“Comrade! You made it! Early too... Have not seen you since the Christmas before last when we shot eggnog in your old apartment. Come, come, Babushka’s made Kompot. Yeah, Cousin Roman is here too, the Cyka. Just ignore him. How are you enjoying motherland? First trip yes? Oh are you in for a present!... Of course they did that to you, this is Russia! Find a seat, find a seat... Did they breathalyze you and send you off drunk as well? Ahh! Those boys... Now, I have a story for you, been waiting to tell it to you for ages. You know how you love the old bar stories, nearly forgot this one. It’s being so long, Blin . You set?... Ho, ho, you’re damn right it’s a good one! Let’s begin!

This is a story of comradely, deceit, bravery, and brotherly love... But mostly bravery, AND enough alcohol poisoning to hospitalize Boris Yeltsin, or even Vladimir Putin and his beloved bear for more than just a weekend! OH YES, this is some fine carbonated Tarkhuna right here.

What? You don’t understand Russian? Did you not read it coming in on the plane? Fine! We have dictionary... Go read, grab a “beer” or whatever you call it, and ready yourself. This is a sto... Wh... What do you mean it’s too intimidating? You listen to man raving like Dedushka at tonight’s family dinner, and that’s where you draw line? Blyat! Most of it’s food and drink anyway, so if you still are Debil, this really is pizdéc ([pɪz-dets] Very bad situation). Alright, enough dictionary, you pick it up as you go, you’re smart man, we start!

Our story begins in the small town of Soviet Summerland. Where’s that you ask? You remember when Russia gave up Soviet Alaska? Boy did they pull the ushanka over your eyes my friend. Imagine this, round room with round table, and little American big wigs sitting all around like Louie the Sixteenth. BOOM! In come Putin, slams empty bottle of Tarkhuna on ground, says “FUCK YOU!” Twenty minutes later, everyone’s already fought, declared the first World War, and already became best buddies; they’re slamming vodka shots, singing Moscow and doing squat dances... Or, trying to, anyway. Would’a been fucken great party; working class men all across Slavic America, squatting in circles screaming at the other squatting circles, I could hear it now... Was great banter. Anyway, they all made clean, shortest World War to date. Thus, Soviet Canada, and some other places I guess...

Besides, can’t really remember the rest, so remind me when my hangover clears up to a ‘gopnik’ level of sobriety. Alright, free lesson, over, boom!

Meet Aaron, sixteen, skinny dweeb, you know the kind. Well, Aaron stumbled out the door after kissing his Babushka like a good Grandson, wiped the Pashtet from his chin and tossed the empty bottle of, ah who cares, into the neighbours bush. His neighbour approved, as he collected all the bottles left in his yard since yesterday. He’d take them to the recycling place just up the road and buy some for himself, was communist Christmas every morning! However, this was at about 2pm right now, which meant even more bottles!

Anyway, Zachery came by, called said he’d be over, and so he was... Blyat, what kind of name is that? Zachery... We call him Zack. “What is good my friend?” He greeted, squat by the shade of a road sign.

“ Chebureki, mayonnaise, summer Kompot...” This was Aaron by the way. “What you want? Must be thirty two metric units out, Blyat.”

“Ain’t it?... So, I got this idea, been awake all morning, and part of the afternoon thinking ‘bout it.” He said.

“You gonna tell the rest of us?” Hmm.

Zack beckoned his comrade nearer to a whisper’s ear shot, all high class and shit. “In six hours, somewhere in the world, someone is going to receive a massive crate of Motherland Extract... Is to say premium smuggled vodka up past Soviet Whistler. Old business partner, goes way back, and guess who’s there to pick it up?”

“You?”

“Do I look like a fucking Capitalist, my dude? My older Brother, he leaves in just under twenty minutes from now.”

Aaron scoffs at this, laughing a good couple chuckles and says “What, we hop in car with mafia maniac, get free trip to ski resort and overpriced spring water?... Plus Vodka. Probably doesn’t even come from spring, Blin ...”

Putting a spare set of keys into Aaron’s hands, Zack shook his head like disappointed alcoholic father. “No, my friend... It is top operation, slipped in across pacific ocean out of sight, he’s got all hands on deck in his Lana Samara, which means...”

Yes, yes... Aaron starred at the engraved details on the keychain. “It’s... Is that a...” Yeah, go on, you guessed it!

“An OG, high end, last production model, T-80U Russian tank.” Zack explained. “Ripe as the apples in Babushka’s orchard”

“And what?” Aaron shook his head, trying to contain himself at the thought.

“Good Vodka, none of that wheat shit... My Brother tanks, get chicki bricki.” Chucking the empty bottle into the neighbours hedge. “We grab ride down Soviet Penticton, stop by the drive through on the way for a Putin Poutine, take the 46 tonnes of souped up Russian engineering for a spin then bring it back before sundown; be like Crimea all over again.”

“You have no idea how Crimea even started do you? Besides, your brother would kill us.”

“Don’t be a FUKen Doukhobour! He’s never around.”

Aaron shook his head, terrified. “W-we couldn’t get away with it...”

“Comrade! He’ll be gone all day; Six hours to Soviet Whistler, six hours back, give or take a few hours for sampling the new stock... It’ll be 4am when he returns so fucking hammered and sickled that it’ll take him two days to recover... Assuming he’s not already tipping the scale already, you know? I know I would.” Zack watched the uncertainty in Aaron’s eyes, but like good comrade, already knew what to say, what a guy... “We can always go there and just look at it, not putting the keys in, or driving it anywhere...” Enticing the lad with the little metal tank shaped key chain ornament. “Twelve wheels, twelve fifty horse power, that’s like a hundred per wheel, plus a lift kit and rear suspension... His own personal touch.”

“ Chort, fine!” Aaron caved, “But no ignition!”

The neighbour waved the boys off, as he collected the new day’s hard Kvass money, and head to the recycling depot. Ah, the good life. It truly was, communist Christmas every morning... Or afternoon!

The boys came onto Zack’s place to, shall we say, ‘borrow’ Sputnik, the family car. Yes it was a 90’s Lada Hatchback, what do you think they took, the fucking Volvo? Of course not... As they left, they could hear Zack’s Bobusha yelling at them, shaking her Kompot ladle like a mad raving Cyka. What a nice sweet old lady she was, not like her daughter however, the prostitutki. Though, it’s not like there wasn’t already five other cars in the back yard, Blin ; heck two of them even still worked!

The boys walked up the slanted parking lot, flipping off the tank that nearly missed them coming out of the drive through. They walked up to the cashier at the local Slav Hortins, looked the underpaid worker straight in the face and ordered. “FUCK Capitalism!”

The cashier saluted the boys “Up the Queens’ kilt! What can I get you patriotic young men?”

“ Blyat, you need to ask?”

“Two orders Putin Poutine, extra spiked gravy, one side order crab salad, one side order of moosealini and cheese. A cheap coffee and a travel bottle of vodka. Would you like to upgrade your order to potato vodka?” Ah... It’s service like this you just can’t get anywhere else. “That’ll be $29.34, or about six stamps.”

Scrounging up the change between them, the boys asked “Will you take twenty dollars and two stamps.”

“How’d you like your change comrades?”

As they drove off, Aaron, he began having second thoughts. The weight of pissing off Zack’s older Mafia brother wasn’t made any better with this crap AC in the family car. He licked his fingers and said, still managing his composure. “Can you believe it? Not having Chebureki on the menu, should be a national crime.”

Zack turns to him, gravy running down his chin, “Man, check out the Chuvikha walking there?” Pointing to the tight jeaned, ladies of question walking down to the beach. “HEY! Ch... Ladies! We’re on our way to drive large tank, want to come along?” They called back, disgusted like, and Zachery waved them off “They’re asking money to drive in tank? What’s this world come to?”

“Not big surprise. Last I checked, Rasputin wasn’t in your family... They’re flipping us off too, the Cykas...” Aaron remarked, dropping his window as they hit the highway for some real air conditioning.

Off near the edge of Soviet Penticton, they spot the car wrecker and around the bend and past the old drive in. If you lived there, you’d know the place... Yeah, yeah, they had one of those too! Even had the little cheap American bobble head and everything! Well, neighbouring the wide pine forest, was a hidden compound, with a warehouse, and right outside with a fresh wax job stood the tank... It was the glory of Motherland, the apple of their Babushka’s orchard.

“There it is, stunning isn’t it?” Zack announced. The glint of Slavic elbow grease and it’s shining exterior glistened before them.

Aaron stood up to the fence, taking a moderate ‘Slavic sip’ of his hard Kvass, and tossing the empty away. “The T-80U...”

“Last of it’s product line when it was still pure Russian heritage... Sharp wheel guards, fine steel plate front skirting, cannon cover still fit snug, and an exhaust port to put a dent in Chinese pollution...”

“It really is the Kalashnikov of tanks. Painted in iridescent white, blue and red intersecting camo stripes. Got the lady on the side and everything. All polished like the holy crown atop Putin’s head... Right, I’ve had my fix... Comrade, wh... Where you go?” Watching Zack walk carefree on the other side of the fence. “HEY! You... AH PIZDÉC!!” And Aaron chased after him through the swiped hole in fence. Probably made by small bear or something. “What are you doing Debil?”

“Said we were going to see it, didn’t I?” Marvelling at it’s double black tape trim. “Be a shame to come all this way and not get the full tour.”

“Shit...” Aaron astounded at it’s magnificence. “I’ll give you this, it truly is the pride of all motherland, second generation explosive reactive armour, twenty to seventy kilometres an hour running speed, point zero five click to the litre, and that custom lift kit as described... All just wasting away in your brother’s car lot... His dangerous, mafia run, car lot. Right where it will stay. Right Urod?... Urod? HOW BAD IS YOUR EYESIGHT? Blin !” Watching Zack crawl up the side.

Zack peered in the front window, “It’s got velvet car seats and a gamer chair!” Opening the hatch, Zack gushed like a schoolgirl. “Turkish wall carpet interior and everything... This is some real Moscow shit right here, none of that St. Petersburg crap... Ofiget' comrade! You’re going to loose it when you see this!”

Pacing in disarray, Aaron muttered under his breath. “ Mne do lampochki ”

“What?”

“I said, ‘I DON’T CARE!’ ZACK!” Aaron repeated.

“Comrade...”

“No...”

“Comrade...”

“No...”

“Comrade...”

“Wha-ha-ha-haaaat?” Aaron cried. “HOLY SHIT! Is that a bottle of Slavzoloto Vodka? I thought you’re brother was on his way to pick these up, why they here already?...”

“There’s more!” Still holding it up.

Aaron climbed atop the tank like it was a mid-game rush ‘B’ and poured his eyes over the crate with five bottles of the finest potato water, Russia has to offer. Well, four, plus the one Zack was holding. Zack, Blin , I’m still trying to get over that name, who names their kid that? Cyka...

Having sufficiently felt up the seating, Aaron inspected the purple leopard fur carpet. Zack, who... Well, he never actually promised anything, just kinda suggested they leave it unplugged, held his key ever warily over top the ignition, painfully tempted. Tempted like throwing last block of cheese in potato before end of month, tempted.

“You see anyone here?” Zack asked.

“Nah, is silent. Uncomfortably so...” And with those words of encouragement, Zack gave all their hearts a good test as engine sparked like a fine Russian Harley Davidson. “Shit, comrade...” Aaron lightened up, too impressed to be upset. “Purrs like British firing squad...”

Through the wide slit front window, they could see a drunken security person, out taking a piss. He looked around, as though he heard someone, then stared down the humming tank. As he walked near, the boys sweat like it was summer in Italy. Desperately, Zack pointed the canon barrel at the man to intimidate him but that quickly back fired. The drunken Urod lifted up his Smithe and Wessen, and proceeded to ask questions later like a good ‘T.T.T.’ player, ruining the perfect paint job.

Zack pulled the leaver back like it was first instinct, and reared the tank around but having no idea what he was doing he just started doing doughnuts instead of a tactical retreat. “How many leavers does this tank have Blin ?” As he proceeded to glide sideways across the parking lot like nineties race car driving anime, grinding sparks across the concrete and asphalt. The Bukhoy kept firing, while bullets ricocheted everywhere putting holes in tires, windows and water tanks. Eventually, Zack managed to grasp the controls as he flew the Slavic ground ship through the fence. Poor Aaron, still looking for the ‘oh pizdéc handle’ on this model, bounced around, frantically keeping the bottles of mafia life insurance safe.

The bike trail Zack settled upon narrowed and before long, they began the second tank based forestry company in the country, with trees flying overhead. What a powerful machine! Once things opened up, Zack took a hard drift around the rock pile and kicked their ride into the nearby woodland walking path.

Things were starting to get easier but between the rattling road, Aaron tried to nitpick, I mean, communicate with Zack. “What are we going to do now, jackass?” Getting cut off every time they tested out the suspension.

“We roll with it...” Listening to the silence in between them, as to say the twelve fifty horsepower engine and spitting gravel. “You rather take it up on foot? Walking quarter speed, no armoured walls, chased through forest by guy with four wheeler and large hunting pistol?... Didn’t think it was good option either... All we can do now is celebrate. We’ll be in shit either way... Say, you mind passing me that bottle?”

“It’s pizdéc enough as is, you know how expensive this shit is?”

“They’re bringing home eight flats of this shit back with them, half of it they’ll be drinking themselves, they’ll probably think they drank these ones too and forgot.”

“Zack,” Aaron yelled over top the loud engine. “If you ever say something that makes that much sense again, I might have to pop this cork and then drink off my pickie, Tusytʹ man... Hand me the bayonet, we’re treating that seal with some respect.”

Zack reached into his side pocket, and retrieved the fine crafted Russian steel. “Should be your every day carry my friend, here...” But he took a hard landing, and the bayonet went flying.

Still safe guarding the bottles of precious water, Aaron covered his head. “ Blyat, MAN!” He looked about, noticing a glint on the floor. “It’s fine, I’ll grab it.” Before finding one of those nesting dolls Babushka always keeps on the shelf instead. Aaron scratched his head, “I think there’s supposed to be some kind of joke in this thing...” Lifting the hatch and tossing it behind him before returning inside. Behind them they heard a large explosion, followed by a MIRV cocktail of a few more popping out. “They keep those things inside this tank, Blyat? It was rattling around in here this whole time!... Oh... I found the bayonet.”

Finally cracking the seal on the bottle with some class, Aaron uncorked it, took a swig and passed it along to his friend who was still in high speed retreat. Zack turned to grab the bottle, when out of nowhere, there came a large, brown ball of muscle. The tank collided with it, and all they could see was darkness and the loud moaning of some kind of unearthly creature.

They kicked open the hatch, and scouted the sound of pain and agony back to a bear that then slid off the front of the tank. It rolled aside to the bed rest of the trees behind it, completely stunned. “We killed it!” Aaron shot out! The bear still moaned. “It’s alive!” But it fell to it’s side. “It’s dying... Shit, what do we do?”

Zack shook his head mournfully, then looked to the drink which had caused this accident. “ Blyat...” He cried, before walking up to the injured Slav icon. “Here comrade... You need it more than I do now...” Passing his bottle of spirits over to the wounded. The bear took a sip of the premium potato juice, then another, then grabbing the damned thing right out of Zack’s hands it started draining the glass vessel. The Bear rolls onto his ass, scratches it’s head, and takes another swig then belches loudly, Blin , it’s a miracle! He’s alive! Then he takes another swig of vodka, and belches again! Davai!

The boys made sure he was fine, wrapping a blanket around the bear’s wound and patched it up with some Slavic disinfectant. They returned to their carriage. As they started up the engine, they felt the tank begin to shake even more than usual, and behold a new friendship was born comrades! Comrade Bear peered in the hatch, unable to fit, and then sat itself above the barrel as he tanked that vodka like a superstar. The empty bottle cracked over top the hardened front exterior of the tank and Zack unscrewed another bottle of medicine then passed it up top. “Here you go sir”

“You’re giving all our vodka away!” Aaron cried.

“You see any woodland hospitals around here? Blyat, look at him, he’s doing just fine.” Zack pat the big oaf and got back to driving. With the loud war cry of a happy bear on top, they continued their journey. “This thing have any good tunes?” Zack asked aloud, punching a tape into the eight track, only to find a trove of the world’s greatest Hard Bass Volume 1. Zack pumped the speakers and let the tank do the dancing for them.

They revved the peddles, and let it purr to the harmony of roaring. The bear lifted up it’s arm, and nodded it’s head between shots, the soothing vibrations of an overclocked engine, and a good music my friend. Zack made another drift, which he was getting rather good at, and rode the hillside around the lake. Aaron lightened up, and cranked the music louder. The bear held onto the barrel as the bumps got brutal but the pain relief began to kick in and everyone was hooting for a good time. Aaron crawled up to the gun seat and started taking aim. Zack kicked the speed up and plowed over the hill, with Aaron firing the cannon mid flight, then stuck the landing like a pro. Comrade Bear, holding on for dear life! It was wonderful sight!

They climbed hill and bog, making it as far as they could from trouble and probably a little bit lost. They partied until the tape ran out and it was switched to side ‘B’ and some real voodoo level shit.

Zack had become reckless, and pushed his skills more and more until the party wore off and Aaron was getting afraid. The last trick felt like it hit something rather hard, and nearly took out the treads. Zack was hollering like a madman, like he was actually trying to ruin things.

The motor had a slavic hiccup, or in other terms, a grinding stall before booting whatever rock out of it’s gears. “What cheap fucking Deşyovka shit is this?” Zack complained.

Aaron shot back, trem Blin g in his voice. “You Dostal! T-This is getting too reckless.”

“What kind of Balvan do you think I am?” Taking the turn around the hillside far to quickly

“ Da ne goni! Will you slow down!” Aaron shot out, stifled by the impact of a large object.

The fallen log ground itself into the treads, and pulled the tank in one direction, then into an exposed patch of bedrock. Tank, very strong, very durable... Bedrock... Slightly stronger this round. It dented the wheels, making a clacking noise as the treads compensated to keep them afloat but snapped off at the hill’s edge and came off. Unable to turn the tank any which way, Zack put on the brakes but it wasn’t enough. They were sliding dangerously without their left grip, and the right only spun them around as Zack tried to reverse. Soon they were faced forwards, then back, then forwards. Zack could not maintain the balance any longer and they met with the hard bottom below. Comrade Bear became Comrade Airborne and everything turned perfectly sideways.

Aaron crawled out of the hatch, and landed aside the creek that had grounded their tank permanently in the valley floor. Zack made his wallow of shame out the same entrance. Aaron stomped around, angrily, cursing louder and louder. “ Sterva! Son of a bitch! Mother fucking Cyka Blyat!...” Aaron huffed, ready to pull the hair from his head, until calming himself. “I’m okay now, I’m okay...” But then kicks the hatch with his steel toed boots “IDI NUHOY!”

Zack surveyed the area, walking the tank twice around before retiring all hope of mounting it upright as the broken tread rolled down past him into the stream. Aaron walked by, and helped Comrade Bear out of the water. “So, now what Brigadier Commander?” The scrawny boy mocked.

“We uh...” Zack, shook his head. “Yeah... We find home.”

“Where is home?” Aaron pushed it in harder. “Can’t go back the way we came, they’ll track us by the signature drift marks you left behind.”

“Like they couldn’t hear every shell you launched back there...” Zack shot back.

“So what? We camp it out? Boy scout our way to civilization?”

“Yeah,” Licking his wounds, “Yeah... We do that.”

“That’s just great...”

“Got any better ideas!?” Zack hollered back ready to cry.

Aaron poured some vodka on the fire, then took a swig for his mouth. The sun had set and the drunkness, I mean, darkness was almost entirely swallowing the land. They sat atop a hill they found to camp the night. All around him was void of his nice things of home. “No Tula Pryaniki, no Samovar, what crap camping is this?” Aaron complained. No mama, no Babushka, no papa, no bed, no blanket.

“Yeah, sure ain’t Bobusha’s Kompot now is it?” Stirring the tank rations inside of a metal war helmet.

“You did remember to wash that thing first, right?”

“I used disinfectant.”

“ Blin ... You see Comrade Bear anywhere? I think he made like North American Hoser and took off...”

“Could be worse, we could be climbing the hills of Siberia. When do we know when this is ready to eat anyway?” But it was too dark to read the package any more, and the flickering light of the camp fire was too wild to focus his eyes on.

There are three main things that make food better: Number one, alcohol. When you drink, you can eat almost anything: Liver paste, American cheese, expired rations, you name it... Two, hunger: also happens when drinking, is called the greatest seasoning... Next to the bay leaf of course. When you are hungry, even rations taste better. Three, not eating rations, “These things freaking suck!” Aaron griped, ready to toss his bowl.

Zack was silent, taking in all the guilt and misfortune. He looked up to the sky and said “It is beautiful out.” Then spoke not a word.

They laid upon the cold hard ground. Neither bough bed nor ‘Slavic Tea’ could comfort them. At some point, half drunkenly asleep they arose. There came a loud echo, like a nightmare that they both heard. It was the roar in the distance of a large mountain cat, like a cougar but scarier. “Mother Putin!” Aaron uttered aloud. The sound was very distant, but echoed in his thoughts. They did not sleep for many hours, but when they had awoke, it was already about noon.

Aaron lift his sore and feeble body back upward, tasted the dusty air in his mouth, then spat his curses to the world, “ Cyka, Blin ...” He wobbled past the camp fire, off to the cliff and relieved himself.

It was by this time that Zack too, had made his daily ritual and joined his friend in drastically improving the Slavokanagan’s moisture content. They pissed and pissed, but the night’s diuretics was too much for them and they began to speak. “My back...” Zack moaned.

“My ass...”

“My neck...”

“My head...”

“One hell of a party, right?”

“ Blin , you still got us lost...” Doing up his fly Aaron turned to stoke the fire but the bottle was empty and all embers seemed past redemption at this point. When, out of the corner of his eye, he looked down from their ledge to find a man, draining his hard Kvass that Aaron’s mind rejoiced. Below, finally, was a sign of reaching home. “By Putins’ magnificent ball sack! We’re saved!” Aaron cried out, only to see the man look up with his Glock Model Eighteen. “WE’RE FUCKED!” Aaron cried harder! Making off like the first timbers of Chernobyl were falling as bullets rained up upon the hill... “The Cassocks are coming, the Cassocks are coming!”

AH! Babushka, what is this? This for me? Davai... You made enough Ikra and Pirozhki for everyone else too, yes? Aaah, good. Comrade, you should have one of these; it tastes like early childhood memory climbing tire swing, falling on head, and getting whipped by wooden spoon. Is good time... Right, the story... Thank you Babushka! I kiss you! Mnn, delicious as always. Where was I... Ah!

Zack and Aaron, having no idea where to go, ran along hill, wondering ‘how in the Blin did they get themselves there, Blyat’?! The man managed to climb the steep Cyka and corralled the boys by the edge. They looked below the sheer rock cliff with man behind them, and Zack’s very pissed older brother at the bottom. “We can talk about this right?” But the brother shoots cliff, shattering the rock and sending the boys, rock and all down mmn... five, maybe eight meters to him and watched them crawl back to their feet.

“Sheeet, you’re family...” The brother snuffed his nose, taking a hard hit of Motherland Extract. “Yeah, step into my camp site, I just got these two dumb asses in to hear the excuses of. Should be interesting, so I guess you’re invited to have a listen.”

“You look like you haven’t slept in 3 days...” Zack astounded at the dreary eyes of his si Blin g.

“I’ve done worse...” Bringing said dumb asses, Zack and Aaron into the outcrop beyond the trees where the rest of the gang had rested their cases of guns and alcohol.

Zack shook his head, “You look like you’re armed for bear...” Wondering just how serious they were.

Holding the glistening steel in his hands, the brother laughed, taking the cigar out of his mouth. “I have to say, when we followed the tracks you left with the tank, doing doughnuts, drifting along hillsides, what magnificent driving... We knew it had to be professional work, figured it was a shame to waste such talent... But I never thought it’d be my little brother behind the clutch of such a party.”

“You Blin d? Of course you knew it was me, Sputnik was parked out back, Blin !”

“ Blyat, so that wasn’t my blurry vision?... My brother’s a professional then! When did this happen?... It was you driving yes? You didn’t let that scrawny ass Urod touch my peddles did you?” Zack shook his head frantically. “YPA! My brother is badass!” His bother congratulated, then kicked Zack in the dick “You fucked my prized tank!” Then threw a handful of sunflower seeds in his mouth. “Custom print girl, scraped to shit! Custom halogen headlights, smashed! The underbody lights are now OVERBODY LIGHTS! C.B. Radio with custom space station antenna, fucked! Satalite T.V. reception, fucked also! The lift kit is pizdéc, and there are bullet holes in the shape of a DICK up the front of it.” Causing the drunk from earlier who shot them to slip out of the scenery, to the back of the crowd. “It’s already got a hundred twenty five millimeter custom extended front barrel canon to make an elephant feel inadequate!” Spitting his shattered sunflower seeds at the boys. “Which is bent now… Was it not good enough!?”

“We couldn’t have shot it,” Zack defended, “we don’t have a Smithe and Wessen...” Watching the drunkard in behind dip entirely out of sight.

“Damn rights you don’t, coz you don’t have tank either! You ran it in the FUCKING DITCH!”

“We’re family right?”

“One of you...”

“How long do we have before you erase us?” Aaron butted in.

“Ah, yes, don’t worry, that’s not for a while now... See... I knew whoever we’d find behind this, we were going to dance on their graves, so we came prepared. Rocket launcher, couple Kalashnikovs, high end fifty dollar stereo... ‘Oh, that’s a pretty nice party you have there,” He mocked, “Older Brother, can we join?’ ‘ Idi nukhuy !’ You can watch someone else party in the sidelines at your expense this time, then the rest will just business as usual... Tie them up and get the supplies. We’re holding a fire in their names! Dmitry, Nikolai, keep these under surveillance, I have an arrangement to make. Then... We party...”

The bindings on their wrists were tight, like trained professional with a grudge tight. Not like Slovakian woman in leather pants tight, no... Like American woman in blue jeans tight. They could not go anywhere, but after the two Igor’s, Dmitry, and Nikolai gave them some distance, Aaron started up a conversation. “I haven’t seen your brother in a while. He looks crazy, like he could do those armless pushups... But... He doesn’t, coz his arms are really big... Just like the rest of him.”

“That’s an accurate depiction...” Zack admit. “When I was little, he would lay under dad’s Kvass kegs because the gravity wasn’t heavy enough for him to sleep. Seen him carve his name in the side of the refrigerator with a plastic spoon and broke the metal...”

“I was wondering who did that...”

“And when I was four, he picked up my uncle Steve’s plus sized, constantly moaning girlfriend, and threw her into the noisy sausage factory across town. Told her to ‘be with her kind’... He was fourteen... They were so impressed, they gave him a free case of sausages and slapped a sponsor sticker on his back. She died of overeating the next week... No relation.”

After a long period of time, tied to the post in the burning heat, they noticed one of the guards moseying off. Dmitry, Nikolai, can’t really remember which. Must be something in this Kvass I’m drinking. Anyway, he was yawning, and waddled like he was looking for a tree to water. He was gone for about an hour when the other one received a radio signal. It came on in complete static, the guard answered it with a weighted voice like bad hospital call then ran off into the woods with his gun drawn.

Zack pondered aloud. “Heh, this would be convenient opportunity if, you know... We weren’t tied like pig on the spit.”

“Not that it ain’t hot enough... Say, you ever think that every time the Grim Reaper shows up for Putin, he just kinda says ‘Idi nuhkuy!’ and Death actually buggers off, or? Guy hasn’t aged in thirty years...” Aaron looks to the bindings “Fuck off! Fuck off!... Not working too well for me.”

“Aaron... are knots supposed to loosen after a while, or am I just sweating out in this sun enough that my arms are shrinking?”

“If you’re sweating like I am, everything actually kinda swells up and gets tighter... Hey, wait, that’s not normal, no. What are you doing?”

“I’m just fidgety. I can’t feel my hands and it’s pissing me off!”

As Zachery wiggled his numb hands from it’s grasp, Aaron’s face lit up once more. “Bless Putin and his family for generations! An excellently timed plot hole!” But as soon as he was freed, Zack ran off into the trees alone, without Aaron “ Dezertir, Idi nukhuy !” But quickly, Zack runs back with bayonet, a perfect cutting tool to break Aaron free and he changed his tone. “YPA!”

It was still odd, and mysterious how everyone had been gone for so long. Everyone. The boys thought, maybe they had gone out for food, or perhaps a crate load of Potato Elixir but the silence was unbearably unnerving. They ran and did not look back. Except maybe twice, force of habit, who knows.

They stumbled upon an old rusted truck with the fresh tracks leading up to it, and a box of supplies on it’s bumper. How it still held up together was even greater mystery.

“I know how to hot wire it...” Zack informed. “I’m pretty sure, anyway...”

Aaron looked around, but the only door that was not locked was the one that was refused to open. “If only we some kind of tool to break it open... Like a bayonet... Mind passing my your ‘every day carry’?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zack admit, guiltily. “I left that back at the camp... Probably should have taken that with me...”

Aaron began to sputter. The ignorance, the stupidity, Blyat! Aaron scowled and shot out. "Blyat Blyat, Cyka Blyaaaaat! Mother Cyka Fucking Pizblyat! I’m up to my Babushka’s fucking Sis'ki with this SHIT! Bloody chertovski der'mo"

“And I guess you want to blame this all on me, huh...”

“Мать Путина! Balvan stervea fucking, Bukhoy Debil! You’ve fucked us! Mad eyed, crazy:” Counting it on his fingers. “Fucked the tank, fucked my life, fucked the bayonet, fucked us!”

“Yeah, sure, why not…”

“иди нухуй! Мне do FUCKING лампочки! Yobany Урод нахуй дебил! Сука FUCKING блять, пиздец! SHIT!”

“Wow, that’s pretty fucking good, they give you an ‘F.U.’ On that report card?”

“Yeah, teacher said it stood for ‘Fucking Unreal’, while yours’ just stood for ‘FUCKING Urod’, Blyat!”

“So, you’re just so bloody perfect, because you didn’t want any part of this to begin with, huh? Look at me, my name is Aaron, I’m the Czar because I have a good heart and I mean well, Sh-shing Sh-shing” Mimicking the pullback action of the tank’s main cannon. “Neh, Neh, Neh, Neh, BOOOOM! You’re in this shit too!”

“And which Cyka do you think drove us here? Ah?...” Aaron scowled.

“ Blyat... Always blaming others, maybe I’m not the one at fault here after all!”

“You listen to yourself, Debil?”

Gun fire bounces past them.

“SHIT! We gotta run!”

But try as he could, the armed man could not keep up with the agility of pure Slavic youth. They ran for hours, stum Blin g, scraping themselves on everything nature had to slow them down with. They leapt over river, under cracks and crevices, over river again! It had been so long that they had no idea where they would even be anymore.

The sun had begun the set, and it was becoming darker out. It would be their best cover for the next couple hours but it would mean sleeping outside once more, Blin ...

Ah, supper in ten minutes, that’s okay Dedushka, I can finish this story up soon. I’ll wash the plates later, don’t worry. Yes, it’s the story with the two boys and the tank, is classic. Alright, I’ll see you at the table. Oh, Blin , thank you for the Kvass by the way. Davai!

By the time nightfall came, the boys were walking Blin d, still angry with the other, but both of them were angry at Zack. They stumbled around with nothing, hungry, tired, hung over, overheating, and this was nighttime mind you. In the distance, they could see a light that flickered like the power at uncle Artyom’s shack, wavering, glowing. Looked just as messy too. The smell of food guiding them past their senses. Not even sure why they still walking together at this point, they came onto a camp fire, but it was no ordinary camp fire, no... They became so lost, they walked back around to the camp site of Zack’s older brother. Oh Blyat! What Urod would do something so stupid? But before them, was a whole pork, nose and all, spinning on the fire. They wanted to go, but they were so famished that telling you this, it makes even ME famished! But, supper soon, so is no problem.

Their stomachs rumbled, and it was too hard to pass up, but there was no way to get the food without being spot. Out of nowhere, a man laid his plate down beside the bush like gift from heaven! It was covered in chips and Pashtet. Ah, the perfect snack before pork supper. He left it to find some spices perhaps, but the plate was just out of reach from the bush. Aaron crawled out, picked up the plate, and hauled it back unnoticed but... Then they heard a loud noise that happened just the night before: It was the Great North American cykatat, a beefed up mountain lion. It had shocked Aaron so much, that the plate fell from his hands like buttered toast: Face down, gravel Pashtet and broken dreams. Bliiiin... Some say, to this day, not even the ants could salvage it.

Aaron walked shamefully back, but when he did, his only sight was of a Glock model eighteen pressed to his head. “We heard your stomachs rum Blin g.” The man issued, his name, probably Vadim or something, I don’t know. He dragged the two back into the light. “Maybe, this time we’ll use a steel cha... Cyka! What was that? I thought there was just one of them!” As the roar came again like an angry house cat, fed on spinach and steroids, but bigger. Much bigger... Everyone turned to the sound coming from the other direction than the first, but Aaron knew the rock wall was there that bounced the sound back, and he turned towards it’s actual source. In the black of night, he alone saw the two yellow glowing eyes. It’s silver fur lit up from time to time, flickering in the distant fiery camp light, circling them. It lifted it’s head, showing it’s massive two, maybe three meter height.

The only men there were bunched together on one side, apart from the man holding Aaron and Zack at gunpoint, who was opposite the camp fire from them. With his back towards the beast, it lowered it’s head. Aaron reached out, grabbing Zack and ran behind cover. By the time Vadim or whoever it was noticed the noise behind him, his gun fired in the air with the cykatat on his neck, dragging him into the dark. It took only an instant, and it was gone.

The men, frightened out of their wits, surrounded the cover that Aaron used, then heard gunfire from the woods. They looked up. Somewhere, the reinforcements had met with the jaws of death, screaming “Babush...” but never finishing. When the men looked to themselves, one man was already missing, as they could see him run with his tail between his legs. All they could hear of him after, was the cries of meeting his maker. There were three men left in the camp. Their nerves were shot like The Rasputin in his final days. “Hold it together, man!” One said...

Another did not have such courage “That thing, it picked him up like field mouse.”

The third had no idea what to make of it, securing the boys, while lifting his AK47 into the woods at every noise. They heard more gunfire in the distance, and the fury of the arid jungle beast.

Ooh, that food does smell good. Babushka’s is sure holding a feast tonight... How many guests are we having, Blin ? They better not eat all the Chebureki on me this year...

Everyone heard explosions, fireworks, shotguns, then... nothing. The three guarding the boys broke off, splitting up, and heading tail for a chance at life. As one of them ran into the trees, he was shot. Boom! “Coward, you can tell the Don what happened here in the afterlife, blyaaat.” As Zack’s older Brother emerges from the dark. “You two,” Calling out to the deserters, “Unless you want to become American doughnut, stop acting like one and get back here! That goes for you too, brother, and Urod...” Guiding them towards the fire.

Each had their back to the flame, watching the treeline. Gun in hand, apart from the prisoners. There was a rustling in the leaves and the Debil beside them jumped to open fire; his poor mind snapping like a twig. He ran out of ammo, and hurried out to the stockpile despite the demands to hold formation, and grabbed more magazines for everyone. Zack’s brother lifted his gun, and shot behind the man, as did the other guard but it was too late and the mountain lion had taken another victim... However, now it was wounded, and dropped it’s victim still in sight, but not alive.

The last Igor snagged the dropped resupply and distanced himself from the forest edge, stepping back into burning coals. He pat the flames from his pants when the cat rushed him. Taking his final stand, the man stood his ground piling round after round into the beast but it was no use.

Zack, his brother and Aaron were all that were left, watching the agile Cyka leap over the flames and make way with another. It nearly knocked the feast into the flames. From the forest, The Alpha met eyes with the other Alpha, and Zack’s brother stared down the apex predator, waiting for a good shot. He lowered his gun and in the moment that massive furred creature made it’s move, that brother withdrew his bayonet, dodged underneath and swiped at it’s stomach. “ Blyat,” Posed like a badass, the thick fur was too much to slice through and he was left to the gun at his hip. Boom, boom, bullets fired. As the beast turned for him, he took the bottle of premium vodka, took a swig and then a swing at it in range. The fire caught the high extra proof as the bottle crashed against the Cyka’s skull and POOF! It lit that cat on fire! It rolled in the dirt, wiping the flames from it’s side. Zack gets up, and snags the AK from the table, then fires it at the beast while it’s down, along side his brother but the gun jumps out from Zack’s hands. Did no one teach this kid how to use gun? Blin ...

Every bullet that entered seemed to do nothing, and they were out of options as it risen from the ashes even more pissed. All seemed lost. There was no way out, cornered, and trapped in the wilds with the most deadly animal around... Or, rather, the second deadliest. From nowhere, screaming “Whaaaha!” in comes Comrade Bear, walks up to the Great American cykatat, and eats the dirt. Boom! The cat swats Comrade Bear to the ground unconcious in one paw. Oh PIZDITZ! Not Comrade Bear too!

Zack’s brother takes this moment to open his crate, and pull out his serious firepower, an LMG. It fires it’s heavy rounds, lighting the whole area and deafening everything. The cat runs to the side for another stealthy attack.

Seeing the open crate, Zack scrambles for the souped up, fully automatic AA12, red and black tiger stripe camo, reflex sight and laser sight for accurate hip fire. The cykatat returns, going for the boy who’s back is towards him but Zack turns around to meet his assailant, BOOM! It knocks him on his ass. BOOM! The beast is still above him taking a swipe, BOOM! Each time Zack fired, it pushed him back a couple of inches away from the claws of death, and slid himself all the way to the end of the camp.

Now, if you’ve ever fired AA12, you know two things: Shoots like nobody’s business... and secondly, they never give you enough ammo to use it for longer than ten seconds before needing to respawn with a new one, Blin . Is technical detail. Zack held the gun up, but the monster of a cougar swats it away like Vasily Alekseyev does squats. Ah, double pizdéc!

Zack screams, but his brother takes a smack at the puddy with a tire iron. Aaron holds up an RPG, and takes aim, waiting for everyone to clear away from his shot. Finally, he pulls the trigger but the gun does not fire. What is this Blin ?! With two deadly paws coming after him, Aaron blocks with the rocket launcher but it is snapped in half, sending him flying along the ground. Comrade Bear gets up, walks over, cocks his arm back and eats the dirt again! Blyat! Not again!

The Cyka jumps for Zack, but Aaron intercepts with a bayonet tied to a large stick. It does nothing, but Zack rolls out of the way in time, and Aaron distracted it long enough to pull the pin on a Semtex grenade, and plant it up under the fur. The Great cykatat snags Aaron’s hoodie with it’s claw, holding him still as the fuse burns inside the little metal death rock beside him. Aaron jams his bayonet on a stick into the cat making it say “ Idi nukhuy !” and releasing the grip long enough to get away. BOOM! It explodes behind him. The embedded knife goes flying, shaving off the Cykas whiskers and scarring it’s face. What is left is a large exposed wound on it’s side.

The cat roars, taking a good eye to his next target but what is this? Zack stands there gawking as his brother had enough time to prepare ‘Slavlana’; Their grandfather’s prized Gatling gun. It began to spin, and it was like summer visit to Dedushka all over again. His Dedushka, not mine, my Dedushka has a Tommy gun. Wrwaaaah! It fires... The rapid succession of rounds plastered into the cat, knocking it off it’s feet but they could barely penetrate the adamentium fur and iron like skin. As the last rounds fell out of the barrel, it arose once more, now one large angry cykatat.

It rushed for him, Zack cried out as his brother defended against the next strike, holding Slavlana between him and death. One hit, two hit, three hit. It was a miracle he could even stand. Four hit, five hit, and the memory of shooting across the lake by Babushka’s orchard broke in two.

Aaron took the largest rod of steel he could find and swung it between the cat’s legs but they all soon discovered it was no tom cat, no, no, no, no THIS was a Chuvikha cykatat, and an angry bitch at that...

It turns but Zack comes in, duel pistols, Bang! Bang! Unable to handle the recoil, his brother jumps over top taking the guns in hand and fires them mid air.

Comrade Bear pops the cap off of a bottle of Slavic mind relief, and sits in the corner, to think about how he’d gone so terribly wrong. Left, right, left, he watches it swat, then three rights, swinging all around. This was no mountain lion, this was feline Kostya Tszyu world championship boxing mountain lion, Blin .

Zack plants a shotgun to the wound, and is met with an immediate response. Yes, things are starting to make sense, and the proud feline guards it’s weakness. Aaron slides underneath it, reloading his AK47 mid drift, Sh-shing, then lays down the law on it’s side.

“Ammo!” Zack’s Brother calls out to his si Blin g. Zack supplied him from the large crate, thinking it was the hollow point but gave him the tracers instead and there were lights, glorious lights! Without Zack able to do much of anything, the cat ignored him and was cornered between his older brother and Aaron, keeping it’s wound out of their sight. They moved to corner it’s weakness, but the cykatat rolled over the wound to protect it, wincing as it did, and changed angles once more. Finding it’s eyes on the supply boy it lunges for Zack. Unable to defend himself, Zack is sent back, shirt torn, plastered against the boxes to be removed from this fight. Zack cries, knowing he will be helpless as he watches his comrades die. In this moment, he is pat on the should and looks up. Coming up from behind, Comrade Bear drops the bottle in his hand, takes a stand, and between them Zack can understand his friend... ‘Here comrade... You need it more now than I do now...” And Zack cries into his bottle as he takes a hard swig.

With a strange aura about him, Comrade Bear walks up, dodges the first hit, and plants his paw square on that bitch, BOOM! It worked! Aaron takes the opportunity from that stunning hit to fill the open wound with lead but is thrown back with Comrade Bear. The older brother took the fire axe and broke the handle as he embedded the blade into it’s leg. It roared and the mouth was fed with lead, pushing the feline back.

Things were blurry for Zack who dropped the empty Vodka vessel, but in his vision, he saw the bottle rolling beside their salvation. It was the broken front half of the RPG from earlier, with the painted spiral rocket still attached and he laughed. “HA!” It was painted like the onion towers of Moscow, blue and red, and white, like the pride of Motherland. He laughed again, so that everyone could hear it. The cykatat had written Zack off and kept everyone else on the other side of him. Zack risen, taking the launcher in hand and proclaimed to the world as he rushed onward for a final stand. “I’m going to shove these onion cones from Saint Basils Cathedral, so far up your ass... They’ll see you flailing around all the way from St Petersburg!” Manually inserting the RPG into the open wound, unloaded the rocket, and pounded it in deeper with the broken butt of the barrel. The cougar shoved Zachery onto the ground, turning the open sore to his older brother; who, Smith and Wesson in hand, shot the missile inside and BOOM! Was raining cougar in next county.

It was over, at last, or... Was it? Like a true nightmare, the cougar returned to it’s feet but Comrade bear ran up, slugged the puddy tat right into the bayonet stockpile and when the blades came through it’s eyes, it was Dobroy nochi. No Suffering cykatat squeal for him!

Everyone panted. Aaron looked out towards Zack’s brother, as was Zack, knowing that the fight was not over yet. That without the big roaring Cyka-tat to distract them, it was back to the war at hand. Man on smaller man, brother against brother, badass and Urod. They eyed him in the corners of their vision. Zacks’ brother strolled the camp, coughing, grabbed a bottle of Vodka and cleared his throat. He laughed manically, twirling his pistol around, even misfiring into the hillside and sheathed his gun. He held out his tired wavering hand and announced. “It is decided... We drink!”

Aaron and Zack stood astounded. “B... but, You... You wanted to kill us?”

The big man of steel turns to them, and laughs. “Those guys, my... My crew... They died, like... FUKen pussies! But you, you guys fought like true Slav! We’re are all brothers! COME! WE DRINK!” Undoing his pants and pissed into the gaping hole of their dead enemy with a mouthful of seeds.

Everyone sat down, took a cut of fine pork and slathered it in mustard and mayonnaise. Aaron looked up, and commented. “Something tells me, this was kind of a... A beautiful, juicy, pork bacon, I mean beacon for that predator. When I think about it, this is probably why it came after us...”

“But it was greedy,” Zack says as he embellished his roasted cutlet. “It could have eaten anything it wanted out there.” Before taking another big juicy bite. “But, we are the apex predator now...”

Zacks brother dropped his ushanka onto Zack, gave a large cut of pork to Comrade Bear and then pulled out the high end stereo. Hard Bass, Volume 2.

Comrade Bear gets a tickle in his feet and parties, pouring more slavic medicine on his bandaged wounds, doing squats around the fire. What a party animal!

“This party is running pathetically low...” Zack uttered, pulling out a fresh mag for the AA12, “We don’t have nearly as much firewood as we need” Then shoots down an entire tree... Which, if any of you have tried, is about eighty to a hundred rounds, depending on spruce or pine. Finally, some useful experience for the boy, and by Putin’s bear, that tree fell like dwindling economy.

“Hey, hey... Hey...” Zack muttered to Aaron, “Yo Babushka’s so old, they had to wheel her out of the extended care during Crimeanian war.”

“Crimea, again, Blyat...” Aaron returned, Vodka spilling from his mouth, “Hey... Yo, yo Babushka’s so freaking ANGRY, the only way you’d find peace in life is to move out and get married!”

“Yo Babushka so tough, they used her to hurdle the first space station into orbit!”

“Yo Babushka, yo freaking Babushka so fff...” OH! Supper, come comrade! Babushka’s waving at us. Story’s over anyway, I tell you more jokes later. How you enjoy it? It was good, right? Wait... A... Aunt Clair? When you get your Scandinavian butt out here? I missed you, it’s been so long Blin ! I thought you ki... Ah, never mind. When you dye your hair that colour? What is that, aqua or something?...”

But she flicked her tongue and it all faded away into nothing more than the dry yeasty morning taste in his mouth...

Before him, he could see the speckled mica of his bedroom ceiling and Aaron wiped the weary crust from his eyes. It was brief, but he could almost still imagine himself there at the table, before the mysterious inhuman figure. “What the heck did I just dream about!? And what the FUCK is a Babushka?”

Happy April first – Danial A. LeBlanc... (Actual chapter inbound, ready for upload and on schedule for tomorrow (For realz this time). If you’ve read the arc markers, you know what’s ahead... Prepare for Цлара, and Миррор Лаке, it’s prophecy time. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to finally write this.)

I’ll archive this chapter in the new “Bonus Content Tab in ‘Literature’, be sure to check out the other content on it’s way there... We have... The unused original text, artworks, and the April First Edition of Nephesh. Davai!

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