This is my first RusGer story and also my first attempt at writing, outside of writing essays c: I don't know if I'll continue this, I'd like to, but my confidence isn't very high with my writings. I'd need a lot a little bit of encouragement to continue since I'm not very sure of if people would like my writings. If I do continue, this will eventually become more obviously RusGer. Eventually, as in, I have no idea when, it could be in the next chapter or after 3 more chapters. I'll just have to see how it goes ^^
Anyways, to give a bit more understanding to the story, this story is set during World War 1. I'm a big history nut, especially with the world wars(And even more especially with World War 2), so I try to keep this as historically accurate as possible. Mustard Gas was used by the German Army in WW1. It wasn't exactly poisonous, but for the purposes of the story, I decided to make it a bit more severe. The story may switch POV's occasionally, but it'll primarily be in Ivan's POV.
"I need help." The young general thought. He was alone, laying in an open field, and injured. He had received a bullet to his stomach and a knife wound to his left shoulder, but the amount of blood around him and the intensity of the pain throughout his body told him that those weren't the only injuries he had sustained. His throat and nose were burning unbearably and he could feel them starting to swell as panicked thoughts raced through his mind. He knew it was something in the air causing the burn and swelling sensation. Perhaps, he thought, that is why his men abandoned him so quickly. As he contemplated this thought, he recalled the events that occurred before he had been abandoned.
We had been fighting a small army of Germans when, suddenly, they retreated. We were all confused at this sudden retreat, but we were nonetheless happy to make it out alive. Most of us, anyways. A good number of my men had been killed, and a small portion of them had been injured. I was the worst injured out of them all. I can generally make it out of a battle relatively unscathed, thanks to my experience and strength, but we had been ambushed in an area that I didn't think had enemy troops in it. I'm not quite sure how they ambushed us without being spotted beforehand. Though, it's likely nobody was looking for enemies in a land that I had assured them was safe. They ambushed me first before attacking the rest of my army. Whether or not they knew who I was or if I just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, I'm not sure. What I do know is that my trip to check on my men suddenly became a life or death struggle. I realize now that an enemy soldier was hiding in a nearby bush. He had shot me in the abdomen, then another solider promptly stabbed my shoulder while I was distracted with being shot. I don't know where he could've come from. Perhaps he was bold enough to have been following behind me the entire time?
Where he came from isn't important. A full-on battle ensued shortly after I was ambushed. I was easily able to disregard the pain coming from my wounds. I've lived my life only knowing the pain of war. Though, I'm sure it hindered my ability to fight unknowingly. Several of my men had been killed before news of the German attack spread throughout the camp. After all, it was 11pm at night when the attack began. Most of my troops were asleep, resting themselves after a long day of walking. We hadn't yet reached the actual battle grounds. Apparently the battle grounds had been extended without me being notified. Those who were not asleep were enjoying the peaceful, cloudless night by sitting around a small bonfire, no doubt talking about their daydreams of returning home to their families. Some of us were unarmed; however, we had more weapons that the other units. Most of the Russian army has to fight weaponless. Our numbers are strong, but our country is not nearly as industrial as Germany is. We have a limited supply of firearms because of this. Regardless of the lack of weapons, my men fought with all they had. We retreated into an open field after realizing the Germans were surrounding us. I knew that leaving camp could mean certain death, but staying in camp and letting us become surrounded by the enemy would leave us no chance of surviving.
Surprisingly, not too long after we had abandoned camp to fight in the field, the Germans retreated as quickly as they attacked. We didn't celebrate this supposed victory though, there were some men who had been injured and needed medical treatment. Thankfully, one of the soldiers was smart enough to grab a small medical kit before we left camp. He tried to treat me first, but I had refused and told him to care for his fellow troops before he treated me. I didn't understand why he looked so confused and worried and... perhaps a bit scared? Though, now I understand that it was probably because I looked like, and still look like, a train had ran over me, yet I was refusing to be treated. He must've thought I was crazy. It didn't much matter if I let him treat me anyways. Just a few minutes after the Germans had retreated, one of my men shouted something. He sounded panicked and scared. I don't know what he had said, but whatever it was it sent the rest of my men into a panicked frenzy. It was quite funny, actually. There were about four dozen fully grown men running around like chickens with their heads cut off. I should've been worried, but what was there to be worried about? The Germans had retreated and were no where to be seen. I figured they were just on edge and overreacted to a wild animal that was mistaken to be an enemy soldier. I laughed at them, though it was painful to do so. The effects of my wounds were slowly replacing the adrenaline in my body. Then, they did something I've never seen before. They abandoned me. They abandoned a general. Not only that, they abandoned a general that is injured. What a bunch of cowards.
I had tried to follow after them. I got a few feet before I stumbled and fell onto my stomach, unable to get back up. Certainly a simple bullet and stab wound wasn't enough to take me down? Ah well, whenever I fight my mind tends to go into a haze. It would be pointless to try and remember if I got hurt while fighting. Something isn't right though. Why would they just abandon me? Did something happen that I didn't know about? Sure, one of the soldiers yelled something, but I never saw the enemy attack. And what's with the smell of the air? Why is it making my nose and throat swell? It's as if I'm smelling poison.
The general's amethyst eyes widened with this realization. The look of confusion on his face was quickly replaced with a blank expression. He had heard the Germans were experimenting with some kind of noxious gas, but actually believing such a thing was unthinkable. He had to get out of here, for his safety and the safety of his country. If he was to die, his country would soon follow behind him. He had hoped his men would come back to get him, but he now knows that they wouldn't do so if the air was poisonous. The young man used every bit of strength he had left towards attempting to crawl out of the area. He found this to be extremely difficult though. The pain radiated throughout his body no matter what he did or how slow he did it. Every breath he took burned and made his throat swell further, as if his neck was a mouse that was slowly being constricted by a snake every time it breathed. Panic began to set in as his pace slowed down to almost not moving at all. He figured that by now he was at least away from the area where the poison is strongest. Looking over his uninjured shoulder to confirm this to himself, he was met with disappointment. He had crawled barely 15 feet away from where he started. The general noticed that he was leaving a messy trail of blood as he crawled. He half smiled and chuckled lowly to himself as he compared himself to a snail. "If I am to die," he thought, "at least I should make it somewhat enoyable." However, he refused to give up trying until he breathed his last breath. As he continued his lame attempt to crawl away, he thought of his two sisters, the only family he has. He smiled as he thought of the good times he had with them and frowned when he thought of the bad times.
The dying man's thoughts were interrupted when he heard the sound of dirt crunching underneath boots. His senses were quickly beginning to fail him as he noted that his vision was blurring every few seconds. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He stopped moving and strained himself to listen to the crunching as it got closer and closer. He tried to calculate how close the stranger must be in relation to how loud the sound was, but thinking alone was becoming a strenuous task. The noise became louder and louder, then, it stopped. The injured general knew that it was likely the stranger had stopped in front of him. He silently wondered if maybe the sound was just his ears playing tricks on him, giving him a false hope of living. The mind is a rather tricky thing, after all. It doesn't want to die. Even when faced with impending death, it will still try to make the person think they'll be okay. Hoping that his brain wouldn't be that cruel to him, he forced himself to lift his head and tilt it upwards as far as it would allow him to, which, wasn't very much. He did indeed see a man standing before him. A soldier who could help him. The mysterious soldier was quite tall, almost as tall as he himself was. He had a muscular build, but his face was hidden behind a gas mask to protect him from the effects of the noxious air. He smiled hopefully at the man, but his hopes were quickly dashed when he saw an iron cross on the stranger's collar. The only soldiers who wear iron crosses are the Germans. While studying the German soldier's uniform, he realized the man was not a soldier, but was actually a high-ranked military officer. He didn't know what rank the man was, though it's not like it mattered. He was going to die here anyways. "To be killed by an army from a country that's not even a half century old.. How pathetic.." After mentally insulting himself, his blurred vision turned black and his body went limp.
"You idiots!" shouted a man. This man isn't easy to anger, but his soldiers seem to know the buttons they need to push to infuriate him. His voice is low and deep, able to subdue those into obeying him even if he was merely whispering to them. Of course, it was not fear that made people immediately obey his commands. He is not a scary man; he wouldn't harm anybody unless they harmed him. His voice, stature and looks all silently demanded respect without him ever having to ask for it. People sensed this about him and never felt the need to go against him. His deep voice is laced with a German accent and perhaps adds to the requirement of respect from others. He is a man who gets things done and gets them done right in a timely manner. He is quite stoic, but doesn't fear his emotions nor does he fear to show them when the time is appropriate. His looks are just as appealing and strong as his personality is. The iris in his eye's looked as though somebody had stolen the coloration from the clearest, most beautifully blue ocean. Such eyes showed that he had compassion but also believed in the notion of tough love. His golden blonde hair added to his handsome facial features. He was always clean shaven. Sometimes his men would place bets on when they would finally see their general with even the slightest of stubble. Whenever the general gets angry, like he is now, you know somebody must have messed up really bad.
"Sir, how were we suppose to know?" The question came from one of the soldiers standing before the general. He looked rather worried at seeing his general react in such a way. The question only seemed to further anger the general.
"Could you not see his uniform? Could you not see that he and his men were better armed than the others? Didn't you notice these things and realize that his unit wasn't just another regular set of Russian troops?" The general asked. He waited for a response, but when he received none within the next few seconds, he sighed heavily and slicked his hair back again. In his anger he had allowed a few strands of hair to become misplaced. No matter what the situation is, he couldn't allow himself to look so sloppy.
"Yes, sir, we did notice those things and we did realize that.." the young soldier said, taking a pause to collect his thoughts. "But we just thought that taking them out would mean being closer to defeating the Russian Army."
The general took a few seconds to think before responding to the soldier. "Defeating the Russian Army is one of our goals. But, that doesn't mean I want the country of Russia to fall. The world would go into chaos if that were to happen, what with all the nations of the world scrambling to take the land Russia left behind." He paused before continuing. "Which, if somebody doesn't get out there soon and treat that unit's general, will happen." His words had a sense of calmed urgency.
"Yes sir, I'll go and make sure he's cared for." The soldier began to leave the room before the general's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"No, you go back to your unit. I'll get him myself." As he spoke, the general was already gathering various materials and objects. A medical kit to at least sterilize and bandage the wounds, two high-quality gas masks, and, most importantly, a pistol. He wants to appear friendly to any enemy troops he could come across, he has more important matters to attend to than dealing with enemies, but he doesn't want to be defenseless.
The young man looked concerned and was going to voice his opposition to the general going out on his own and possibly getting shot, but decided that the more war-experienced man knew what he was doing. He left the room with a nod, leaving the general to figure out his rescue plan by himself.
Knowing the urgency of the situation, the young general wasted no time. He gathered and brought with him only the essentials. His camp's location wasn't too far away from the downed general's, so he decided it would be more time effective to simply go there on foot than take the time to find an unused military vehicle he could use. It didn't take very long for him to start smelling the mustard gas in the air. How could his men be so ignorant? Not only that, they had used a mustard gas bomb not too far from their own camp! Luckily for them, the wind is moving away from the camp. Otherwise the entire unit would've had to abandon the area until the gas dissipated. The general put on his gas mask at this point. He had left his military cap back in his office on his desk, knowing he'd just have to take it off to put on the mask. Although he wanted to, he didn't try to run towards the area his soldier said the injured general was at. To do so would be to possibly attract unwanted attention from enemy soldiers, and if the injured general was still alert, he could shoot him, thinking that he's attacking the already wounded man. He tried to keep his thoughts calm and collected as he walked as quickly as he could without making much noise. Though, as he kept walking, he silently began to panic. He didn't show it, but his mind was racing with "what if" questions; questions that didn't have good answers. He tried not to think of such things, the injured man was going to be just fine. Wouldn't he? What if he was dead by the time he could get there? What if a pack of wild animals saw him and attacked him while he was weak? Worst of all, what if he got there just to see him die? He shuttered at the thought. Out of all the possibilities, he'd want to see the last one happen the least.
In the distance, he could see something slowly crawling on the ground. At first he thought it was just a large rock, but as he watched the 'rock,' he realized it was actually something very slowly crawling. That had to be him, right? What else could it be? His thoughts continued with unanswerable questions as he came closer to whatever was on the ground. It wasn't very long before he was able to identify the man as being the person he's looking for. "iWell, he's at least still alive. "He's not moving much anymore, but he's alive." His thoughts calmed him down some. He cautiously approached the wounded man. He saw the large puddle of red liquid that had a trail of blood leading to the dying man. The general stopped a few feet in front of the man to make sure he wouldn't be attacked in his attempt to help him. He watched the injured general carefully, watching the man as he lifted his head to look up. He was glad to see him smile, but after seeing the man's smile fall, he realized that the man didn't recognize him because of his gas mask. After a few seconds of each of them watching the other person's movements, the injured man's head fell back onto the ground with a thud. The uninjured general visibly panicked at that. He kneeled down on one leg and gently shook the wounded man's uninjured shoulder in an attempt to get a response. "Russia, are you okay? Russia?" His voice showed his panicked state. After getting no response, he checked the man's pulse by placing two fingers on the man's neck, underneath his jaw. "There's still a pulse." With this conclusion, his calm and collected attitude returned. He moved his fingers off of the man's neck. He moved over beside the man rather than being in front of him, then gently rolled him onto his back. He put his hands underneath the man's head, lifted his head up, and put the spare gas mask he had onto the man's head. Once reassured that he's no longer breathing toxic air, he looked over the man's body to asses any wounds he has. There were quite a few of them. By now, most of the wounds weren't bleeding too bad. He decided that it would be safer to take him back to camp before messing with and possibly reopening the man's wounds. He scooped the man up into his arms, being careful and mindful of the wounds he might have on his back, and stood up straight. The man was heavier than he previously thought, but that was not his concern right now. He made sure the man kept breathing regularly as he carried him back to his camp.