Chapter Text
I gave up my likely promotion for an increased caffeine ration, and a post farther north, much farther. “Less interruptions, less reports,” he promised. I was half asleep when I signed that beige paper. It gave me three days before being flown north. The mention of caffeine was enough to get my signature. I was hooked.
He was my superior’s superior. I’d forgotten his name but he knew mine. Kolskovo—I hated hearing him say that name. Before I could become too bothered, I started to think about jam. I rarely got the chance to get the stuff rationed to me, nor buy it. The store was too long of a walk. I began to think about a promotion instead.
Daydreams of promotions and jam were cut off by another ping. Altitude, speed, heading. Like a factory worker, I copied onto paper all the info I’d need to relay to the shift manager. The last radar contact before the end of my shift was a bit odd. I heard a familiar ping, but the display was empty when I looked. I wrote: “Possible malfunction, 12:24”
The best part of work was when I handed off my report to the next person. I hardly knew my shift replacement; we exchanged places, not words. Soon my day was finally over.
Up a flight of stairs and in my room were the four hours I had to myself, which were spent in bed with the radio quietly churring beside me. The quiet parts of a broadcast were filled with static. The radio stayed on while I slept. I didn’t dream about anything.
I woke up with the desire to close my eyes again. Like clockwork, the lights came on, then my uniform, and my watch. Six, exactly, that’s when I woke up. When I felt most energized—on my way down a flight of stairs—I wondered if that promotion was as likely as I’d imagined.
I received what could be interpreted as breakfast from the mess hall—some almost-stale bread and warm tea—wrapped nicely in its package. I saw myself at my station afterward. The man working the night shift handed his report without a word between us.
The post commander had told me three days ago I’d leave, that day was tomorrow. I didn’t read the paper I signed, I was too tired then. Every time I glanced down at that paper, the commander raised his voice slightly.
More prevalent was the mention of the man whose position I was taking the place of—more specifically—what happened to him. It was explained briefly that he’d left his post one morning without returning. I was told not to worry or inquire on the matter any further. His disappearance was a mystery, as was my ability to retain the odd story post meeting.
The 11th of November, that was the day the man who I am to replace vanished. That day was when I decided to enlist. While it was a boring job, the static in my headset kept me company, along with those distant memories. My brain was rewarded with the tea. While leaning back a yawn escaped me and I wrote on my paper:
“Quiet morning.”
The air was stagnant, stiff like a beam. I would’ve commented something about wanting a fan but I stopped myself from adding any further comment on the matter.
There was a ping and the display lit up. Again—Altitude, speed, heading. It was only afterwards that I noticed the numbers written on my sheet, altitude measured approximately fifty-thousand meters. I read twice, then a third time, but when I looked to the radar display to confirm, the reading had vanished. Was the altitude a misread?
It was suspicious, but failure to report this could be bad news. If I just let some spy plane enter the airspace knowingly, I’d surely lose more than just my job. I should notify the shift manager and wait for a response. I picked up the phone to contact the shift manager, it rang briefly before the tone stopped. I spoke:
“Shift manager, this is post eleven. Radar contact detected at altitude: fifty-thousand, bearing: eight-five, speed: seven, eight, zero. Received at 11:52.”
There was a pause, then a read-back of my report, I confirmed it then hung up the phone.
It wasn’t a drill; there was no return call. The report was out of my control now, and up the chain of command. I was to report to mess and receive lunch, I didn’t bother with eating—just more over-brewed tea, some old bread got stashed in my pocket. The walk back to my station was short and uneventful.
Between sips of tea I eyed the screen. It remained clear for the rest of my shift. It’s best I not dwell on it, that’d only distract me. Procedure doesn’t go well with superstition. By the time my shift actually ended, the air carried the aftertaste of tea along with oxygen. I was woken up by the sound of the line ringing, which happened to be when I realized I was falling asleep. I stood up, and my legs hated me for it. I heard only this on the other end of the line:
“Private Kolskovo?” Said almost in an accusatory tone.
“Yes?” I responded, jutting up.
“You’ve been called to the post commander’s office.”
“Ah, yes sir, right away.” I did my best to not sound like I’d just been dozing off.
“Well shit…” I concluded after hanging up.
I left my tea behind for someone else to deal with and headed off to that office. I had to dust off memories of where the post commander was even located, it’d been that long. The memory of being chewed out for spilling my drink on the equipment made itself more useful than traumatic—if only for a moment. A breath hissed past my lips before I knocked and entered. I stood at attention after a not-so-well rehearsed entry procedure—open, enter, close, pivot, salute? The post commander, whose name I’d forgotten, spoke directly and clearly.
“Kolskovo, you’ll be transferred tomorrow. Do not report to your station, come directly to the ATC building at 09:00, you’ll be escorted from there.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“If you aren’t present, the next plane to the post isn’t until two weeks later. Do not show up for work in this case; we’ve already arranged your replacement.” He spoke with eyes that held a resentful glint.
“I’ll add-”
I held my breath.
“Good work private.”
The redundant lump in my throat faded across the other side of that door.
“He’s dealt with.” I heard his muffled voice from the other side of the door.
“Yes. No promotion, he’s leaving.”
I muttered a curse; good work my ass, he just wanted me gone. I’d take more offense to this had I not wanted to get him out of my life as well. So I walked home glad I’d never see him again. It was fitting that the walk there was quiet and serene. Birds took flight as I passed, I threw the bread hidden in my uniform's pocket to the birds. They were eager to eat it, even though I’d forgotten to break it up. I couldn’t help but chuckle when they began to fight over it.
When I felt least energized—on my way up a flight of stairs—I wondered what happened to that cup I left behind. This came after I’d checked to see if I received any mail, letters and such. My paycheck came in envelopes, along with the occasional letter. I hoped to see one from an old friend maybe, but there was a letter from my mother. I threw the letter into the nearest trash can with an annoyed scoff and continued heading up to my apartment.
I began stuffing clothes into the large briefcase—anything that looked warm. The cold upright tub I occasionally kept food in had a couple cans of stewed meat saved for special occasions. I promptly stuffed them away as well in a bag atop my issued overcoat. The last thing I’d packed before falling asleep was a dusty book. The most important item I’d packed up was a cassette player and a couple of tapes I received as a gift. Sleep came next, and the night was spent dreaming about a distant land, one farther north, much farther.
The next morning was not similar to the previous one. It should have been clear by the light sifting through my blinds how late it was. Yet I was convinced it was six because that was when I always woke up. After I slid from bed, my energy built slowly. Lights, uniform, brush, watch; a well rehearsed drill. My body deceived me—the watch said eight-thirty with the politeness of a slap. I muttered a curse to myself and went to pick up my briefcase—it opened, and the contents cascaded out like a sad waterfall. The case was promptly dropped and kicked. I sighed and rubbed my head, which had been doing its best to develop a headache. While frantically stuffing the case again, the radio darted to life, informing me of the latest in world news. I promptly unplugged it, and put it into the sarcophagus as well. I did what I could to make myself as presentable as possible, and left my apartment. I came back in as soon as I left to smack the lightswitch off.
I felt light while I went down the stairs. The walk to base was now a miserable jog. My legs hurt, my body hated me for daring to be athletic. It was 08:55 when I arrived. I opened the door to the building, then promptly pivoted right back around upon realizing I wasn’t heading to my station, but rather the airstrip. I paused and thought about heading in for tea, but my thoughts were blocked out by the sound of what was absolutely my plane coming in to land. I checked my watch. 08:57. I couldn’t miss this flight, two weeks without caffeine or work isn’t survivable.
So I ran, and I quickly found the building. I barged open the door to the ATC building and upon locating the highest rank in the lobby, dropped my briefcase, stood at attention and saluted. He was tall and lithe, with thin eyebrows and a leisurely look on his face.
“Private Kolskovo, reporting for transfer!” I barked. Only to be returned a squint and stare.
“At least you aren’t late.” he said.
“Yes-” I began, then saw the tab on his collar was… identical to mine. This I did not notice despite seeing his attention to detail in wearing his uniform properly.
“Private…” I almost asked, and spoke with the conviction of a worn record.
“Private Mikoyan.” The other private finished.
I turned, nodded, and was hit with a wave of drowsiness. It seemed the adrenaline reserves were empty. Someone came to the door and told us the flight was ready. I took the case from the floor and boarded the aircraft.
I sat in a cheap yet cozy seat. It’d been a long time since I was shuffled about inside of a plane. It lurched forward after taxying, I swayed with the movements I didn’t have the energy to combat. I watched as the landscape outside of the small porthole window shrunk, but I fell asleep before I could admire it.
When I woke up, I focussed on the first thing that I saw; my boots were not tied. I fixed my laces and looked up at who was across from me. Mikoyan, who gave a nod which was not returned.
“No coat huh?” Miko asked.
“Tired.” I mumbled
“It’s gonna be real cold where we land.”
“Oh fuck off…”
“Ouch.”
Mikoyan gave up in his attempts to get me to put a coat on, I knew I should’ve. But I know what a cold winter was like, I’ve never needed to wear a coat to and from work.
“What’s your job iceman?” Mikoyan shifted the conversation.
“PVO; Radio-technical troops.”
“So you're smart then?”
“No less than you.”
It appeared I’d managed to dissuade him enough to leave me alone. Outside had gotten noticeably brighter. When I looked out the closest window I found out why that was. We were soaring over a sea of white. Snow stretched off into the horizon along with almost indistinguishable tufts of white cloud. It was nothing I’d seen. I wanted nothing more than a warm cup of tea. Though I was back asleep soon
I dreamt of jam, this time without promotions. I woke up when the plane shook for the final time. I wiped my mouth dry. We were descending clearly. I didn’t know where I was, nor how long I’d be here. It looked quiet though. I was at ease when the aircraft met the runway and slowly rolled across the tarmac. The plane stopped moving after a couple of turns and the engines whirled down. I stood along with everyone else and waited for the ramp to lower.
After some mechanical noises, a slit of light started at the back of the plane and grew. My eyes were assaulted with bright light; the sun reflected violently off of the white snow. It was already cold, but when the ramp met the ground I felt a rush of icy air sap the heat from my uniform. The air chilled me to my core.
I dropped my belongings on the ground after walking out the back of that plane. I shivered. The cold pierced my body like a thousand daggers. I took a step and the snow crunched beneath my boot. Another few steps and I was beginning to lose energy. I saw housing blocks in the distance, in rank. They stood out from the snow. I regretted not putting my winter coat on; regretted not grabbing some food and tea. I should have listened to Mikoyan, I didn't realize how little energy I had until I was laying in the snow. A curse slowly flowed out from between my lips. I closed my eyes, it’s too bright…