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Twenty-Eight Minutes; Closed
Topic Started: Jun 29 2009, 12:17 AM (113 Views)
Makori
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Long-time Villager
[ *  *  * ]
Northern Mongolia
Russian Army Ground Forces Peacekeeping Station #2
6 months ago
[align=center]
Part One

"Okay, you are clear, you may open fire at any time."

The firing range was suddenly filled with the barking sounds of AK-74 assault rifles as they fired, the ringing on the tables and concrete as the brass casings fell, the smack as bullet met paper and the light grunts and curses of the soldiers as they adjusted their aim. Daily target practice was mandatory for the 14th Peacekeeping Unit, know as 'Fyodor's Police.' The captain, Nikolai Fyodor himself, believed that if you were to familiarize yourself with a weapon to the point where it became like an extension of your body, then when combat came, you wouldn't think twice about what to do.

Everyone always hoped it never came down to that.

When all of the soldiers were done, the firing range was cleared, and names and scores were taken for the daily reports. As Aleksander stepped out of the range, though, someone hit him in the arm, playfully, and yelled "You have got to be the worst shot in the unit, Jitterbug!" It was, of course, Yuri "Brick Wall" Pavelov, one of Aleksander's best friends.

To this, Aleksander simply shrugged, replying "Eh, not in the whole unit. Just the platoon!"

The two men laughed it up, each self-consciously aware that they shouldn't be. They had both been voted "Most Unlikely to Hit a Fat Cow at Twenty Feet" and had proven it with wooden cow cutouts that the other soldiers had made to verify it.

"Attention!"

Both soldiers abruptly halted, snapping to position as their sergeant stepped in front of them. Pavel "Nails" Kurotchnik was the toughest old soldier in the unit, and kept his squad in the best condition he could. As such, he was almost a picture of physical perfection. Tall, muscular and lean, he could outrun, outclimb, outshoot, outbox and even outwrestle any soldier in the platoon.

Or so the soldier said.

He looked down at Aleksander before leaning down, into the young soldier's face and saying "You scored 33 out of 100 on the shooting today, Private Yavoitski Anything to say for yourself?"

"No, sir! Sorry, sir!"

Nails shook his head, standing up straight as he continued "Jitterbug, I hear that today's your birthday, is it not?"

"Yes, sir! Twenty-second, to be exact, sir!"

"Well then, as is tradition, I'm afraid I have to give you a drive up to the captain...and then fail to meet with him."

Aleksander lit up a bit. Second platoon was the furthest away from the command post, and a free ride up there and back to simply see the scenery was welcomed by any and all soldiers, Nails included.

It was actually a beautiful ride to remember.[/align]
[align=center]Posted Image
Aleksander Yavoitski[/align]
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Makori
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Long-time Villager
[ *  *  * ]
[align=center]Part 2

The staff car that Nails referred to was no more than a simple FAV, or fast attack vehicle. In this case, it was actually nothing more than a simple army car, with an open top. It never occurred to Aleksander as he climbed in to ask the sergeant why the rollcage bars weren't attached to this particular vehicle.

He thought that feeling the air through his hair might feel good.

As Nails started up the car, pulling it out of the station, cheers lit up from the camp, everyone yelling out Aleksander's nickname.

"Jitterbug!"

"Hey, Jitterbug!"

"Happy Birthday, Jit!"

"Have yourself a good ride, Bug!"

It was common that, after awhile, soldiers who were bored started tagging their compatriots with stupid nicknames. "Boar" "Wolfman" "Mammoth" were only a few to name off the top.

As the countryside began to whizz by in deep greens and golds, Aleksander took a deep breath in relief. Getting out of the station was good relief. After awhile, staying in the same mudhole in the same weather, either incredibly muggy or bonebreaking cold, going through the same routines day after day got to some people.

After about a half hour, Aleksander turned to Nails, frowning as he asked "How much further until we get there, sir?"

The sergeant peered at his wrist watch before replying "About thirty-two minutes. We should be good. Why, got a date up there, private?"

"Heh. No sir."

Without warning, the car bucked up from underneath them, almost throwing Aleksander from his seat, which he now desperately clung to.

"What the hell is going on?!"

"How should I know! I bet it's from the rainfall, the damn mud is-WOAH CRAP!"

The last thing Aleksander remembered before blacking out at that exact minute was being flung from the car as it careened over into a ditch and feeling an agonizing pain in his left arm.
[/align]
[align=center]Posted Image
Aleksander Yavoitski[/align]
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Makori
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Long-time Villager
[ *  *  * ]
[align=center]Part 3

Pain. Agonizing, brain-melting pain. It coursed throughout his body like an electric surge, frying his nerves and making him break out in spasms that seemed more like thrashing. There was someone screaming too. How interesting. Why would someone be screaming in weather like this? It was such a beautiful day. Why, in fact, the sergeant's wristwatch right there, poking out from under the car, said it was about a half-hour past two.

And then, it abruptly struck Aleksander of the blood running out from under the vehicle, seeping into the mud around him.

And he was the one screaming.

It all came back with a blow like a hammer being dropped on his chest from an airplane. He tried to sit up, bellowing in pain, but he was forced to flop back down by some anchor. He gritted his teeth, then steeled himself to look at his left hand, blinking through the blood from a cut on his forehead.

His left arm, almost to his shoulder, was underneath the engine block of the overturned car.

What happened in the next few hours went by in a blur for him. He vaguely remembered the car being lifted off of him, his weight being pulled from the suction of the muddy trench. The ruined piece of flesh that was his arm, being placed in a truck, seeing the flattened remains of Nails being pulled into another truck. As thought it was meant to, abruptly, the wristwatch stuck out at him again.

Twenty-eight minutes. That's how long it took for his life to be ruined.

His eyes snapped open again.

He was laying in the hospital ward of Company HQ. He knew it had to be that, as there wasn't anywhere else with this kind of medical equipment for hundreds of miles.

His brought his right hand up, rubbing his face to try and rid himself of his fatigue. Surely there wasn't anything seriously wrong with him? It was an accident, sure, but he was alright.

He tried to signal a nurse to ask her what was wrong when he suddenly realized that he couldn't lift his left arm. He stared straight ahead at first, his mouth suddenly dry. He couldn't look down, whatever was there would probably horrify him. If he didn't look, he'd be okay.

The strange thing about people is, you tell them not to do something, and they'll instantly want to do it.

Aleksander's eyes, of their own free will, he was sure, darted down, and widened in shock.

The ruin that was his left arm was swathed in gauze bandages.[/align]
[align=center]Posted Image
Aleksander Yavoitski[/align]
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