Point of Documentation: Arnold Shevchenko
Arnold was a simple man. A bread-and-potatoes kind of man that didn’t mind things being boring and plain around his life. Quiet was more important than interesting, and he lived this way for a long time. His mother and father both pushed him into being a guard, and he had accepted if only to get them to leave his simple, quiet life alone. No conflict meant that he would keep things normal, no noise, and no fighting.
Yet, Arnold had not expected things to get so busy once he was in training to be a Guard for the settlement. It was a town that rested just outside the boundary of the old city of Bogushevsk, nestled in the nearby hills away from the prying eyes of anyone scouting the city below. Traders knew the city, knew its routes and connections, and spread that to those that they passed. It was because of them that eventually trouble would leak into the town and disturb Arnold’s simple life.
Five years after he took his place in the guard, a raid had happened. They hadn’t properly reinforced the patrols and the raiders from the Wasteland had viewed his town as an easy mark. It was the first time that Arnold had spilled the blood of man, and the first time he had discovered his knack for healing. No, not knack, but power for it. Arnold had been gifted in a way that most people would shun him and claim him an outcast. To save his quiet life, Arnold told not a soul. Not his family, friends, or any compatriots. He came close some times, but was never pushed enough to break his golden rule.
Even through how much he valued his quiet life, however, sometimes it would be under attack by things completely out of his control. Such as today: a day that had started normal with a cup of insta-caf and freshly made eggs. He had just sat down at his table to eat when a knock had come upon the door. Answering it found the captain of the guard standing there with a winded look on his face and breath beginning to grow heavier.
Arnold had not liked this man, this man who would change up his schedule and cause him undue pain and trouble in multiple ways. Yet here this man was at his doorstep. A small envelope in his hand made Arnold sweat in a way that only anxiety and trepidation could. That was not the kind of thing someone simply visiting or stopping over would bring with them: that was a hefty order document.
True to the thoughts; the Captain had asked to come in and, after his unwelcomed entrance, had handed the envelope to Arnold and wished him a good day. Reassignment to a new patrol today, but this time by way of full role reassignment. The man had just been put on a mechanized patrol for the afternoon! Arnold stared at the contents far after the Captain had left in pure disbelief. He didn’t even know how to drive one of those armored vehicles!
Hours later Arnold walked himself into the vehicle shop near the entrance of the Southern gate. The purpose of his reassignment was evident as he stepped past the large metal garage doors. The crew he was to add to was down a gunner after a small skirmish with a local raider cult near the town’s land border. Arnold was a decent shot, but the venerated grenade machine gun and flamethrower combination weapon was something that he had never touched before. Leagues above his own simple SMG, this was something that you typically needed heavy weapons training for. Training that, for one reason or another, had been on hiatus for a year. Go figure.
And so we come to now. Arnold sat in the gun of the Wotan, an armored personnel carrier that had been fitted with sensors, extra ammo, and aid supplies where the old troop compartment would have been. It was a vehicle that would remind someone of a breadbox on eight wheels with whiskers coming out of the top of it at random spots. It had two gunners: the main gunner and the commander who used a remote control machine gun from inside the vehicle. It sported all kinds of fangled optics that Arnold had little to no idea how to use. He was trained enough to know how to pull a trigger on his gun and how to activate and deactivate the ‘thrower attached below it. The latter of the two only because he knew how to fiddle with things and not blow himself up in the process. A unique skill he swore most people lacked from birth.
He was explained to by the commander that their mission would be quite simple today: a patrol on their usual route and to meet up with a more veteran patrol APC who opted to take their shift this morning till a replacement was found for the lost gunner. ‘Simple enough’, Arnold thought to himself. Simple was good.
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
They left the sturdy Southern gatehouse behind and started on their patrol as the sun was reaching its highest point. The best time for scouting things, and the best time to enjoy the warmth of the sun after it rose from behind the sand-clouds from the East. Their path would take them down the mountain first, as their patrol was a perimeter check around the outlying vegetation area that the settlement had been maintaining and protecting. Any monster that had gotten near the edge needed to be killed, and any raiders lurking around needed to either be threatened off or shot at. Arnold had never personally seen a ‘Voidling’, and by the sounds of it the commander of this vehicle had never had to either. It was such a rare occurrence a backup patrol would ever have to face one since the more venerable guards would be sent out to deal with them.
The Wotan rolled down the beaten road at a leisurely pace towards their meeting point. The driver and loader talked below about something or other, the noise lost as Arnold relaxed himself against the rim of the opened cupola. That was until the loader shouted up at him, her words now audible as she faced towards the open hatch. “Hey new guy, keep your eyes out for the patrol. The Commander is trying to radio the other patrol and is having trouble. Call it out if you see it.”
Arnold stared down for a moment before a feeling of dread washed over him. This is not going to be a quiet ride, is it? The thought lingered on him as he stood a bit more at attention and scanned the wooded area around him and the road farther down. Arnold didn’t have a telescopic view like the commander, but now the commander was a bit busy with the radio and couldn’t necessarily search on two fronts at once.
Ten minutes passed as they more deliberately scanned the area at a slowed pace. The meeting place for the patrols came up around a small hill and was completely empty. No mark of human life was here past old tracks from days prior. The Wotan came to a halt at the crest and the lack of wind and roaring engine allowed Arnold to better hear the conversation below.
“... and yet, where are they if you’re so sure Brigit?” came the cutting words of the driver. Her tone was anything but friendly.
“Come on, an entire patrol just vanishing? There would have to be scorch marks from the weapons, tire marks, or battle remains of some kind. Even a radio message should have gotten out if they weren’t instantly taken out.” The loader, Brigit, said surely. While being the more built of the two, it was obvious the loader was a thinker as well.
“Alright, cut the chatter. Nad', bring us down the hill. Brig, mount the pintol and watch the front. Arnold, keep a general lookout. I’ll keep trying to raise someone over the radio. Chatter from the gatehouse is already sounding like they can’t raise them either. It’s not impossible that they might be blocked by the hills, but just be ready regardless.” The commander’s tone was leveled, but a hint of worry was creeping in as they spoke. A hint Arnold didn’t like one bit.
With that seemingly settled: the Wotan lurched forwards as they crested and now descended the hill down one of the paths back into the forest. The wheels carried it along down the potted and fractured asphalt at a steady pace until they came to a long stretch of roadway. Arnold spotted the blackened mass at the bottom of the road’s stretch and pounded on the top of the vehicle with a “STOP”!
The Wotan came to a grinding halt as everyone had seemed to spot what Arnold had seen. They also spotted something else that sent a shiver down Arnold’s spine. Something that harkened a very, very bad fate before them.
The broken frame of another Wotan, more decorated then their’s, lay smashed against a tree. The fabrics of uniforms lay tattered around the top of the vehicle, the gun atop it ripped off and tossed to the side. It was a hollowed out wreck with not a single stain of blood upon its corpse.
The commander pivoted the machine-gun to the right of Arnold forwards and told everyone else weapon-capable to do the same. “Hold fire until it either moves or I say. I need to let the ‘post know about this–”
It stepped up and over the side of the road at the end of the bend in a fury, charging something out of view down the road. The driver wasted no time and floored it on the accelerator. The battery whined as it roared down the road at it. Gunfire started soon after, but not by them. This was about to be a shit-show, and Arnold only prayed this would lead to a week off at least after all this was said and done.