around his wife’s hip as they stood behind their three daughters. The memento broke Vasily out of his trance.
“Igor…they…they are dead. When…we heard the Germans were marching on Stalingrad we…tried to leave, but we were told there would be no evacuation. Stalingrad would not fall they said. But when fortifications appeared in the street the truth was evident. Then the air raids began…I…wasn’t with them…when they died. I returned home to rubble…they never found the bodies.”
Igor put his hand on Vasily’s shoulder. Using his other hand he felt his own face, where the scars of chemical burns still hadn’t faded.
“We must live for those…who cannot.”
Vasily nodded, still seeming troubled, but back his own senses. Igor looked over to where Zhukov was and found him staring at his own shaking hands. Zhukov balled his hands into fists and shook off the feeling that had overcome him. He joined Igor in helping Vasily walk back to their camp.
They returned to find Sergei and Yakov pacing around, clearly worried. When the two saw the Zhukov and Igor with Vasily in tow, big beaming smiles spread across their faces.
Zhukov went up to Yakov and bowed.
“I’m sorry…for everything.”
Yakov could only tilt his head at the confusing words.
……..
After packing up their belongings and securing them to the KV-1s, they were ready to move out. Vasily sent the tank roaring to life and they set off to their first destination. Behind them four crude wooden grave markers stood valiantly, just outside of the cave.
Within minutes they’d arrived at the Tiger I. The crew quickly disembarked and went to work salvaging. This time Sergei took the commander’s journal, adding it to his collection. In total they managed to salvage an MG38 along with ten ammo cans, each holding 250 rounds of 8mm Mauser on a belt. They also decided to take the ammunition for the Tiger’s main cannon, though they couldn’t use it in their own. They managed to salvage 20 rounds of HE and 23 rounds of AP.
Before they departed for the village, Zhukov took a shovel and dug the snow off of the rear of the Tiger. With the snow gone the damaged engine compartment could be seen. The metal plating that would have hidden the engine was torn to shreds. Deep gouges could be seen on the engine itself. Zhukov shook off the uneasiness he was feeling and returned to join the others.
They soon arrived back at the village, as like last time there was an unnerving silence present. Igor took the lead, rifle at the ready. Unlike Zhukov and Sergei, Igor opted to always have his bayonet attached. When he walked through the gates, an undead appeared and charged him
Igor bayoneted the moving corpse with his rifle. Picking it up while it was still speared and slamming it back onto the ground. When he saw that it was still trying to move, even after being bayoneted in the chest, he stabbed the undead again. This time in head, ending the corpse’s unnatural existence. Behind him Yakov was clapping his hands.
“Woah~”
Zhukov shook his head and began a countdown.
“Fifty six.”
Zhukov turned to see what Vasily was up to, as his comrade had been awfully silent. To his surprise, he found Vasily sniffing the air in the direction of the industrial sector.
“Something wro-?”
Before Zhukov could question him, Vasily had already begun a mad dash towards the other end of town. Zhukov was left stunned as he saw another undead he told to lie in wait appear to ambush Vasily. Only to have the unnatural life snuffed out of him as he was thrown into a wall, his head splitting open.
“Fifty five.”
Zhukov and the other three gave chase to Vasily, who had run into a building. They too neared the building, it looked uncannily similar to a tavern. Inside the breaking of glass and moans of undead could be heard. Zhukov continued to count down, the sounds of chaos inside notifying him of the deaths.
“Fifty four. Fifty three. Fifty Two. Fifty one. Fifty. Forty nine. Forty eight. Forty seven.”
When they finally entered the tavern, they found a happy Russian enjoying some ale, surrounded by eight unmoving corpses with broken bottles stuck in their heads.
Zhukov smiled and called the rest of the undead over, much to the surprise of Igor who demanded an explanation. Zhukov told his comrade of the events that had transpired the day before. Leaving Igor in disbelief.
“Wait…you are allowing these…things, which almost killed you, to walk free?”
“Well yes. They are adorable, like small kitten you see. Look at that one over there.”
A familiar corpse with a gaping hole in its stomach pawed at the air with a single arm, attempting to imitate a cat.
“Adorable, yes?”
Igor could only sigh
The crew was happy for the break in the stressful events and began to happily drink alongside Vasily. Except for Igor who chose not to participate in the drinking portion of the festivities.
After having a few drinks himself, Zhukov grabbed a familiar corpse, one with a gaping hole in its stomach and a missing arm, and poured alcohol down its throat. Unsurprisingly, the alcohol ended up spurting back out from its stomach. Zhukov was at this point to drunk to care, dragging his new friend off to find more alcohol.
With his comrades happily prancing about behind him, Vasily smiled solemnly, raising a toast those who couldn’t join him today.