Dear...
My dear parents, I am...
Hi!
You remember when you told me to be who I want
Mum, Dad, I'm leaving the station, leaving the Metro with Dasha, I'm a Red Marxist, she's a Nazi and I'm no fan of romantic tragedy, so we're leaving before... I love you all and I hope you understand that I love Dasha just as much, no more, no less.
Leaving the Metro was not the only solution, but it is the one I chose for myself, it is my decision. Nothing here is worth dying over, I used to think my family would be worth fighting for, but you refused to fight for me when I asked... Call me a traitor if it makes you feel better, but know that your own betrayal pushed me to this, as you always said, the actions of one are the responsibility of all.
Sorry,
Andreï.
The Hanza guard observed both young stalkers, his doubt obvious even behind a thick wool balaclava. The boy was armed, carrying a bastard gun and revolver, she looked like an officer's kid, too clean and nervous to have ever seen the sky.
The kid couldn't have been older than twenty, but looked tough enough to have at least worked as a caravan guard before, tiny scars dotting the right side of his face and his exposed forearms revealing rod-like tendons under a thick skin.
One thing bothered the Hanza, however, and that was the kid's trench coat, clearly a Red uniform tinkered with to look banal, insignias removed and an ammunition carrier worn over the leather coat.
"You a deserter or something?" The tall man asked, his shotgun held firmly and eyes narrowed in a mildly accusing manner.
The girl cringed and the boy seemed taken aback, shocked that his 'genius plan' had failed. To his credit, however, he kept his head and played it straight.
"I worked in the armory, I'm a mechanic." His voice betrayed no fear, no hesitation, it was a story-teller's voice, the kind people flocked to camp fires just to listen. Not a warrior, definitely.
The guard nodded to the girl, "And her?"
"Personal assistant to the Fuhrer, one of many." His tone made it clear that, if intentions alone could kill, the fascists would have been looking for a new leader right this instant.
None of this qualified as Hanza's business, truth be told, but the man had been manning this station for five years and these two certainly would be in his top five most interesting encounters…
Simply put, the guy was bored out of his mind, so he made them an offer, "How about you stick around until dawn? It'll be safer then and you can tell us more," seeing the two hesitate, he promptly added, "And we might even teach you a thing or two on how not to die up there."
As far as incentives go, this was a pretty good one, so the kids simply nodded to each other before following the sentry into the guard booth.
The booth, built from scrap right next to the gate, was occupied by two more sentries, one manning a gun emplacement and the other keeping tabs. This tunnel saw little use, most of it outbound, very few ever came back, meaning these two were in the same situation as their colleague; bored to tears.
The kids sat on a crude wooden bench, snuggling close to one another.
"So, you two are, like, enemies, right?" Said the gunner, his back resting against the weapon.
Andreï, the boy, kept his gaze on the ground and replied with honesty, "I don't give a flying fuck about it."
The other man looked up from his manifest to frown, "This reminds me of some old story… Any of you planning to feign their death or something?" Earning only confused glances, he shrugged it off and went on to complete a requisition form for two spare survival kits.
"How did you even meet?" The gunner continued, squeezing out of the way as his friend with the shotgun went for the supply crate, buried beneath dirty clothes and spare parts.
Andreï smiled, giving his girlfriend a tender glance that was mirrored somewhat awkwardly. She seemed pale, even for a Metro dweller, almost sickly, as if this situation somehow made her nauseous. "A month ago, I was riding a caravan to Polis from the Armory, not a Red Line operation per see, but they asked me and a security team to escort it, as a gesture of goodwill towards the Rangers or something…"
The shotgun wielding sentry began stuffing filters, rations and med-packs in two leather rucksacks. Noticing all the attention he'd drawn to himself, the man apologized and went on, cautious not to disturb the story-telling.
"So, I was checking on the car's secondary hydraulics, about two hours into our trip, fixing a leak just on the left side of the car, when the driver just stopped the whole thing. Bang! Forty to nothing in two seconds. I don't have to tell you I wanted to smack the bastard, but then I looked ahead and kissing him felt somehow appropriate then…"
The gunner popped out a cigarette from a semi-crumbled pack before offering it around, everyone accepted but the girl, who never acknowledged his presence, "Ghosts?" he guessed, flicking on an old lighter.
Andreï set his own fake tobacco stick alight, puffing on it twice before resuming the story. "Nope; a panzer. The thing had been hit by a few demo charges and it vomited smoke like old drunks vomit shroom vodka, that's why we didn't see it before then and we'd have squashed on its armor hadn't the driver been so fucking quick…"
He repositioned the cigarette to the corner of his mouth, "So, there we are, face to face with a maybe functional tank with only a few bastards and a kalash to back us up, and the thing just sits there, its main gun pointed at us and smoke gushing out from across its frame… I was scared shitless and so was everyone else, but one of the guys decides to play hero and shoots the thing with a Bastard…"
The writer whistled in admiration, "How did it not blow you to pieces?"
The boy finally looked up from the floor, tired grey eyes sparkling with humor, "It was inches away from falling apart, so when the hero shot it, that's all it took for the remaining bolts to give and whole plates to fall off..."
"Hang on a second," shotgun guy interrupted, "the guy killed a panzer with a Bastard?"
Andreï laughed lightly at that, shaking his head, "No, no, no, the tank was already dead, he just knocked down bits of it, which didn't keep him from roaring his victory until the commissar smacked him quiet."
Andreï paused to check on the girl, giving her a warm smile that was met with a thin one.
"So, the grunts get off to check out why there's a fucking tank on the tracks and I get to check out the thing, see if it can be fixed. I put on my gas mask, check my gun and crawl in through a hole in the armor… A panzer's really tight, you can't stretch, can't twist and can't scratch without bumping against something important-looking, and this one was worst because there were corpses plastered all over the cabin… Still I managed to shut the engine and that cleared out the smoke some, not to mention the noise. Then, when it all finally quieted down, I heard sobbing somewhere nearby, practically within spitting distance…"
He squeezed the girl's shoulder protectively and she smiled again, her traits softer this time.
"…My guess is Dasha had been in the turret when the thing blew up, she was ejected by the blast, then crawled back in when the nosalises came looking, but she won't tell me about it, wouldn't talk at all when we found her… The others argued we should shoot her, I didn't care much, but the commissar opted to capture her and bring her back to base, so the trip wouldn't be a complete waste, seeing as that tank wasn't going anywhere…" He stroked the Bastard's grip, "The others beat her up, humiliated her… Made me mad, but I shut up, then they interrogated her at the armory, maybe three meters away from my bunk… For a week, every morning, I saw her, in her cell, sobbing in a corner or screaming for food… I brought her food, guards tried to stop me, but I still did, and we talked, nothing of your concern, then, one night, two guards entered her cell… They weren't asking questions and she just screamed…"
Tears ran down his cheeks, two salty pearls rolling across the dirt. Her face, however, was set in stone.
"That was yesterday. You can guess the rest."
The sentries seemed torn between scorn and admiration. It took a lot of balls to just ditch everything over personal convictions, it took a lot of stupidity to do so over a girl and it just felt wrong to betray his station by freeing a captured enemy.
The gunner openly applauded the kid for being a ballsy motherfucker while the writer's face twisted to a severe frown. "You should think before you do shit like that, lad, recklessness will get you killed out there."
The last guard thrust the two backpacks onto the fugitives, "The line between conviction and recklessness is good planning, do the right thing, but be smart about it… Now move it, dawn's breaking, you'll be safe for an hour or so, until diurnal hunters get warmed up."
Andreï slung both his bag's straps and adjusted them carefully while Dasha simply hung it over her shoulder.
Gunner cranked the gate up and locked it there to man his weapon, spotlight searching the darkness beyond.
"Thanks," shouted the boy, over his shoulder as he jogged away in the dark, "I won't forget it."
The girl followed closely, never looking back.
The gate was closed and all three guards just stared at it for a while, re-playing the boy's story in their minds, wondering what they would have done…