Incarna

60 - Episode 18 Bohdan and Sirin

Day 12 - Eastern Ukraine

Bohdan Barabach struggled to regain his balance as he grabbed desperately for the nearest tree trunk to stop himself from falling. He held on as if he would fall forever if he let go. What a nightmare his world had become.

Another explosion tore open the distant air and through the branches of the trees where he sheltered, he watched another flash of orange and black and then felt a flash of heat and the whuumpf of the explosion as the shock wave reached him even through the sad and war ravaged forest.

If only he’d gone home, as Captain Jim had advised him, but oh no he’d wanted to help document the war crimes of that russian scum of Putin’s puppets. No he’d headed back to the next intervention as soon as he got word of it even with the media blackout against anything Incarna related.

Boh sucked down a deep breath and launched himself from the tree and stumbled to the next then the next and the next. He needed to get away from the fighting. He needed to breathe air that was not tainted by blood and shit and fear. He stumbled into a low branch and fell sideways to the ground with a dull thud. He didn’t feel any bones break but his spirit was broken and his mind reeled from the horrors he’d seen.

He lay there amid fallen leaves and the trampled remains of plants that had probably flowered in spring in the hope of seducing butterflies and bees and moths to pollinate them and so set seed. If they’d been told they would be trampled by the boots of soldiers they probably would have stayed in the ground and not kissed the world with their beauty.

If I’d have ignored that phone call as I was leaving the office that day, or said no to the excited voice of his journalist friend … Curse you Palywoda and your “you should be here Barabach, the whole column was destroyed in seconds. One moment they were passing us, chasing the Ukrainians out of another town and shouting how they would soon have all of Donetsk, and then …”

So he’d convinced his driver to take him down to the Intervention Site, what a mistake, what a life ending trauma it had been. Everywhere there had been destroyed vehicles and everywhere lay parts of soldiers bodies. Some times recognisable as being from a human being, others merely suggestive remains with some piece of blood stained and burnt uniform.

This had been much worse then what he’d seen the first time. What had he and Jim agreed, maybe a dozen or so explosions and the soldiers mostly killed each other in a terror of some sort.

No here there had been many impacts, but then there had been over a hundred vehicles and everyone had been struck in some way!

Out from the destroyed vehicles he’d come across the terror killings. Again men lay bullet ridden, their faces paralysed with fear. Their eyes wide still even after death. What had they seen that had petrified them so much as to make them open fire, even on their comrades.

He’d checked over many of them and they all had Russian uniforms on under a simple khaki military style overall. The Russians hadn’t even bothered to take off their uniforms this time. Rebels hah, bullshit as Captain Jim liked to say!

He and Petrov his driver had found a couple of survivors cowering inside an over turned armoured personnel carrier. They stank of shit and had vomited on themselves and sat huddled together in the only part of the hull that hid them from the outside.

As soon as he’d stuck his head in the APC they’d started screaming and pointing over his shoulder. “Sirin, Sirin”, they’d babbled as if something was behind him trying to get to them before him. One started to plead for him to stop it from eating him alive and then the other had shot the pleading comrade and then swung the weapon at him.

Boh had jumped back just in time and he’d heard the bullet strike the hull somewhere and ricochet inside the APC, and the shooter cried out in pain. He was dead when Bohdan checked back inside again.

Bohdan watched some sort of insect crawl across his vision and disappear among the leaves. He tried to get up but his body refused. Sleep, sleep now it demanded.

Boh fought the urge, using the fear of never waking again to rouse his body enough to rise to his knees. He’d fallen to his knees at the back of the APC and just knelt there as if praying for the dead. The air stank of death and burning machines and a sharpness like vinegar and ozone combined.

He realised his body had ached and he was getting another migraine. Another reason he should not have come but it was too late now. Where was Petrov. He called his name and something answered him but it wasn’t Petrov. He called again and this time the response was closer. He heard a scrabbling sound and looked up at the ruptured tank behind him. Something was clambering on it. No perching on it!

Bohdan felt the cool earth under his hands and the texture of the leaves and the slime of decay that always accompanied moist earth in forests. He’d run and run and run from that perching figure that had glared at him from the destroyed tank, and now here he was lost in some god forsaken forest with god knows what wild animals or armed to the teeth insurgent or trigger happy russian volunteer conscript ready to steal away his life.

There was a noise from nearby and he turned slowly hoping to see the worried face of Petrov who would have finally found him and would take him back to sanity, a hospital and a warm bed.

The Sirin sat on a branch above him and watched. God it was beautiful and it’s eyes promised so much!