Over seven billion of us and in matter of few hours that number reduced to few hundred thousand. A global mass murder and no one talked about it anymore. Everyone were busy with their lives the way it was and everyone in the village had accepted it. What worried me most was that my fellow soldiers were getting comfortable with the way things were, trying to fit their feet inside shoes that were two size small, metaphorical of course. One can't blame them, they were brought into a strange world and they knew nothing about the world before it. I still had some memories of my childhood. Memories of my house far from the city, of my parents sitting by the fireplace, the warmth of the burning wood, and the red hat on the snowman I made outside our home in Ladakh, beneath the ash sky. Those were the memories of a five year old boy without any worries or corruption. Memories of a life before the bombs fell.
The survivors were witness of a world charred by greed and foolishness of some people at the top of the power ladder. Twenty years after the war, that lasted only six hours, an unending winter followed. Governments were stripped down and replaced with anarchy, people responsible for the war had a fate far worse than their victims, military was the only body that was respected and at the top of the command chain. One might think that after such foolish war, the survivors would shred the tribal instinct and pledge "Never Again" like we did after WW2. Instead, invasions and Irregular Warfare became common news. So the militaries of different nations joined hands and declared Fratricide to defend their borders and survivors. On one such mission a group of Indian soldiers were sent to a village at the East border, Nepal, and I was part of it. The Silver Battalion EB.
One night, I was getting ready for my night shift inside my camp.
"Avinash, this is Colonel Viktor, are you at your position?" Colonel Viktor Kuznetsov's gruff voice suddenly spoke over my radio. I shifted my AK-203 to my back and picked up the radio. Latching it on a hook on my vest I said, "No, colonel I am waiting for the radio signal to begin my shift."
"Report to me at the East gate." He said.
"Affirmative."
Colonel Viktor was the commander of a Russian Ground Forces group. How he and his squad ended up with an Indian Battalion in a village in East Nepal is a long story. Important to me was that he was one of the friendlies and a reputed commander. I took my Geiger counter and an extra clip of 7.62 ammo, then stepped out. A triad of Tejas jet fighters flew by over our camps, its a routine check securing the air space. Their engines roared and tore the silent night, something you hear in a nightmare.
I started jogging towards east, other soldiers rested in their tents or stood by smoking. A Jeep slowed beside me and Sanjeev Sengar, my friend, was driving it. He asked, "You want a lift bro?"
"No, er I need...I must work my muscles." I replied.
"Colonel radioed us, we headed to the East gate." He said.
"I need some jog." I said.
He drove off and I noticed two soldiers in the back. They were the survivors from the battle at North border. Their faces had blank expression.
When I got closer to the East side I saw two soldiers were carrying a body inside. They put the body in back of the Jeep and Sanjeev drove it towards North where doctor was stationed. The sniper at the top of the watchtower was unusually alert and constantly checking the angle looking over the forest. The two soldiers from the Jeep stood outside the gate waiting with colonel. I arrived at the gate, almost out of breath. Colonel glared at me with his blood shot eyes and stepped closer. I saluted.
"Reporting sir!" I said loud enough.
"You are late, why didn't you come in the Jeep with them?" He asked.
