Chapter 8: The White Snake
A white-clothed figure sat on the roof of a train car of a Russian TEM7A locomotive, on its way from Moscow to the military checkpoint in Yekaterinburg. This was the White Russian Trans-Siberian railway. The rest of the network had been shut down following the secession of Siberia and all the provinces east of the Urals.
Croak was his call-sign. His real name had been hidden in the White Army’s files, and he himself had long since forgotten. But he didn’t care about that anymore. Croak was his identity – the skull-like helmet on his head was his new face. His true one had been burned off. He forgot the sensation of pain, and the coldness of the Russian wind. He was quite literally unfeeling, and to him, being as cliché as it was, it was both a blessing and a curse.
Croak had night vision and thermal sensors embedded in his helmet, along with a bionic titanium endoskeleton. This allowed him to perform superhuman acts of strength and agility, and also provided for a second bulletproof layer. His uniform consisted of a tight fireproof suit and an ammunition belt on his waist. His titanium staff hung from a strap on his back, and a Makarov pistol was secured in a holster on his right thigh.
He was a member of White Russia’s most powerful secret weapon against the Krasnorussians – the highly controversial Resurrected Infantry Unit – dead soldiers being recycled for post-mortem service. Of course, the members of the Resurrected Infantry Unit were very few in number. They were once under the command of a Captain Gerhardt, himself a victim of a gunshot wound; until the captain went missing; now the unit was leaderless. Not that it was anything to worry about – the unit was only a three man fire squad. Croak was the only active member, as the other two were still in cryo-stasis.
The Resurrected Infantry Unit took its members from the bodies of the dead that nobody could identify – thus, it was a unit of “John Does” who didn’t even remember their own identities when they “woke up.” This is the reason for the mass protests of the citizens of the empire opposing the Resurrected Infantry’s very existence.
But that’s about enough of what Croak was. Now we go to the interesting part – his so-called twin brother.
Croak looked around with his thermal sensors into the snow. Nothing but a mass of blue, indicating low temperature. He assumed that he was safe; however he reminded himself that he could never be safe for long, as long as his virtual double was trailing him.
The soft clanking of metal could be heard a few cars behind him. Croak whirled around and rapidly scanned the roof of the car adjacent to his own – blue. He tilted his head, as if suspicious, and then decided to investigate for himself.
Jumping from car to car with catlike deftness and superhuman agility, he investigated each car very carefully, as if he knew what he was looking for. The yellow lenses of his mask shone in the Russian sun.
Suddenly, he could hear the cocking of a pistol – it was close, dangerously close. He reached for his own weapon, but it was immediately shot out of his titanium-clawed hand.
“Reach for the sky, White scum.” A robotic and grainy voice (with a remotely human character) said from behind him.
It was his double – Dym. He was the Krasnorussian’s own version of Resurrected Infantry – exactly as efficient, and with exactly the same capabilities. And aside from the Krasnorussian black and red opposed to the Imperial white and blue color scheme, exactly the same uniform. They looked almost like brothers, and the fact that they were always fighting only strengthened that.
Croak turned around slowly, his hands raised. Dym was standing on the train behind him, pointing a Yarygin PYa at his head.
“That’s it, comrade. Slowly now – come quietly so that we can place you under arrest.” said Dym, his featureless face mask devoid of any expression.
A soft, gruff laughter came from Croak, as he lowered his head, arms still raised. Dym knew he was planning something.
“What’s so funny?” asked the Krasnorussian.
Suddenly, without warning, the branch of a forest tree knocked Dym down onto the cold, hard roof of the train car; not that it mattered to Dym that it was cold and hard, because he could feel nothing. It did matter, however, that he had lost a potential prisoner.
Croak leapt to his feet and jumped on top of Dym’s back, trying to kick him off the train, or at best under the tracks to be crushed. The latter rolled over, causing Croak to fall as well. Both men were still safe on the roof of the train, but it was an intense competition to see who would be pushed off first.
Their bionic endoskeletons were really helping – they could endure an amazing amount of inhuman punishment and still function normally – but it was for a limited time only, as the skeletons needed to be periodically charged, like one’s mobile phone.
Croak was planning to use this to his advantage – if he could find a source of electricity on the train, he could charge up and easily overpower Dym – unless the latter could somehow manage to stop him first.
Dym gave a sharp head butt to Croak, damaging his sensors a bit, and leapt to his feet, extending a titanium quarterstaff.
“Stand down, comrade.” He said, as he shifted into combat stance.
“Go to hell.” replied Croak.
Without another word, Dym jumped into the air and landed a blow of his staff on Croak’s skull, who fell back a little. The White Russian hit himself in the head in an attempt to correct his sensory equipment, and then charged at Dym, who was quick to somersault over him and kick him in the back, causing him to tumble over.
Then, without warning, metal cords tipped with razor sharp hooks shot out from Croak’s hands, and impaled Dym through the ribs. Croak laughed, satisfied, but Dym quickly pulled both the cords out and pulled them towards him, causing Croak to fly along with them. When the White Russian got close enough, Dym gave him a quick uppercut in the jaw with his titanium knuckles, causing him to fly up into the air and land back down on the roof of the train car with a loud thud. Dym then fired metal cords of his own into both the hands of Croak and pinned him to the car.
“Pawned.” Dym said with an air of humor.
“Stfu.” replied Croak.
A voice interrupted over the radio, “Dym? Do you read me? This is Major Kazansky. Do you have the target?”
“That’s a big ten four, major.”
“Excellent. Troops will be waiting to take the target off your hands in Yekaterinburg. Good work. You really do deserve the title, ‘Defender of the Motherland.’” Kazansky said with a laugh.
“Thank you, sir. Dym out.”
Krovin was awakened by the sound of a whisper – a whisper so loud that it filled the whole room with an echo. He rose from his bed to follow the whisper to its source.
A frightening being floated in the hallway, standing taller than Krovin was; its face a dark void that sucked in all light around it, with two large, bright, glowing eyes staring down at Krovin. It wore something that looked like a robe made of tattered dark matter instead of cloth, and it spoke in a voice like the squeal of a warthog,
“There hassss been… a problem, masssster…” it said, gesturing with its claw-like hands.
Krovin crossed his arms and asked, “What sort of problem? If there has been an interruption in the bringing about of the true form of the Destroyer, then please, tell me now.”
“The white ssssnake – it has been taken by the enemy…”
Krovin glared at the being, and cracked his knuckles. “What else can you tell me?” He said.
The being remained silent and stared him down.
“You are a useless strigoi-mort… the demon within me gives me more physical torment than you ever will.”
Suddenly, the room became black, from the black matter of the being’s cloak, and only its eyes could be seen. Krovin could hear various noises around the room, such as the clashing of swords, the laughter of children, the screaming of women, the battle chants of his people, gunshots, religious chant, drums, and other noises that confused the mind. Gradually, the noises were toned down, and one noise could be heard above all the others – that of a radio transmission
“Dym? Do you read me? This is Major Kazansky. Do you have the target?”
“That’s a big ten four, major.”
“Excellent. Troops will be waiting to take the target off your hands in Yekaterinburg. Good work. You really do deserve the title, ‘Defender of the Motherland.’”
“Thank you, sir. Dym out.”
Then, as suddenly as it had rose, the black matter washed back down like water and was once again reabsorbed into the robe of the being. Krovin nodded his head, seeming to understand.
“Very well – the Krasnorussians have our man. Come, Shadow, I have a plan. I may finally have some use for you after all.”
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