I apologize in advance of how abruptly this chapter ends. I decided to divide it into two because it was getting too long and I don't like chapters of over 4000 words.
And yeah, I write in British English.
CHAPTER 5 – The hunter
Both men stared at each other, blinking astonished at the teammate standing in front of them. Without consciously controlling his legs, Sniper came closer to the bonfire and confirmed that indeed, it was Heavy. His face was also partially covered by a scarf but as strapping as the Russian was, it would have been impossible to mistake him for someone else.
"What are ya doin' here?" It involuntarily escaped Sniper's lips in his befuddlement and he absolutely regretted it before he could even finish the sentence.
"Hunting." Heavy explained extraordinarily briefly. His face and tone suggested that he was as confused as him at the unbelievable encounter. Sniper appreciated not finding any trace of mockery in his reply. He knew he had asked a very dumb question.
After some seconds of silently processing the amazing coincidence, Heavy felt compelled to elaborate a little more. He also didn't ponder in-depth about what he conveyed to the other.
"Weather man said that there will be good weather."
With a second of delay, Sniper chuckled and covered his face at the ironic fluke. Wasn't peculiar the power of a simple weathercast? The promise of a sunny weekend had brought together, in the middle of this snowy forest, two teammates who hardly saw each other outside of work.
When he removed his hand for his face, Sniper was received by a mildly surly Heavy, glaring back at him. The Russian had evidently thought that he was laughing at his comment. Sniper was quick to rectify that impression.
"I also heard the weathercast. That's the reason I'm out 'ere." Sniper looked Heavy in the eyes with humble honesty and the bigger man seemed to believe him because his frown quickly disappeared from his face.
The silent fell upon them again, only disturbed by the crackling of the flames. Sniper's gaze jumped between the Russian, the moose and the bonfire. He had tracked down the column of smoke for knowledge and company and had been additionally rewarded with a fascinating catch and the prospect of a delicious steak for his already late dinner. However, the mysterious hunter had turned up to be Heavy. But why should it matter? Why was Sniper hesitating to leave and renounce to everything he had walked for during the last dark and cold hour?
Heavy sensed his hesitation. It was obvious why the Australian had approached him in the first place. Nobody continues walking during the night, instead of setting up a camp, if you don't have a good reason. At least, nobody who knows what they are doing and he was quite sure that Sniper had plenty of hunting experience.
Heavy could feel that if he didn't say anything soon, the other mercenary might interpret that as a cue of being unwelcomed and he didn't want to do him the discourtesy of sending him away. Building shelter and setting a fire when it's already dark was quite bothersome. That's why Heavy had left the quartering of the moose for later and focused on his priorities. Moreover, if Sniper agreed to return together to the base, he might also help him carry as much as moose meat as possible. The Russian was a strong man but the animal was too big to be able to transport it all just by himself and he was completely against leaving his kill to go to waste. You don't throw away eatable food. Never.
"You can join, Sniper. There is..." He pointed at the moose with his knife in hand while he tried to find the English word. He was quick to give up. "horse deer and vodka for both." He concluded with a chuckle.
Hearing Heavy call the moose 'horse deer' made Sniper crack a smile. The big guy must surely have to know that it wasn't a deer or a horse, right? Maybe that's how 'moose' was called in Russian but Sniper didn't ask or make a remark. He was simply glad of being openly invited.
The Australian circled around the bonfire, examining in detail every belonging on Heavy's camp. After his years in the Outback, it had become a well-trained habit while approaching an unknown hunter. Sometimes more truth could be learnt from observation than through words and it was always crucial to keep a close eye on the other person's weapons.
At plain sight, Heavy seemed to carry a hunting rifle and two knives, a camp and a hunter one. All weapons were unadorned, rural, moderately old but well taken care of. Without testing them by himself, Sniper couldn't assert the quality but he could guess that they were very utilitarian tools. Nothing fancy or expensive but they surely could get the job done. He thought it suited Heavy's personality.
Once by the broader man's side, Sniper's eyes set upon the dead moose. Heavy had started quartering the animal before skinning it. That told the sharpshooter that the Russian was more interested in transporting the meat than saving the fur. In his professional opinion, the fur wasn't much worth saving either. This moose must have been considerably elder because his fur didn't have that density and lustre young animals had. On top of that, it had bled out by a shot in the neck and the blood had already caked over half of the visible side. There weren't any snow marks of having dragged the animal so Sniper assumed that Heavy had set up the camp around the spot where the moose had fallen dead. The fireplace didn't illuminate much but he could deduce that those dark stains some yards away were the animal's blood trail.
At noticing Sniper's captivation for his kill, Heavy shared with him.
"If I had knew horse deer was this big, Heavy would have not shot it." It could be noted by his difficulty pronouncing the sentence that he still struggled with the third conditional of the English language. Sniper didn't even contemplate correcting his conjugational mistake. His statement had caught his whole attention.
"How could ya not know it was this big?" The sharpshooter asked puzzled yet with a calm tone.
"Horse deer was very far away."
Heavy's justification planted an image never conceived before in Sniper's mind. He suddenly pictured the Russian, laying on the snow with his rifle, covered by foliage, patiently waiting for any prey to come across on his little scope. It was an unfamiliar image but it made more sense than imagining him hunting with his minigun Sasha and screaming around like the big man regularly did on the battlefield. It would have been a priceless show, though.
Sniper didn't acknowledge his own chuckle until Heavy brought it up.
"What is Sniper laughing about?" That frown had reappeared on the giant's face.
Bloody hell... The sharpshooter realized that he had recently spent so much time alone that he was forgetting how to control his mannerisms again. He knew it was one of his recurrent little quirks. He sometimes could end up talking out loud without even noticing it.
The Australian quickly straightened his face and admitted.
"I had a dumb thought. I imagined you huntin' with yer minigun."
For a second, Sniper feared that his teammate wouldn't go easy on him a second time but the Russian made a little chuckle, picturing the scene he had just described. The sharpshooter instantly relaxed, relieved of how condoning Heavy was. He was rolling with all his excuses.
"Niet, niet. Never hunted with Sasha before. Would not be good for this job." The big guy made a pause. "But could be funny time." He replied as if he was seriously considering the idea.
"Just for the record, let me know which day do ya plan to hunt like that so I can join and watch ya from a safe distance." Sniper requested with a smile and Heavy laughed at his proposal.
An instant later, the Russian eyed the moose with a serious expression and inquired.
"Did you have dinner, Sniper?"
"Nope. I've been walkin' since sunset to get 'ere." The truth was that he was famished but he kept it to himself because he didn't want the other man to think less of him. After all, he hadn't hunted anything for the whole day.
"Good." Heavy kneeled in front of the animal but turned his head to Sniper before he could resume the quartering. "Which part do you want?"
Sniper meticulously scanned the hunting kill with the beam of his flashlight and eventually declared.
"I've never eaten moose before. Which part do ya recommend?"
Heavy silently pronounced the animal's name to himself, testing it out on his tongue.
"I like neck meat. Do you want neck meat?" The Russian offered him immediately after, knife ready to cut him a portion.
"Yeah, I'll give it a try."
Sniper attentively observed Heavy's massive hands work their way through the moose's neck. They danced around in a mouth-watering trance, slicing with expertise, never hesitating where to rest or where to pierce. It was clear that the Russian must have done this a hundred times. Sniper was holding the flashlight over the other man's shoulder to provide some extra source of light but he had the impression that bald giant could do it with his eyes closed. Before encountering him, he had already started quartering the animal with only the dim illumination of the bonfire. He was surely capable of that deed.
"Here, this one is for you." Heavy handed him a gorgeous steak of red meat, snapping him back to the present. Sniper placed his flashlight between his teeth and accepted his delicious dinner with both hands. God... It really looked good. At this rate, his flashlight was going to be dripping saliva in no time.
"You cook dinner. I finish cutting moose." Heavy assigned tasks and the Australian nodded in agreement.
A silly part of Sniper felt disappointed at hearing the Russian use the right word to refer to the animal. 'Horse deer' had sounded more amusing and for some stupid reason, he was going to miss it.
He left his childish thoughts aside and set down his backpack to get out a set of cooking rods. He had also brought a small grill grate but the fire was too high to use it and he didn't want to start a second one or ask Heavy for permission to smother down the main one. Sniper kneeled down and set his portion to be cooked. When he was finished with the arranging of the rods, Heavy passed him his own slice so he could do the same for him. Afterward, he sat down on the snow, with his legs crossed and kept an eye on the meat. Heavy didn't request him to stay by his side with the flashlight so Sniper turned it off and kept it in one of his pockets.
He had been right. The flashlight was considerably wet from its time spent on his mouth.
After a while, the Russian restarted the small talk.
"Is it first time sleeping on snow?"
"Yes. What gave me away?" Sniper responded jokingly. He didn't try to hide it. He knew that there must have been a thousand hints that gave away his inexperience in this hellish environment.
"New clothes and sitting on snow." Heavy pointed out.
"What's wrong with sitting on the snow?" Sniper frowned a little.
"Butt will get wet. Wait one or two hours. You will see." The bigger man smiled at him mischievously and the Australian stood up shaking his head, not wanting to test his claim.
"Then, I'll get some green branches as you did." He announced but he only had time to take a step before Heavy called his name.
"Sniper!" Or more precisely his class.
The Australian turned around, expecting some additional instructions, but was received by something different.
The Russian had pushed the moose a little away and scooped to one side of his foliage blanket to make space for him. There had been enough space for both of them since the beginning but now, there was enough distance to be able to sit down together without being awkwardly close to each other.
Sniper wavered at the silent invitation. Heavy was being too nice with him considering their few interactions. It had been a long time since someone had been this nice with him without having any ulterior motive. He didn't trust unjustified niceness.
The sharpshooter squinted at him, inspecting the camp for a second time in search of suspicious clues he might have missed in his previous eagerness.
And then, he saw it.
Their own shadows had been obscuring it but from his current position, it was way easier to spot.
There was a half-buried bottle of alcohol inside of the bushcraft shelter and a quarter of it was already gone.
HEAVY WAS TIPSY!
That fact made the quartering of the moose even more impressive in the Australian's eyes. He personally tried to avoid using knives while being drunk but the Russian seemed to have no reluctance and for a good reason. It was apparently second nature to him. Sniper was surprised that he hadn't seen the giant use knives in the battlefield before. Why Heavy didn't carry knives as melee weapons for the job? Didn't he know how to use them in combat?
He might have stared at that corner of the bushcraft shelter for too long because the bigger man began wondering what the Australian was looking at and trailed his gaze, searching for the object of his fascination. He pulled out the bottle from the hole with his free hand and held it up in display.
"Real vodka from Russia. Try, try." He invited him, offering it to him. His face was bright with joyfulness.
Sniper came to sit by his side and took the bottle, examining the label. Indeed, it was all in Russian. He didn't know much about alcohol, needless to say about vodka, but it looked high quality. He opened the cap and took a sip.
The alcohol instantly burnt his throat in its way down and he could only but to cough at the scorching sensation. It had been a couple of years since he had drunk such strong types of liquors. He had almost forgotten how it felt.
Heavy laughed at his reaction and patted his back in some clumsy attempt to comfort him.
"You can drink more. I have other bottle." He told him when he calmed down.
"Another bottle? How many do you need to get drunk, mate?" Sniper thought to himself in awe.
However, he said instead.
"Naaah... Later on, when my stomach gets some food."
Heavy nodded and returned the bottle to its natural chiller bucket, not before taking a gulp himself. He didn't even flinch. Sniper could have very well betted that the Russian was drinking water.
After that, they returned to their tasks, Heavy focused again on the quartering of the moose and Sniper took care of their dinner. As he hypnotically contemplated the meat turn brown, a question came up on the sharpshooter's mind.
"Heavy, have ya been huntin' in this area before?"
"Ah?" It took him a second to process the question. "Da, da. It is fourth time. Last time, Heavy went to mountain. Saw bear and wolves. Fighting bear, okay. Fighting group of wolves, not okay. Do not want to fight group of wolves again. Area near river is better. Safer."
"Wait. Did ya fight a bear and pack of wolves in the same weekend?" Sniper inquired, not sure if he had exactly understood what the other man was saying.
"Da, but not here, in Russia. Fought wolves firsts and bear second. If different order, Heavy might have been in big trouble. Made nice towels with wolves and soft blanket with bear." The big guy explained absolutely nonchalantly as if he wasn't describing a feat out of reach for most of the mortals on this Earth. Russians were surely on a different level and without needing Australium for it.
"Alright. Now, I really need to hear that story, mate." Sniper requested very, very interested and Heavy happily indulged him.
Kids, do not drink in the cold and use knives. That feat is reserved only for burly Russian men like Heavy.
You will see through this story that Heavy makes mistakes at speaking, so if you spot any, it's probably intentional. English is my third language and I personally don't like seeing Heavy forget to use an article but then employing words like 'understatement', 'kennel' or 'smuggle'. I would love to speak Russian so I could introduce literal translations but my personal experience is the only material I have. Heavy's speaking skills will also evolve during the story and I will make humour out of it.