In the Dark of Night

The courtyard was empty. Not a single light shone from the surrounding windows. The moon was the only source of illumination but was blocked periodically by the dark clouds above. Rurik shivered as he leaned against the wall of an apartment building, his hands deep in his pockets to keep them warm, and his head protected by a bedraggled ushanka he had found in an abandoned home.

“Where is he?” he thought to himself, tapping his foot impatiently.

A plane went by overhead, and he sank back into the shadow of the building as best he could. They would never spot him, but paranoia was a useful tool in Soviet Russia.

An owl hooted from the big tree in the middle of the courtyard, perched on a branch with the moon behind it. It was there every night, watching over the courtyard. Rurik felt comforted by its presence, looking for it every time he had to come to the courtyard. It had always been there, perched on the branch or hunting for mice. One time Rurik saw it swoop and catch one up in its talons, silent and deadly. It reminded him of those in his town who had disappeared just as suddenly. The owls of the KGB were just as silent, and just as watchful as his friend in the courtyard.

From across the courtyard a pinpoint of light appeared. Rurik straightened up. That was the signal, a lit cigarette, just faint enough to make out but not bright enough to see from far away. For ten seconds the cigarette burned and then was extinguished, by whom he would never know. It was best for the network if no one individual knew too much.

Rurik moved quickly, navigating through the rundown apartment buildings. He had to rely on the locals loyal to the secret resistance to move him safely. They knew the quietest routes, and the consequences if they were caught. These were hard people who had lived hard lives, and had no fear of death, but only of an artificial life. To die for their cause was no tragedy; they knew all there was of tragedy.

He was ushered through dark rooms where hungry families slept, alleyways whose walls had seen more than any mortal alive, and always under threat of being compromised by a guard or a responsible member of the state performing his civic duty by tipping off the authorities.

The final door he was pushed through was to an old bar. The roof had caved in in one of the corners, snow pouring through as the weather grew rougher. He was escorted by a man he didn’t know, taken down into the cellar where the liquor used to be kept.

There was a tarp strung across the room, light showing from underneath it. The man who was escorting him pulled the tarp aside to reveal two other men standing talking. His escort pulled the tarp closed and was gone.

“Brother,” he was greeted by one of the men.

Rurik returned the greeting with a nod.

“You are ready to do what needs to be done?”

“From birth, my friend.” Rurik answered.

“It is a shame you were not born for better things.”

“It is a shame none of us were born for better things.”

The other man there was tall and imposing. He spat and said “Kakaya zanuda. Where are the guns?”

“Calm yourself, Matvey. We will see the American shortly.”

“American?” Rurik asked.

“Yes.”

Again, Matvey spat, and hurled another expletive.

“Brother, why should we rely on an American to help us? We have no need.” Rurik asked.

“Why does it matter who places the spear in our hand, when the bear is about to collapse on us?”

Rurik considered this.

“If there are no more questions, the American is waiting. Come.”

There was a hole in the far wall of the cellar, where a tunnel had been dug. Rurik followed the two men through the tunnel which connected to the sewer system. Filth covered the ground and seeped into Rurik’s boots. There was no headroom, which meant they had to crouch to navigate. They turned a corner in the narrow sewer and came to an open area with ankle-high brown water. Standing there was a man dressed like one of them, with crates around him.

The man spoke, “Valentin. Thought you weren’t going to make it.”

The American clasped hands with their leader.

“Johnson. We are glad you are here.” He shot a warning glance at Matvey before he could spit again.

“Of course. We are always friends to those who want to be free.”

“Freedom comes with a price. These guns will be useful.”

Johnson opened one of the crates and handed each man an AK-47 assault rifle.

“You know how to use them?”

Matvey spat. Valentin quickly put a hand on his arm and said, “Each of us was in the war.”

Rurik examined his rifle, sighting it and testing its weight.

“When will you attack?” Johnson asked.

“Tomorrow night.” Valentin replied.

“So soon?”

“The animals in the prison do not play with their prey for very long.” Rurik replied with venom in his voice.

“Will you help us, friend?” Valentin asked Johnson.

“No. The agency is glad to provide the weapons, but we can’t have an American seen in broad daylight.”

“You are afraid to be seen? The night will be dark, Yankee.” Matvey growled.

“The agency wishes you well.”

With that, Johnson nodded a farewell and disappeared down the tunnel he had come.

§

The prison was on a hill about a mile away from town and surrounded by a forest. The snow was thick, which made it difficult to navigate for the twelve who had been recruited for the assault. They were grouped on the edge of the forest facing the back prison fence. The prison was not large, and there were only two guard towers with spotlights. There were about fifty inmates in total, most of whom political prisoners. Each of the assaulters had someone in there. For Valentin, his son. For Matvey, his father. For Rurik, his fiancée.

“Rurik, is the fence cut?” asked Valentin.

“Yes.”

‘Good. Matvey, the sharpshooters?”

“They are ready. On the hill.” Matvey gestured with his chin.

“Good. Let’s go.”

Valentin gave the signal to move, and the ten men who were not the sharpshooters moved. They timed their approach to avoid the watch of the guard towers, slipping through the hole in the fence made by Rurik earlier that night, and forming on the back wall of the main prison building. To the east was the barracks where the guards slept, and to the west was a smaller building which housed the women’s quarters. Matvey split off with three others and headed to the barracks. Rurik watched him go, striding into the dark with deadly intent.

Valentin and his three snuck into the main building where the men were kept, and Rurik headed west to where the women and his fiancée waited, accompanied by another fighter, Luka, who was barely eighteen years old.

For a week they had planned the assault, placing scouts in the forest to study how many guards there were and to track their patrol routes. Matvey was to eliminate those asleep in the barracks, who made up most of the guards. Valentin would assault the main building and capture the control room. Matvey would link up with him once his business was done.

As for Rurik, the women’s quarters held only two guards. The quarters loomed ahead, and he gestured for Luka to stay low as they approached. The quarters were not in good condition, the building as dilapidated as those in town. A guard was standing outside smoking a cigarette and blocking the door. Rurik and Luka crouched in the shadows, taking stock of the guard. He too had an AK-47, slung over his shoulder.

Rurik took a bullet from his bandolier and threw it behind the guard, hitting a barrel to attract his attention.

The guard turned and Rurik sprinted towards him with his knife bare. He closed the distance quickly and crashed into the guard knife first, plunging the steel deep into the man’s neck as they both fell to the floor. Luka followed and held the man’s mouth closed as he tried to scream. Soon he was dead, and they were painted with his blood.

It was not long until the shooting would start, and they wasted no time entering the building and finding their way to where the women were kept. It was dimly lit, and they struggled to navigate in the dark. They found the cells, where ten women were held, and who began to wake as they heard rough footsteps.

“Alyona! Alyona!” Rurik hissed into the dark.

Ahead of them a man grunted as if he had just woken. They saw him stand from the chair he had been slumped on and hastily raise his rifle. Rurik and Luka also raised theirs, but too slow. The guard fired first, and Luka dropped. Rurik returned fire, and watched the guard hit the wall behind him and slide down it, leaving a red stain.

The women around him were screaming. Rurik checked Luka, but he was already dead, shot through the head. Rurik wasted no time, grabbing the keys from the dead guard and setting the women free. He heard the shooting from the other buildings.

“Alyona! Where are you? Where is Alyona.” He grabbed one of the women by her bony arms and shook her, shouting for Alyona.

“I am Alyona.”

A woman stepped towards him, and he gasped as he saw her face. It was not the same face he had last seen a year ago. Her cheekbones protruded and her skin was pulled tight against them. She was pale as the snow outside, and her hair was cropped as short as a man’s. Her body looked like it could have been snapped by the breeze. After a moment she recognized him, and her eyes widened with shock.

“Rurik? How can it be?

“Alyona, my love.”

They embraced.

“What are you doing here, Rurik?”

“Setting you free. Come now, we cannot linger.”

Rurik led the prisoners out of their quarters and directed them through the fence and into the forest, where the sharpshooters who had taken out the guards in the towers were waiting to cover their retreat. All the while the sound of gunfire was raging around them.

Rurik kissed Alyona’s hand and sent her away with the rest, and then turned back to go and help Valentin and Matvey.

As he turned and was about to go, figures burst around the corner of the main building and came sprinting to where he stood. He recognized Valentin, with a group of men following close behind him.

“Go! We must go!” Valentin screamed as he saw Rurik.

There was no sign of Matvey, or of the others who had gone in. The men running towards him were prisoners. Rurik wasted no time and turned back for the tree line. It wasn’t long until bullets were whizzing over his head. Valentin and the prisoners were between the fence and the trees when one of them went down, and then two. The rest of them made it to the forest. Alyona had held back and waited for Rurik, and he almost crashed into her in his haste.

“My love, you must run! Go!”

He pushed her into action, and then turned back and took cover behind a tree. He sent rounds flying towards the guards, who were approaching the fence. His aim was good, and a guard went down. Another rifle fired next to him, one of the sharpshooters. Another guard down.

Rurik heard a click – out of ammunition. He only had one more magazine. He reloaded and continued to fire. He was to give as much time as he could for the others to escape into the forest. The sharpshooter next to him went down as a bullet passed through his skull. Rurik fired the last of his bullets, threw his rifle down, and started to run.

He heard a crack and at the same time his legs failed him, and he crashed face first into the snow. He could feel nothing from the waist down and reached his hand around to feel warm blood seeping across his back. He rolled himself over with his arms, and looked up at the foliage of the trees, the snow gently falling onto his face and the moon bright overhead. As the guards approached, Rurik slipped away.

The last thing he saw as he stared up at the night sky was an owl circling silently overhead.