A/N: This is it. The battle everyone has been waiting for. Renton vs. Chertov! Who will win? Read and find out. Incidentally, you should know that the next two chapters will be the last for War of the Heart. Be sure to look forward to it, and review with whatever thoughts you have. I'll see you next week, and when the last chapter is posted, I'll update on what's going to happen next.
Chapter Twenty-one
June 8th, 1943
Sacramento, California, USA
It was their last day in the city and their last day before moving south to a new hiding place. Renton wanted the visit to end on a happy note, and found a dance hall at the bottom floor of the hotel; it was amazing to him how he had not noticed it at the beginning. Still, it offered for some revelry and idle distraction before they had to check out the next day. When Renton offered to Eureka the chance of an intimate dance, she jumped immediately.
The dance hall was dimly lit with a European chandelier, reminiscent of the grand palaces of Vienna in days of Hapsburg. In contrast, the music blaring from the speakers was a modern swing tune, which had everyone jumping. The floor was practically packed with people getting right to the dancing with their respective partners, following their leads. Eureka was visibly excited by it, as she pulled and tugged at Renton's shirt sleeve to join her on the dance floor. Perhaps the lights and general ecstatic atmosphere thrilled her. Or was it the lively song of Artistry in Rhythm by Stan Kenton that sent her flying over onto the floor?
"Come on, Rentoshka! Let's dance!"
Eureka could not help but laugh at seeing Renton trying (and failing) to keep a steady rhythm. The 17-year-old had traveled across the world, spoke a foreign language, fought Germans and Soviets alike, bested local gangsters, was a prodigy in everything from history to firearms, but he could not master the art of dance?
"Don't laugh!" he protested. "You know I'm not good at this!"
"All right, I'll help. Here…"
Gently, the young girl took his two hands, and placed them both on her hips. Even for a girl as young as her, he realized, she had an impressive figure, as he could feel her burgeoning, blossoming hips had grown wider. It was the herald of a girl who was shedding her childlike skin, and growing into a strong, confident, and loving woman. He wished the music would stop, and he could simply stay like this with her as Eureka rested her own hands on Renton's broad shoulders. Then, the girl swayed her hips from side to side, back and forth. Renton felt as if he would fall dead on the spot, the sight of the loveliest, most beautiful woman in his life move so sensuously. So fluidly. So gracefully.
Gradually, Renton managed to gain a rhythm in keeping with the music. Still, he wished there was merely a moment of silence and absolute solitude so he could keep this moment with her. The least he wanted was for the music to change to something more slow and soothing.
"This isn't nearly as embarrassing as I thought it would be," Renton remarked to himself.
"I told you!" Eureka replied, smiling as she twirled about like a ballerina.
After a few more minutes of wild, ecstatic dancing, the song changed. The melody was slow, lilting, and had a grip over all the couples on the floor to engage in an intimate, methodical dance. Renton and Eureka were one of those couples.
They held each other close, some would say too close for comfort. But Renton found comfort in her embrace, knowing she was in his arms, and not far away and out of his reach. He could not hold back his strong emotions as his hands left her hips, and traveled up her sides and found themselves clutching the back of her white summer dress. He gripped the fabric tightly, as if clinging to the gown of an angel about to depart from the human world. Eureka reciprocated his actions with her own, gently resting her head on his shoulder as they rocked from side to side. As they danced and held each other tightly, Renton began to contemplate just what would happen to them after this whole business with Chertov ended. It had to end sometime.
Returning home would be a good start. Settling back into a normal civilian life was a must. But after that, and after the Arcadian bliss of summer vacation ended, he didn't know. This war would drag on, surely, and there was no telling what it would bring either of them. However, he resolved not to go back abroad if he could avoid it. Instead, he wanted to show her everything close and dear to his heart. He wanted her to feast her eyes upon sights no one had seen but him. He wanted her to know secrets he never breathed a word of to anyone. He wanted to share with her his hopes and dreams…and how he envisioned her in them.
Baby steps, he said to himself. Start small, and grow from there. He had to start somewhere if he was to get to the rest of it.
"When this is over," he whispered to her, "I want to take you somewhere."
"What do you mean? Do you mean a date?"
"If you want it that way."
Eureka smiled at the thought of another day alone with him. All manner of places struck her fancy as possible locales for their outing. A trip to the headlands? No, he didn't seem the athletic type. Maybe a cruise on the bay? No, too expensive, even for him.
"Where do you plan on taking me?" she whispered.
"I'd rather it be a surprise for you."
Eureka feigned a small pout.
"Can't you give me a few details? I'd like some knowledge of what you'll be getting me into."
"I can tell you this much: it won't be in Bellforest, and it won't be in Sacramento. It'll be a place with just us. Nobody to pester us. No militia, no Chertov, no assassins…not even Jane. Just a place far away from all the drama…a special place for both of us."
She smiled, riveting in the thought of an undisturbed sanctuary, where there'd only be him, her, and their love.
"I like the sound of that. I'll be looking forward to it."
Renton tightened his hold on her, not wanting to let go for a moment. It felt like a perfect night, the stars in alignment. Ever since they arrived in Sacramento, there had been nothing to cause them worry. The only thing they had to look forward to each day was time spent together. Night after night for two youngsters to dance, to carouse, to be intimate, to finally feel free. Yet outside the dance hall, unbeknownst to the two of them, an old predator had at last found his prey.
Without much delay, Chertov had managed to track down the Cypress Hotel, and ascertain the location of Renton Thurston, his hated rival. He had to hijack a car to get all the way up here without attracting attention, but it was never much of a problem. The owner wasn't going to miss it. He had arrived outside at the lobby, and he inconspicuously walked through the plush front room, without even attracting attention from the concierge. How he managed to draw no eyes was a feat in itself; he had on his traditional olive drab summer uniform, complete with shoulder boards indicating his rank of junior lieutenant. He was plainly wearing his foreigner's status on him. How could no one pay attention?
As he traveled further back into the hotel, he heard the sound of a soft, soothing melody from his right. Chertov looked to see a set of oak double doors, wide open and showing a hall packed with dancers. He leaned nonchalantly against the wall as he scanned the room for the target. While doing so, his hands reached down for two armaments he carried on his person. While his right hand reached for his revolver tucked in its holster, his left reached for a fragmentation grenade. Even if this caused collateral damage, it mattered little to him. Anyone who got in his way would be swept aside.
Sure enough, in a dark corner of the room, he spotted Renton…and to his surprise, Eureka with him. They were holding each other closely looking nowhere else but into the other's eyes. He could see Renton whispering sweet nothings in her ear, which made Chertov grind his teeth in anger. Such ignorant fools. They were living blissfully unaware of what was to befall them. His brow furrowed deeper as the slow song continued on, tormenting him at the sight of his rival enjoying the time of his life. What makes him think he's happy? What hope did he have for a bright future? What did Eureka ever see in him?
Renton didn't deserve a happy ending, not after everything he had done. He had stolen Chertov's rightful place in the spotlight twice. He had turned the entire neighborhood against him. He had won the love and affection of his own country, with awards, decorations and praise showered upon him like a great rainstorm of celebration. He deserved none of that attention, praise or love. This time, he'd put a stop to this whole thing, once and for all.
Having spent enough time leering at the young couple, the young Soviet officer entered the dance hall, just as the music stopped right on time. It was now the perfect time to initiate shock and confusion, and allow him to strike. He reached for his revolver and aimed for the chandelier lights.
He fired.
The shots landed square on the bulbs up in the chandelier, sending sparks everywhere and covering the dance floor in darkness. That earned frantic screams and shrieks from the people on the dance floor.
Just then, two police officers, both in their late twenties, approached the scene, aiming their guns at the boy.
"Put your hands up!" the first one commanded.
"Drop your gun, kid!" the second shouted.
He growled like an angered animal, and knew he had to make this quick. Even in Sacramento, far away from the eyes of the militia, he still ran into complications. It was just another obstacle he had to hurdle. Acting quickly, he primed the grenade and threw it into the dance hall.
"Everyone, get off the dance floor! NOW!" they shouted to the civilians.
Inside, Renton and Eureka immediately ducked under a table while the other dancers on the floor scattered in different directions, like ants fleeing from a large predator. Renton watched as an object fell onto the middle of the floor and quickly detonated with a loud boom. Shrapnel flew everywhere and the room was clouded in a thick, impenetrable smoke to blind the innocents. He and Eureka covered their mouths to shield themselves from the choking pall of smoke, while outside, a battle was taking shape.
Immediately after he tossed his grenade, Chertov spun on his heel and shot his revolver right in the face of the first police officer. As he fell, the second tried to restrain Chertov, but Chertov landed a quick punch on him and sent him back. After achieving some distance, Chertov fired his revolver again, and killed the second officer with a shot through the chest. After dispatching with the two officers, and leaving the entire lobby in a cesspool of chaos and confusion, he nonchalantly walked down, into the dance hall.
"Keep playing music!" Chertov commanded sardonically, cackling. "I was just starting to like it!"
He walked around the dance hall when a lively dance number struck up. Chertov sounded like a child in an amusement park, having the time of his life while he searched and called out Renton's name, hoping to draw him out. Renton in the meantime knew what was happening, and his sharp green orbs narrowed in contempt at the sound of his laughter. His howling, psychopathic, insane laughter.
"I know that laugh anywhere," he said under his breath.
Eureka looked up at him worriedly. She knew as well as anyone what was happening. A name and face they had tried so desperately to forget was back, and with a vengeance.
"Renton…"
"Chertov is here."
"But how? How did he find out where we are?"
"I don't know, but…"
Chertov spun on his booted heel in a half-hearted attempt at dancing.
"You should join me, Thurston! This song is absolutely splendid! COME AND DANCE WITH ME!"
Renton watched as the boots of his nemesis circled around, searching for him. He knew eventually Chertov would find out where they were hiding, but he would not give up without a fight. He had tried so hard and so long to forget about what he did in Russia. About the people he fought and killed. About the people who turned on him. About the appalling conditions of war and ruin. Chertov would not destroy him, like he had destroyed everything else. Renton briefly confided in Eureka his plan to finally put him out of their lives for good.
"I'm going to try and jump him while he's not looking," he whispered. "You stay here."
Without even listening for a confirmation from Eureka, he crept out from under the table, and clung to the walls, hiding in the shadows as he made his way around Chertov. All the while, Chertov continued to laugh and jeer, coaxing him in all manner of ways.
"Why don't you come out, Thurston? Or is it perhaps you're a bad dancer?! Well, if I can't get you to come out, maybe I can get your lady friend…"
Eureka was frozen in fear as she saw the boots move toward her, and she held back a scream as they clopped, nearer and nearer. He was now right in front of the table, and all she could see were the bottom of his boots, the rest hidden by the tablecloth. She slowly inched towards the wall behind her while Chertov cocked his revolver. Then suddenly, the tablecloth flipped up, and Eureka was met with the most ghastly sight she could ever comprehend.
In front of her was her old neighbor and all-around antagonist. His brown hair was greasy and uncombed underneath his peaked cap, bearing the cockade of her old nation, a nation she tried to put behind her. Two decadent chocolate brown eyes stared directly into her snowy grey ones with a crazed bloodlust. If she didn't know any better, she would think that gaze belonged to a convicted murderer. His smile was wide, bearing his stained teeth in an insane grin of the kind only a madman could bear. She even felt the penchant stench of vodka on his breath like a mist as he breathed menacingly the words,
"Found you."
A bloodcurdling scream escaped her lips and killed the deadly silence of the dance floor. Chertov reached out a hand towards her with the intent of dragging her out of hiding. As soon as his head was underneath the table, Eureka let out a swift kick to his face that sent him sliding back onto the dance floor. While he sat writhing and tending to his wounds, Renton came at him from behind, and struck him over the head with a wooden plank. The plank broke in two with a sickening crack, as Chertov groaned in frustration. He turned around and, with blood leaking down his forehead, cracked a smile.
"There you are! Now, let's play!"
Chertov swung his revolver like a cudgel, hoping to passionately reciprocate his attack, but Renton stepped back before coming at him with a hard punch to the stomach. He then made a grab for his revolver, hoping to end this conflict between them once and for all. Chertov anticipated this and jabbed him hard across the face, sending him careening over in a crumpled heap. As Renton tried to regain his footing, Chertov was about to make the killing blow when he heard many footsteps approaching, and the chatter of police and security guards gathering outside the dance hall. He cursed in frustration at people always trying to interfere, to put a stop to what he so desperately wanted resolved. Looking back to Renton, who was now slowly rising up from the floor like a spirit from the grave, he reasoned there had to be a more isolated place to settle their score.
He soon came up with something.
"I hate performing for an audience," he said dryly to Renton. "Why don't we take this to some place more…intimate?"
"Are you threatening me or coming on to me?" Renton shot back.
Chertov cast aside his retort with a huff, and quickly threw down a small bomb, which exploded into a blanketing cloud of vapor. Renton was blinded for a moment, but he could just barely make out the silhouette of his rival darting out of the room, up the steps and into the lobby. How like him, Renton thought, to cut and run when the odds weren't in his favor. A coward and a bully, just like he always was.
"Come and find me, Thurston, and we shall put an end to this! You'll know where to look!"
"Come back here, you coward!"
Renton sprinted out the dance floor through the smoke and climbed up the short stairway back to the lobby. There were already signs of pandemonium. A crowd of onlookers had gathered outside the hotel walls, wondering what the gunfire and explosions were all about. They probably thought another Zoot Suit riot had broken out, and their fair city was the sufferer. Renton knew the awful truth, however. On the carpet floor in front of him lay the bodies of two police officers, both victims of Chertov's rage. That rage would end today, he resolved to himself. Knowing he couldn't take Chertov with only his flesh and blood, Renton quickly armed himself with a dead policeman's revolver in one hand, and a metal truncheon in the other.
Tucking the revolver into his pocket, Renton raced through the lobby and past the armed policemen that were rushing to investigate the scene. Just as he passed the desk of the concierge, he felt a tug on his wrist and was immediately stopped. He wondered who could stop him from pursuing his tormentor, the bane of his existence, the darkest spot in his history he would rather erase. In truth, he should have known right from the start as he looked over his shoulder.
There, shuddering like a wounded dog, with tears standing in her snow grey eyes, was Eureka, resistant to seeing her beloved travel down the dark route they had only recently escaped from. Smoke was smeared on her face and her hair was a mess, as if a great tempest had struck her head. Her lips quivered with all the might of an earthquake, fearing it may be the last time she would see him.
"You're not going without me, Rentoshka…"
"Eurekasha, I have to."
"Why must you?!" she cried, tears soaking her marble smooth cheeks. "You know what will happen if you follow him!"
"If not me, then who, Eureka?!" he shouted desperately. "Don't you see? If we keep running and running, he's going to come back! Someone has to stop him. To show him once and for all that he can't hurt any of us!"
"I just don't know what I'd do…to see you disappear so soon after coming back into my life…"
Renton knew that fear, better than anyone. It was the same fear that compelled him to travel back over the icy steppes and through the blood-soaked streets of her city to find her. He resolved that time he wouldn't lose her to this war. Now she felt that same fear here. The dread of losing him to a man like Chertov was far too much for her tender heart to bear. In an instant, he embraced her tightly, and both quietly fought with each other over who should go and bear the burden of bringing justice to this villain.
"Please let me come with you," Eureka whispered.
"He'll use you to beat me," he answered back. "He'll use you to distract me and find a way to kill me. Please, Eureka, just bear with this…for me."
"You're locking me out again, and going into that place that causes you pain."
"You're wrong, Eureka. I'm not doing this for myself. I'm doing this for us. Someone has to prove to him he can't hurt us anymore, and he won't listen to anyone else."
Eureka sighed. As much as she wished she could share in his burden, and confront their fear together, he was right. Chertov wanted him and no one else. If his defeat was to be final, if he was to ever understand how truly powerless he was against them, the defeat had to come by Renton's hand. It was a reality she wished could be different. Sadly, reality never changes, and never concedes to the preferences of a one.
"Just promise me one thing."
"Anything."
Promise me…that if it comes to it…"
At that moment, Eureka grabbed Renton's hand, and placed it on her neck, as if asking him to choke her and deny her the place she resided in this mortal world.
"you will not let him take me back to Stalingrad."
He gently removed his hand from her neck, and instead placed his lips there in a soft, deep, adoring kiss. She could not help but moan to his response. Even in times of crisis, Renton had a way of being passionate.
"It won't come to that," he whispered. "Stay here, and phone the militia if you can."
With that, the young lovers parted, and the young boy sprinted out of the hotel, searching for the place where he and Chertov would finally settle their score. This time, it would be final. Their rivalry would end here and now. He would prove to the psychopathic officer that he could never hurt him or his love. Ever again.
»»»»»
After about half an hour of wandering, Renton came to an abandoned factory, about six blocks from the hotel. Normally he would have passed it and just kept searching, but he felt something emanating from within. Like a siren calling from the depths of the sea, Renton could not help but obey as he entered the dark, dingy factory.
Judging by the machinery, the factory used to make furniture of all kinds. He saw further evidence with half-finished sofas and chairs, piled in a corner like bodies on a funeral pyre. The factory must have been condemned a long time ago, as he could see the woodwork had begun to decay and upholstery was slowly being consumed by worms and moths. There was little illumination outside of the sun's rays breaking through the skylights, casting a spotlight on various set pieces of days gone by. A woodwork assembly line. A row of sewing benches. Sanding machines. Every step he took echoed like he was in the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh as he searched for the mummy of his past that just would not rest.
There was strong smell of metal and rust in the air as he climbed the staircase with a clatter in each step. Renton took care to look all around, even behind him, not knowing when or from where his old nemesis could strike. But the more time he spent in this place, the more he realized why he could be here.
With every split second Renton closed his eyes to blink, he was back in the smoldering ruins of Stalingrad. The gunfire, the screams, the smell of smoke, the sight of twisted metal and broken buildings weighed heavily on him as he reached the top of the staircase, and came onto a walkway. The sight of chains hanging from the roof like icicles in a cave sent him back to the sprawling industrial plant, where many a man died. He could hear the cries of Germans and Russians alike and thought he spotted Petya Sokolov, with Natasha close behind, running down the walkway in search of a good sniping position. It was a perfect place to do battle. Not because of any tactical advantage one had over the other, but simply because it harkened back memories Renton would rather forget.
Just as he rounded a corner, Renton heard a loud clanging noise from above. It sounded like chains rattling. He looked up and saw a large hook freefall from its large metal coil, coming straight at him.
He backed away just in time for it to miss him by inches, falling onto the walkway with a metallic clatter. As he backed into a shadowed corner, he heard breathing from behind him, and turned to see Chertov lunging at him with a knife in hand.
Quickly he darted back enough to gain some distance between them, and Chertov only landed a hit to the walkway, sending sparks flying with the slice of his knife. He growled in frustration as he stood up, wearing a twisted psychopathic grin.
"We meet again, at last, Thurston. It's been far too long, wouldn't you agree?"
"Not long enough," Renton retorted through gritted teeth.
Chertov made another lunge at Renton with his knife, but Renton blocked it with a swish of his truncheon, and again when Chertov made a jab for his leg. They circled around, and Chertov quickly went on the attack as he forced Renton back over the walkway, all the while taunting him. Renton could only ignore it, and try his best not to be wounded. He wasn't aiming to kill Chertov; he was hoping to buy time. Time enough to wear him down.
His nemesis switched tactics, and produced his revolver, barely meters away from his face. Renton ran towards the staircase, looking for some cover to hide behind and return fire.
"YOU CAN'T RUN!"
The revolver spoke with a loud bang with each shot. Renton could almost hear the bullet whizz past his head and strike the sheet metal walls with a loud snap as he hanged a right and darted down the stairs. He dared not waste his precious ammunition before he could get eyes on him as his green eyes searched for cover. He soon found it in a turned over workbench in the shadows, which he dived behind.
"I'M NOT PLANNING ON IT, YOU BASTARD!"
Renton returned fire with his revolver as Chertov came down the stairs to search for him. Much to his surprise and delight, the bullet connected as it went through the young lieutenant's arm and Chertov fell down onto the steps in agony. Just when Renton thought he managed to stop his rival's rampage, Chertov jumped back up and came at him at full speed, brandishing his knife. He somehow managed to hold onto both of his weapons as he bounded down onto the concrete floor and charged at him like a knight on his horse.
The oak brown-haired boy ducked low from his rival's attempted stab in the face and kicked his enemy in the shin, quickly followed by a punch to his bewildered face. Chertov dodged these, however, and managed to kick Renton off him, aiming his revolver at his face. Renton grabbed him by the wrists and tussled with him for a moment, using merely brute strength to force Chertov to drop his weapons.
"Why don't you lose the toys and fight me like a man, Chertov?!" Renton challenged him, his vocal chords vibrating with anger.
"Nothing would satisfy me more…" Chertov hissed in response, laughing insanely.
To show his challenge was sincere, Renton threw aside his weapons as well, casting them into the darkness. Just as well, he thought as he assumed a ready stance. He wasn't planning on killing Chertov, after all.
The young lieutenant quickly went on the offensive, and tried to land a left jab at Renton's stomach. A split second later, Chertov swung his right arm around in a wide hook, delivering a swift hard punch to his face. Renton sidestepped to the left to avoid the punch, but stumbled on a loose wooden plank on the floor. He almost fell onto his back, but managed to catch himself in time to dodge another attempted blow to the face from Chertov, which he blocked with one hand. Chertov tried to jab at him again with the other, only to be grabbed by the wrist. For a few moments, they simply grappled with each other, engaged not only in a battle of strength but a war of words.
"Why have you come here, Chertov? This is my country!"
"Isn't it obvious?" Chertov retorted gleefully. "I've come to celebrate your death at MY HAND!"
"Then you'll be disappointed. You're not killing me…or anyone else!"
Renton kicked the lieutenant hard in the shins, which sent him hopping back, cursing. He immediately exploited the breach, and went on the attack, landing a swift uppercut on Chertov's jaw, which took him by surprise. Renton followed with a left jab to his face and then a right hook, sending Chertov careening onto his back and his peaked cap flying off his head. As he landed with a hard thud on cement floor, Renton raced forward, hoping to end the fight here and now. He quickly jumped up into the air with the intent to land a swift kick to his stomach, but Chertov shoved him back with his booted foot before rising up again to continue the fight.
"What's wrong, Thurston?" Chertov jeered, cackling. "Afraid?"
The young boy struggled back onto his feet, spitting away a mixture of saliva and blood from his mouth. At the officer's accusation, Renton could only laugh as he put his guard up against any attack Chertov had coming. To hear accusations of fear coming from someone like him was hysterical, ludicrous to even contemplate.
"Afraid? Who'd be afraid of a pipsqueak like you who's too big for his boots? Who'd be afraid of a coward who sends assassins to do his dirty work? Who'd be afraid of a brat who's only cause is to get attention? Who'd be—"
"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH!"
Chertov threw everything he had at Renton, kicking him and swinging punches wildly, blindly, hoping for one to connect. But always and every time, Renton managed to dodge and sidestep, knowing he hit a nerve in the young officer's head.
"Sorry. You're the one who asked," Renton hissed sarcastically.
That one cutting remark sent Chertov over the edge, as he swiftly kicked him hard in the shins with his boots. Renton bent over in pain, and Chertov capitalized on the brief moment of weakness with kneeing him in the stomach before finally ending his move with an uppercut to his face, sending Renton flying back. As both young men backtracked through the factory, they felt the telltale signs of fatigue. Neither could keep up the fight for much longer.
Renton had bruises on his face was hemorrhaging from the mouth, his teeth stained crimson with blood. His white shirt was torn and dirty with spots of red on his collar. His vision was beginning to blur as he slowly, uneasily, stepped further and further back into a corner. But the young boy knew he wasn't trapped; his rival was as spent as him, if not more. Chertov was bleeding from the ears and the nose, and his uniform was disheveled, pulled apart. His earth brown hair hung in splayed strands between his chocolate brown eyes, leering at him with murderous portent.
"What's wrong, Thurston? Don't tell me you're getting tired!" Chertov taunted in-between his heavy pants. "Where's the American Russian who fought so bravely at Stalingrad? Where's the great Hero of the People that everyone admires and loves so dearly?"
Renton had long grown tired of that praise, praise he felt was undeserved. To hear his own rival use it as a form of insult made him hate it even more. He did what he felt was necessary, even if it meant turning to violence. If there was a way, any way at all, he could have rescued Eureka from the wretched misery her home had spiraled into, he would have done it. He would have gladly whisked her away without ever having to kill a single soul, German or Russian. How he wished he could erase everything he did in Stalingrad. How he wished he could have come back home with no blood-stained laurels for bystanders to admire, or admiration from his peers for deeds he felt were unjust.
"I never claimed to be no hero!" he retorted.
"Then what are you?" Chertov shot back. "If you take away all the parts of Renton Thurston you try to erase, then what is left? Would you remain who you are now, or would you become something else entirely?"
"You want to know what I am?!"
Renton breathed heavily, back pressed against the wall and his fists raised in guard stance. He was through with titles, medals, and decorations. He was through with honors and praises from those around him. This time, before anything else would come to pass, he would set the record straight.
"My name is Renton Ivanovich Thurston. I am seventeen years old. I am a student at Mount Tamalpais High School. My home is Bellforest, California, on 1225 Bay Street. I am not a hero! I am not a god! I am myself! NO MORE! AND NO LESS!"
With that fervent declaration of identity, Renton swung two final punches at Chertov, hoping to open some distance between himself and the wall behind him. One strong hook fell on Chertov's right cheek, leaving a mark of black and blue, and the other came up from behind, smashing his abdomen, and forcing the lieutenant to move back a few steps. It gave Renton more room, but not enough for what he really needed…what he ultimately had no strength for.
For a moment, the two young men simply stood there, the only sounds being their synchronized panting, echoing within the metal walls of the factory. Each wondered what they could do to bring this fight to a conclusion, looking for a way of escape, or an avenue of attack. They found neither. Instead, they only found the frailty of fatigue, each waiting for the other's move that neither could make. Chertov could only laugh at Renton's heartfelt testimony.
"That sounds so inspiring, Thurston. Too bad it will not mean anything to you…when you're buried six feet under!"
Then, out of nowhere, a voice came from behind them, and a cold metal tube was pressed against the back of Chertov's head, cancelling any move he planned to make in that instant.
"You're not burying anyone. Ever again."
Chertov recognized the voice instinctively. It was a fiery voice of passion, one he thought he had long extinguished before coming here. He turned to look over his shoulder, and what he saw confirmed his suspicions of just who was standing behind him. There, legs spread at shoulder's width, brandishing a semiautomatic pistol, was a young boy of seventeen. His eyes were a striking cold blue, cutting through the shadows as scissors cuts through paper. His head was covered by scraggly and unkempt grey hair, as if a tornado had passed over it. Around his neck was a bright yellow scarf worn in an ascot-like fashion, over a white shirt, black jacket and grey slacks. Chertov laughed quietly with an air of acquaintance. It was him; there was no doubt about it, as much as he was sure there ought to be.
"Ah, Holland Petrovich. You ought to be buried in Stalingrad."
"Well, no one told me. Now put your hands up, Chertov. It's over."
"Or else what?"
"Or we'll turn you into Swiss cheese," said an unfamiliar female voice.
Chertov turned his body a full 180 degrees, to find behind Holland stood a force of several armed soldiers. By their uniform, the Soviet lieutenant recognized them as members of the Bellforest Militia. At the head of the formation was a woman about Holland's age with shoulder-length ebony black hair and strong hazel eyes. If she was a soldier, she was out of uniform, as all she wore was a small violet jacket over a white one-piece dress. The only indication of her service was the ammunition slung around her waist and the Garand rifle she aimed in his direction. Chertov cracked a smirk at the sight of her.
"Who's the broad with the gun? I didn't think you Yanks allowed your women in the Army."
"Shut up!" the girl shouted back. "Put your hands behind your head or we'll kill you on the spot."
The lieutenant turned back to Renton, who stood strong, smiling defiantly against all odds. The writing was on the wall, and it spelled defeat and failure in blood red ink. This long road of intrigue, assassination, revenge, and subterfuge had ended. The battle was over. He sighed, and raised his hands behind his head. He said quietly to Renton,
"Don't look so smug, Thurston. This isn't the end. I'm a patient man; I can wait for revenge a little while longer."
But everyone, even Chertov, knew that posturing of bravado was a masquerade. A militiaman grabbed his hands, and slapped metal cuffs on them. Soon he was being dragged out by the soldiers while Holland and Talho aided a wounded, battered, but unbeaten Renton out of the factory. Upon leaving, they found the street crowded with onlookers, curious as to the drama that was playing out before them. Renton said nothing to questions of passersby, wishing desperately that this matter would end quietly. Sadly, his life had evolved well beyond any notion of quietude.
The defeated Chertov was thrown into the back of a Studebaker truck, where he was greeted by the young faces of his (not so) loyal agents, 340 and 271. Both wore their civilian clothes with blue cloaks draped over them. Their hands were bonded together with metal shackles as well, and Chertov was aghast to find them in the same state as him.
"They got you too…!" he breathed incredulously.
"They got us two hours ago," 340 corrected him gently, giving no hint to the betrayal that had taken place.
Before Chertov could say anymore, he was butted in the back by a militiaman's rifle, coaxing him to take a seat so they could move. So he did, and consigned himself to endure a long, painful car ride in silence. In the time between he sat down, and the time when he got off in Bellforest, more than two hours later, he had time to mull over everything that had happened in the past four months. 340 realized that, in the end, that was just who her superior was. A child who cried over missed opportunities. A child who wished for another chance. A child who never stopped refighting his old battles, and never stopped wondering what might have been.
She was not worried about such things. She knew full well what lay in wait for them next, and that there would be no second chance. There would be no more grand schemes, no strategies of assassination, no daring missions. He had rolled the dice and lost. Their fates were sealed.