Another tidbit
Kiril pulled his collar up again and in vain tried to button it with his clumsy gloved fingers. He soon gave up and resumed his wait for the train, stomping his feet occasionally to make sure he could still feel them. The Keren winter promised to be its cold, vengeful self. The only good thing that would come of it was the slow progress that the enemy troops would make. Maybe the Keren army was third rate, but the winter was second to none. There was the train at last! It was an ancient iron wreck, unfit to be hauling the meager three cars it did, but with the war on, Kiril supposed he had to be glad of a train at all.
The doors were opening before the train came to a halt and a stream of tired passengers got out either home on leave, or into the city for their Christmas shopping. He boarded, with only a few others, small wonder, they were heading south towards the troubles. The car he chose was nearly empty. An old peasant woman sat in the far right corner, knitting and humming tunelessly under her breath, oblivious to the world around her. Two young soldiers boarded just after him, and though they looked barely old enough to wear the uniforms they did, one wore a Keren Star. Though both had the pale, washed out look of those who had spent far too long in the thick of the action, the one without the Star looked significantly more ill and had a bad cough. They had probably acquired a weekend pass, and while it was something, Kiril knew from experience a scant two days was just enough time to get some dreamless sleep, wash and mend one’s uniform, eat a decent meal if one was lucky and return. One last passenger boarded in a hurry, slamming the door shut behind him. Swiftly, he glanced around the car as though he half-expecting an ambush, then took a seat on the bench across from Kiril.
He was unremarkable, dark hair in a regulation cut, and the oversized gray greatcoat he wore probably concealed a uniform similar to the ones the soldiers wore. He frowned intently out the window, though apparently not at anything in particular. Kiril guessed he must have stared at the newcomer for a moment too long because he turned his frown from the window and onto Kiril. He shifted uncomfortable in his seat and glanced around the car again. Kiril decided to ignore him and, prising gloves off stiff fingers proceeded to take out a small book that he had had the foresight to bring. A few minutes later, after he hoped he had put his nervous travelling companion at some ease, Kiril glanced at his shoes. As he had half expected, they were the light boots with new grip favoured by couriers. That explained it.
The train finally lurched to life again and Kiril watched the station recede in the distance. Snow was beginning to fall, making a contrast to the gloomy grey of the evening. “Snow in time for Christmas,” he mused aloud.
The courier blinked, then looked out the window, really seeing now, not just staring into infinity. It was as though the worries he had dropped away for a long moment and he was just a young boy at Christmas, eager as any other for the window-painting, the food and the gift giving. “It’s beautiful…” he whispered at last.
Kiril laughed quietly, without thinking.
With a look of injured dignity, the courier glanced at him and pulled his greatcoat more tightly about his shoulders.
“Your pardon,” Kiril said quickly. “I wasn’t laughing at you, I was thinking of a friend of mine,” he lied easily. It was partially true, which helped. The courier did remind him of Andrej, they were about the same age, but Andrej was more openly wondering at such things as new snow.
The courier relaxed ever so slightly.
Then the whole car heard the far off rumble. Bombers.
The courier was looking out the window again, not at the snow now, it impeded his vision. He cast about anxiously for the bombers. The rumble grew to a thunder.
“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Kiril said confidently. “They have much more important things to worry about than us.”
“Of course,” the courier snapped, but his eyes never left the window.
There was a flash of fire in the gray and white world, a sharp, momentary red contrast, then it was gone from sight. The track didn’t shake though, so Kiril thought they were in luck.
But soon the artificial thunder grew to a crescendo of noise and the train did shake on the tracks. Kiril wondered what exactly the courier had to tell headquarters and how good the enemy’s spy network was, and he did begin to feel his stomach tighten in dread.
“You said they had more important things to worry about!” the courier shouted over the din.
“They do!” Kiril shouted back. Maybe they’re after me? he thought frantically. No, I can’t start thinking like that, once you began it’s too hard to stop. ‘It isn’t the bombs marked out for you that you have to worry about- it’s the ones marked ‘To whom it may concern’, they’re really dangerous’ Andrej said that… They’re trying to destroy the tracks, that must be it, he told himself. They can’t be good enough to know when and where everyone goes!
Time seemed to slow, it was an eternity of noise and fear so thick one could smell it, until finally, at long last, the thunder started to die away and was interspersed with bursts of anti-aircraft fire.
“Finally!” one of the soldiers shouted triumphantly. “117th Artillery!”
Kiril didn’t particularly care who it was, he was just glad that someone started firing back. He had begun to worry that they had at long last been overrun. They couldn’t deal with that again. He sighed in relief, a sigh that was lost in the fading thunder. They had survived, for now. Maybe they weren’t after anyone on this train- not that knowing that helped everyone. The soldier who wore the Keren Star was shaking- with cold, no doubt, but not only cold. Kiril sighed and looked away, it was all he could do. Two days weren’t nearly enough.
Though they saw more flashes of red in the snow and dark night now, the passengers settled into the rhythm of the train again as it clacked along, until it pulled into the station. The soldiers had fallen asleep briefly, then woke at the jarring halt, put on their covers, straightened their uniforms and disembarked to join a formation on the far edge of the platform, near the road. The courier and Kiril stood at the same time.
“Take care,” Kiril said quietly. “And next time hide your knife better.”
“What?!” the courier gaped at him, then noticed the Keren Standard Issue that was just barely visible. “Kelinin gave it to me, I guess…” he whispered. “I didn’t even notice.”
“Have a peaceful Christmas,” Kiril said stepping off the train.
“You too!”
That didn’t seem to be likely, Kiril thought. Whatever HQ wants with me is probably going to make my celebration of the holidays either impossible or difficult. After all, no one would expect an attack just before or during Christmas. It wasn’t right, but Kiril had heard rumours that the Interior Commander didn’t care about such things as holidays. That was the problem with people knowing what you were capable of, they tended to come back, either to ask awkward questions or call in favours in return for something you barely remembered. Kiril’s eyes ached from lack of sleep, but after he resumed wearing his gloves, rubbing them was annoying and somewhat pointless. Snow was still falling, but in a desultory manner now, as though not sure if it was worth the effort. The light from the street lamps was just enough to see by, but he found his way to where he was going without incidence- without much, anyway.
The directions that he had been given gave him even more cause for thought, as they ended in front of a bombed-out building. He stared at it for a moment, then decided the damage was old enough that it had not happened during the trip southwards, and entered from the front door. Originally it had been a fair-sized older stone house and- his further thoughts on the house were rudely interrupted when he nearly walked into a gun that was pointed at him.
“Looting?” the soldier asked, frowning.
Carried away by his thoughts, Kiril had not noticed him, but the fact that he was very well camouflaged made him feel slightly better. “No,” Kiril answered.
“Get out of here,” the soldier said.
“I think you ought to see these first,” Kiril said, taking out his directions slowly as the gun trained on him was held very steadily and the soldier seemed to be annoyed about something. His expression abruptly changed when he saw the directions.
“Oh,” he muttered, sounding surprised. “I’m- sorry,” he said quickly. “Down the hall, last door,” he said, indicating the direction Kiril was to take.
Cautiously he walked down the hall and took the directed last door. It led to an old-styled stone kitchen, in which two soldiers sat, one cleaning his weapon on the wooden table, and the other eating dinner- though as Kiril entered, he put down his fork and picked up a handgun that had been lying on the table.