SEPTEMBER 2, 2019
HEREFORD, ENGLAND
UNCLE TOMMY'S STEAKHOUSE
Lera "Finka" Melnikova sat by herself at a table in a dark corner of the steakhouse. Dim lighting accompanied lively banter and chatter amongst the pub's patrons, and slurred shouts mixed with drunken laughter and the clinking of glasses and silverware.
It was raining outside, as it always seemed to be, and Finka gazed out at the darkness beyond the droplet-stained glass. The dull glow from the overhead lamp cast half of her face in shadow, and she found her own eyes for a fleeting moment before averting her gaze and tilting her glass of vodka to her lips.
She wondered for a moment if she found vodka too refreshing.
"Well, look who it is."
Finka turned to see Tachanka had wandered in. The bear of a man let out an obnoxious sigh as he sank into the seat across from her.
"Listen to you, Alexsandr." She smirked before downing the rest of her vodka. "Like an old man."
Alex folded his arms. "I'm not afraid to say that this seat is damned comfortable."
"Oh, so I was mistaken."
"Da."
The woman rolled her eyes. "Drink?"
"Mm."
As Alex turned and raised his arm to catch the attention of the nearest waiter, the front door to the steakhouse opened again, allowing the sound of heavy rain to flow in like an aroma. Finka turned to see her teammates, Shuhrat "Fuze" Kessikbayev and Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda, enter, and flagged them down with a wave.
Shuhrat sat across the table next to Tachanka, and Maxim slid into the seat next to Finka.
One of the waiters reached their tableside, producing a small notepad and pen with practiced efficiency. "Good evening. What can I get you?"
"Vodka," Alex replied. "Couple rounds of shots."
Finka straightened in her seat. "We'll take the bottle, actually."
Her proclamation elicited a hearty cheer from the men around her, and the waiter chuckled. "Bottle of vodka for our Russian friends." He smiled at them. "Russian Standard, like last time?"
The woman nodded.
"Very well. I'll be right back with that, and we can get you some food."
* * *
Nearly an hour later found the Spetsnaz foursome feasting on hearty helpings of fish and chips, bangers and mash, and chicken wings. They had obliterated most of the bottle of Russian Standard before the food had arrived, and Finka found herself beyond tipsy as she poured another shot of vodka.
Kapkan nudged her with his elbow. "Slow it down, hm?"
"Fuck off, Max."
The man laughed and raised his own shot glass. "To comrade Glazkov, who couldn't be here with us tonight because he's busy training recruits."
The others chuckled and raised their glasses. Tachanka looked to Finka, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "How about a toast from you, Lera?"
"Da," chimed Fuze. "You invited us all here, after all."
Finka's wide smile began to fade. She watched the shot glass in her fingers' grasp, her hand lingering in mid-air. The lights of the restaurant began to fade out of focus, blurring the vodka in her glass. Her head swayed with alcohol's embrace, but she knew it wasn't the source of the haze in her vision.
"Lera?"
The woman blinked. "To hard times, comrades. They make us who we are."
Alex, Shuhrat, and Maxim all exchanged glances. Finka's words washed over them, and much like the vodka that burned their throats and warmed their guts, it settled in and deepened with each passing moment.
Alexsandr shifted in his seat. "Lera."
Finka's eyes were fixed on her hands, and she was fidgeting about with them on the table. She could feel the tears beginning to form.
"Lera."
The woman bit her lip and wrung her hands together. She bowed her head in embarrassment as she tried to stifle the tears welling up in her eyes. Sorrow was beginning to weigh upon her. One of Finka's greatest nightmares was to look weak to the men in front of her.
"Lera," Tachanka tried again patiently. He cast an uneasy glance at his companions before reaching across the table and putting a gentle hand on the woman's forearm. "What's wrong?"
Miraculously, Finka willed the impending tears away. She squared herself and nodded at Alexsandr, who lifted his hand from her arm. "I brought you boys here tonight because I... I have some news." She sniffed. "It's not good."
The men shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Fuze took the bottle and poured some more vodka into Finka's glass.
"No more," she whispered. "Thank you."
Shuhrat nodded. "Tell us what's going on, Melnikova. You know we've got your back."
"What's wrong?" asked Kapkan.
Finka took a deep breath and exhaled deeply. "You all know I've been in remission for some time now. I grew up in Gomel, and you know how it was there for us after Chernobyl." She paused and bit her lip. "Doc and Lion know what I'm about to tell you. I knew Glaz wasn't going to be able to make it here tonight, so I told him too."
Tachanka was surprised at how much it stung him to know that Lera had not confided in him or the other Russians first, but he forced that feeling aside and clasped his hands together. "You're making us nervous. What is it?"
"Well, Alex...." Finka trailed off. She defied her earlier request of Shuhrat and took the shot of vodka he had poured for her, ignoring the burn and slamming the glass down to the table. "Okay. Here it is. My condition - the peripheral neuropathy - it's back. I'm out of remission."
The others stared in shock. Alex opened his mouth to speak, but could say nothing. Maxim's gaze fell to the crumb-filled plate in front of him. Shuhrat let out a low whoosh of air, feeling like he had been punched in the stomach.
Finka swallowed hard. "Doc spotted it first. I have him to thank."
"What do you mean he 'spotted' it?" asked Kapkan.
"He's been helping me for some time now with my research, monitoring my personal health reports, progress charts." The woman flashed a tragic smile. "He saw warning signs a couple weeks ago. Then the numbness started last week. Felt it in my fingers when I was carrying my gear to the firing range. I hoped to God I was imagining it, but when I started grouping drills with my .308, I realized I couldn't feel the trigger."
More silence fell across the group. The voices of the other patrons all blended together into one inaudible buzz, and thunder in the Hereford sky punctuated it all with a muffled roar beyond the rain-stained windows.
It was Kapkan who cleared his throat and finally broke the silence. "So where does that leave us?"
Finka smiled. It warmed her that Maxim had said 'us' - one word made her feel like she wasn't alone. "Six has pulled me off the Ready List. It's important that I continue my training and fitness regimen, and thankfully she agrees." She suddenly bowed her head and groaned, covering her mouth. "Oh, fuck."
Her comrades burst into a chorus of laughter, and Maxim clapped a hand to her shoulder. "Vodka is tasteless going down... but is memorable coming up, yes?"
"Fuck off, Max."
"That's twice she's said that to me tonight," Kapkan chuckled. "I must be doing something right."
The men shared another laugh as Finka stood shakily and made her way across the pub to the restroom. When she was out of sight, they all shared their dismay with hung heads and slurred curses.
While her companions ached over the news, Finka steadied herself on the restroom sink and looked at herself in the mirror the best she could. The walls seemed to be moving, and she scolded herself for drinking too much, too fast.
She berated herself for not finding a longer term treatment. A cure. Anything. Lera had some of the best tech in the world, a bottomless budget and state of the art facilities, and yet she had failed in her endeavors.
Finka washed her hands and splashed water on her face. She knew she was being too hard on herself.
She didn't care.