Andriy Karamazov

“Checkpoint 9! I am Lt. Kirilov, the Commander of the Omega-4 squad, Kerzhovian Special Containment Unit. Do you copy?” – Not even waiting for an answer, he continued: “We are approaching you from the southeast, two green Toyotas Trailhunter, 10 fighters. Arrival time 07:49 pm.” – He paused. – “Don’t get jumpy.” 

”This is Sergeant Ivchenko, State Perimeter Guard, Checkpoint 9. Copy. We expected you way later today.”

”We drive fast. Over.”

The road wound through the winter wasteland. The snow had been falling since midday and hid the road completely, but the cars did not struggle. Inside it was stuffy and the fighters sweated. Outside it was pitch dark, only the lights of Toyotas struggling through the curtain of falling snow. The view had an alien touch to it. 

A bend left. The convoy slowed down. Another turn. A young deer darted across the road. Kirilov rested his right hand on his AK-74, his left ran over the pockets searching for Marlboro. Nobody had said a word since nightfall. 

“You still alive back there?” – Kirilov muffled while holding an unlit cigarette in his mouth. 

“Just chilling, boss.” – the Fifth answered for all. 

“Almost there, boys. We get clearance from those SPG dogs, then press on after a rest.” – Kirilov said, trying to follow the ride through the window. He soon gave up, closed his eyes, and saw a white falling curtain. “Damn snow. Winter in Kerzhovia will drive even a corpse mad.”

”After this turn.” – the Fourth said, slowing down the Toyota. 

The convoy rolled out onto the last hundred meters to Checkpoint 9 at the Outer Circle Barrier. Soon the outpost showed itself. A one storey concrete box, a schlagbaum, two light poles on both sides of the road, the usual concrete blocks cutting off the road, piles of sandbags scattered around – now all densely covered by a white blanket. Two shadows smoked at the outpost porch. The convoy took to the right and parked in front of the building. The Toyotas shone with droplets of melted snow on them. 

“What a shithole” – Kirilov slammed the car door, then spat in the snow and marched to the porch. On the way he noticed a short watchtower across the street and a sentry on it. Then he lit his Marlboro before reaching the porch.

“I need to talk to Sergeant Ivchenko. Where is he?” 

Nobody greeted or saluted. When one of the smokers wanted to answer, a short middle aged soldier with a beer belly shuffled out of the nearest room on the left into the hallway.

“Lt. Kirilov? Good evening. I am Sergeant Ivchenko, of the State Perimeter Guard. I was informed about your arrival. We expected you way later tonight.” – The Sergeant stopped about a meter in front of the newcomer in a new dark-blue camo and black tactical vest. 

”Sergeant, hello.” Kirilov narrowed his eyes, the left corner of his mouth twisted. – “We need clearance from the State Perimeter Guard to pass the Outer Circle Barrier. Do you have it prepared?” 

“Not yet.” – Ivchenko glanced again over Kirilov’s uniform. The vest and the camo smelled of detergent and chemicals. There were four AK-74 magazines stuck in the front pockets. – “The protocol says I need to identify everyone of you, compare the IDs with the central log, confirm them with the HQ and only then get the clearance for you. That takes time.” – Ivchenko answered and hooked his thumbs behind his belt. Kirilov took a drag on his Marlboro and exhaled through the nose, his stare fixed somewhere around Sergenat’s neck. 

“Haven’t you had the entire evening to arrange that in advance? We are not here to pick up mushrooms over the weekend. To delay the convoy by locking it in this…” 

“… shithole is what I must do according to the state security protocol. It is a shithole, but it is my shithole and I command it.”

”Then command it faster. Sergeant.” – Kirilov pressed the cigarette butt against the wall and put it out. Then dropped it on the floor and returned to Toyotas. 

“Prepare your SCU IDs and check with the fat Sergeant. Take inside what you need for the next several hours of stay. The Seventh, you take the first guard shift at the cars. Let the Tenth change you in an hour. Then the Ninth.” 

“Yes, Sir.”

Kirilov hung his AK-74 on his back and pulled out another Marlboro. “Son of a bitch”. The Seventh switched the selector on his Kalashnikov into the fully automatic position and started pacing around the cars. The rest moved into the room with three windows facing the road. 

The time dragged. The checkpoint was so silent that you could hear wild boars in the forest from a kilometer away. At some point the SPG changed the guards not following any protocol in the course of it. The waiting room drowned in the shroud of cigarette smoke. SCU fighters half-sat, half-laid around, all clutching to their guns. Kirilov inspected every room in the building and noticed there was not a single clock in any. Damp air mixed with the smell of mold and sweat itched his nose. He found the Sergeant at the listening post with one of the privates. The soldier snorted with his head on the log book. Ivchenko was digging deep in a tuna can with an aluminum spoon. Kirilov clenched his right fist, then moved on. The next moment the checkpoint radio receiver came to life and the Lieutenant heard a familiar rasp from a loudspeaker:

”Checkpoint 9! I am Lt. Kirilov, the Commander of the Omega-4 squad, Kerzhovian Special Containment Unit. Do you copy? We are approaching you from the southeast, two green Toyotas Trailhunter, 10 fighters. Arrival time 00: 49 am.” – Pause. – “Don’t get jumpy. 

Kirilov froze, not realizing at first what hit him. The radio went silent. “That is my transmission… My voice.” 

“Say it again, asshole!” – Kirilov stormed into the room shouting and grabbed the radio. – “What was that, Sergeant?”

The private was awake and rubbing his left eye. Ivchenko froze holding the tuna can and the spoon in his hands half way to the mouth. He stopped chewing and looked at the loudspeaker, then at Kirilov. Two big drops of fat formed on his lower lip and crawled down on the chin. He hunched and spread his arms. 

“Checkpoint 9! Do you copy?” 

The voice came through again, sharp with anger and impatience. 

“What’s going on at this shithole outpost?!” – Kirilov shoved the radio under Ivchenko’s nose and nodded. The Sergeant wiped his chin with the left arm and answered: 

“Here is Sg. Ivchenko, Checkpoint 9 commander.” – He swallowed, wiped his mouth again and shifted on his chair. – “Please, repeat”. He glanced at Kirilov. The Lieutenant drew heavy loud breaths. 

“Goddamnit, SPG! Pull your shit together! This is Lt. Kirilov, Omega-4, SCU. We arrive at 00:49 am to your checkpoint. Need clearance to pass the Second Circle Barrier. Get the paperwork done! Over!”

Kirilov checked his watch and looked at the Sergeant. Ivchenko’s belly raised in sync with his fast breathing; he unbuttoned his shirt at the collar, then met Kirilov’s stare. His mouth opened, but the Sergeant remained silent. The lieutenant barged out into the hallway. 

“Omega-4! Boyevava trevoga! False convoy on approach!” – Kirilov grabbed his AK-74.

“Lieutenant, what the hell?”

“Someone on our tail! Pretending to be us. Terrorists, insurgents! Secure the suitcases and take up your positions!”

“Lieutenant? Who would try to compromise the convoy? Why?” – Ivchenko joined Omega in the hallway, holding a Makarov in his hand instead of the spoon.

“The fuck I know! You are guarding the Perimeter, not me! All sorts of scum scavenge the zone these days.”

Omega moved. The Seventh and the Tenth joined the Ninth outside by the trucks, taking positions behind the concrete blocks. The Second and The Third moved the furniture away from the room center and to the windows. Kirilov dropped to one knee by the entrance. The rest rushed to the trucks to secure the freight. In less than half a minute Omega laid silent in the positions, all guns pinning down the road. Ivchenko was busy pushing his own men, his loud, panicked breathing and indecisiveness getting on Kirilov’s nerves. 

The distant light was closer by the second. First it was just a halo far away, coming somewhere from the furthest road bend. Then it got brighter and car lights flooded the last hundred meters in front of the checkpoint. Two green Toyotas Trailhunter, smeared with brown mud and clay, rolled up and pulled over on the opposite side of the building. The engines stopped. Ten Special Containment Unit fighters in black uniforms jumped out in the snow and fanned out like a well-rehearsed team. 

“What a shithole” – a fighter with Lieutenant insignia slammed the car door, shoved a cigarette in his mouth and wanted to march to the outpost. – “Where is everyone?”

Hiding around the corner by the building entrance, Kirilov stood speechless on one knee. His assault rifle was still pointed down to the floor. He stopped breathing for what seemed like eternity, staring at such a familiar face of the approaching newcomer. He spied around.

“That is the Fourth… And those two – the Seventh and the Ninth. What the fuck…” – A forced exhale. – “Act now! Freeze! Nobody moves!” 

Two dozen guns popped out of darkness and aimed at the incoming convoy. Kirilov aimed at the Lieutenant. The newcomers all raised their Kalashnikovs, everyone stopped in their tracks. Their commander took a cigarette from his mouth and exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke. It hung in the air between him and the barrel of Kirilov’s AK-74. His gaze wandered from the gun to its owner. Same height and stature, same face, same short hair and a scar on the right brow.

“What the fuck…”

Nobody spoke. The Kirilovs had their stare down. Cold bit the faces. Somewhere in the background Ivchenko’s lungs ran amok. It stopped snowing. A wolf howled far in the distance. The Lieutenant’s cigarette burned till the butt. He let it fall down. “Act now”. He looked dazzled at Kirilov: 

“What is going on here? Who are you? Who is in ch–?” 

“Shut up! I am asking questions!” – Kirilov said and took a small step back. – “Identify yourself!”

“Lt. Kirilov, the commander of Omega-4 squad, Special Containment Unit. I lead a convoy of nine fight–”

“Bullshit!” – Kirilov shouted, his whole torso raising and falling fast. – “I am Lt. Kirilov! And I am leading my convoy–”

“– to the Forward Observation Post in the Outer Zone. My mission is to deliver the Class 2 freight to Major–”

“– Ozhegov and remain 48 hours at the Post during the field tests.” – Kirilov finished the sentence. 

“To assist during the field tests” – the Lieutenant of the incoming convoy spelled out each syllable piercing Kirilov with his eyes – “and make sure no human casualties occur in its course.” 

Silence fell. Nobody moved. The thin white clouds in front of the faces were the only sign of life for the next several seconds of eternity. 

“Identify your fighters!” – Kirilov commanded, still aiming at his double.  

“You are not in charge here” – the newcomer answered while surveying the faces of the first convoy fighters. He then looked at his own troop.

“Do as I say – you are on the wrong side of the gun, asshole!” – Kirilov’s arms trembled. He shifted back and left, closer to the checkpoint door. He already knew the answer to his own question. The newcomer did not hurry to say anything and just stared at the Lieutenant. 

At the building’s entrance Kirilov almost bumped into Ivchenko. The Sergeant tried to hide behind the door frame with his pistol in one hand. 

“Lt. Kirilov” – Ivchenko’s voice was low, he gasped for air and was white as a bride’s dress – “what is all of this? All these people look exactly like… you and your escort. The cars, look at the trucks – the same licence plates…”. 

“I am not blind, Sergeant!”

“I won’t have SCU blood on my watch.”

“They are not SCU!” – Kirilov half-turned to Ivchenko, shouting almost straight in his face. 

“YOU are not SCU, scumbag” – a split second was enough for the Lieutenant’s double to pull out his Glock and aim back at Kirilov. 

“How… How do you know it, Lieutenant?” – Ivchenko glanced at Kirilov, then shifted his gaze to the newcomer Lieutenant, then back to the first one. – “I am looking at an identical convoy… I told you you were to arrive way… way later today”. 

“Check their IDs!” – Kirilov almost made it inside the building. – “Go check their IDs, goddamnit!”. 

“Lieutenant Kirilov, I am the checkpoint commander. I will decide how to proceed. Your jurisdiction–”

“Fuck you and your jurisdiction, fatass! Check their IDs!”

Ivchenko inched himself out of the building. Every step was an effort. He made it out only so far as to be able to address the newcomers. 

“I am Sg. Ivchenko, of the State Perimeter Guard.” – his gaze circled the second convoy, then stopped at their Lieutenant. – “I am the Commander of this Checkpoint at the Second Circle Barrier. Lieutenant–” – he paused – “Kirilov, collect the IDs of your personnel and put them together with your own ID here in front of the building. I must also see your written orders, consignments and anything that can identify you.”

Kirilov obeyed. Less than one minute later Ivchenko shuffled a pile of 10 dark green booklets and several folders in his stiff fingers. His mouth was half-opening and closing in the process, not producing any sounds.

“Lt. Kirilov” – he turned his head to the first convoy commander who was now over the threshold in the hallway with his AK-74 still up – “I must see all your IDs again, for the comparison. And the rest of the paperwork you carry along”. 

“Sergeant, now it is time to contact the HQ” – the second convoy Kirilov said. – “We are not here to collect mushrooms. This is a state level security breach!”

“Yeah? And what exactly should I report?” – the Sergeant spun around and made a jerky arm movement in the direction of Kirilov’s double. His face got red. – “What? You tell me! The moment I say I have a duplicate convoy on my checkpoint I will be dismissed from the Army for drinking or hallucinating. I would never believe this shit myself if I did not see it in front of my eyes right now!” 

“We are not a duplicate convoy – pay attention to your language, Sergeant!” 

“You are terrorists! And in the wrong uniform!” – Kirilov shouted from the hallway. 

“We wear the SCU field operations uniform as assigned by SCAD, asshole.” – Kirilov spat in the snow.

“Did you even plan to reach the Observation Post? Why do you need the freight?”

“I guess you realize, shitass, what are the consequences if Ozhegov does not get his gear on time!” – the second convoy’s Kirilov tilted his head to the right and hissed: – “Or did you not plan to go to the Observation Post?”

“Everyone – silent now!” – Ivchenko shouted and placed himself between two commanders. – “This checkpoint is under my authority!” – He put his gun away and kept turning his head, shifting from one leg onto the other. Speaking came with an audible effort. – “We don’t contact anyone!” He almost added OK at the end but caught himself at the last moment. The sound got stuck somewhere in his throat. – “If this shit leaks out, everyone here will be affected! Now, I am gonna compare the documents. Oh crap…”

Ivchenko put the paper pile on the windowsill and hunched over it. His frozen hands wouldn’t obey him, but he forced himself through all twenty IDs and the rest of the paperwork. He murmured something to himself in the process, compared the signatures, and even raised some documents to the light. 

“All completely identical… All the time stamps are the same… Even the departure time… The departure time…” – Ivchenko talked to himself while his finger was tracing the lines of text on the yellow A4 sheets. – “The departure time…” 

The Sergeant tried to shift his legs but lost his balance and staggered to the side. He caught himself and placed his left hand on the forehead. His breath was heavy. Ivchenko raised his eyes and looked around. Twenty armed fighters aimed at each other – everybody at their own double. It started to snow again. 

“Lt. Kirilov” – Ivchenko said to the second convoy commander – “when did you leave the KAF base today?”

“3 pm local time. The dispatch was overseen and logged by KAF Sg. Panchenko”. 

“Bullshit! We left the KAF base at 3 pm local time! Sg. Krasnov logged it” – Kirilov shouted from the hallway. – “The Second, Krasnov logged you when leaving!”

“It was the Sergeant, yes, Lieutenant.” – The Second answered after a pause, then added in a lower voice: “I do not remember the name anymore.”

“Sg. Panchenko” – his double said with the audible intention of putting a period in the exchange.

“You do not need that much time to cover the distance between the base and this checkpoint” – Ivchenko intervened. With his eyes wide open, his gaze shifted from one face to the next one, from the second convoy to the first one.

“You cannot cover it in 4 hours either” – the second convoy Kirilov looked at his double the checkpoint hallway. – “We had to bypass the Freight Train Depot over the old clay quarry. We are on bad terms with the ‘Shiled’ fighters there”. 

With the paperwork still in his hands, Ivchenko gestured in the direction of the building: 

“Lower your weapons. It will take time. I must interrogate all of you. Come inside the checkpoint, everyone.” 

“No” – both Kirilovs answered at the same time, sharp as if cut off with a knife. 

“We were here first and we get the clearance to go!”

“You are the impostors and a threat to the state security!”

“We were already cleared by the HQ before your ass even arrived here!”

“You cann–” 

A radio at the listening post in the building crackled and a weak, metallic voice came through:

“Checkpoint 9! Checkpoint 9! This is the Forward Observation Post. Do you copy? Have you cleared the Class 2 freight convoy yet? When have they left? We cannot reach them!”

Everyone looked at Ivchenko. White snow covered his shoulders and hid the insignia. His hair was wet. Nobody spoke. Half a dozen fighters tightened their grip around their AK-74s. The private operating the listening post appeared at the threshold. 

“Tell them…um. Say the convoy got cleared but is still at the checkpoint.” 

Ivchenko wiped his face with his hand, dropping several documents in the snow. When picking them up, the wet shining of the first convoy Toyotas caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder – the cars of the newcomers carried a layer of thick, fresh mud. “Freight Depot, clay quarry…” Clenching the paperwork pile in his hands, Ivchenko just stood motionless, his eyes scanning both troops. The fighters all aimed at their doubles. 

“Tell them… the convoy departure time from the checkpoint is 2 am”. 

“Yes, Sir”. 

Ivchenko opened his mouth to say something else. Then closed it. Nobody said a word. He took a step towards the building, then backtracked and pulled out a cigarette. As he brought it to his lips, his lower jaw twitched and the cigarette fell in the snow. He picked it up with a groan, rubbed the jaw and lit it. 

“Lt. Kirilov, khh… You come with me now to my office.” – Ivchenko cleared his throat. – “You, Lieutenant, um… I will call you next. When I am done here… with your colleague.” – On the way in the building Ivchenko saw two of his fighters: “Vasiliev, Savchenko – you two help me in the office.” 

* * *

The snow kept falling. One of the street lights at the Outpost burned down and the darkness crawled up almost to the building. A solitary man stood in the middle of the road, smoking. An old army coat could not fully cover his big belly. Far in the distance two pairs of moving red lights cut through the night.

* * *

Log Book. Checkpoint 9, Outer Circle Barrier.

…

December 18, 2:00 am

The Special Containment Unit Class 2 freight convoy of Lt. Kirilov to the Forward Observation Post was cleared for crossing of the Outer Circle Barrier. Signed: Sg. Ivchenko. 

December 18, 2:– am

The Special Containment Unit Class 2 freight convoy of Lt. Kirilov to the Forward Observation Post was cleared for crossing of the Outer Circle Barrier. Signed: Sg. Ivchenko. 

…