Admiral
Hey all,
After a long while, SM has decided to try his had a writing again. So here's another short story of sorts. Comments and feedback are very welcome, specially on style, punctuation, etc, as I haven't written in english in a while too...
A cookie will go to the first to guess who the character in the story is, as it is historically inspired.
Enjoy:
Admiral
The admiral knelt in front of the ray of light coming through the barred window, enjoying the feeling of the frosty winter air on his skin. “There probably will not be many more opportunities.” he though. He remained kneeling, with his eyes closed until he felt a ray of sunshine on his face. Then, suddenly, he wanted to imagine God looking at him, and he opened his eyes, looking past the walls and the window, and the blizzard, across thousands miles of frozen steppe and enemy armies into the house where he was born. He thought about Anna. She was near, somewhere. He chased the image out of his mind. This was not the time.
Then he made the sign of the orthodox cross on his face and prayed loudly, audibly, speaking to this God who for a minute seemed ready to listen.
He heard hurried steps outside - it sounded like the guards were dragging something heavy. “Viktor” his mind suggested. But he dismissed that thought too.
He breathed in the frosty air.
“This piece of land, whipped by the winds, the snow, of rough peoples who are used to sweating and bleeding just to get it to grow their sustenance.” he thought. Suddenly he imagined the taiga as a strict, tough parent, of those - he remembered his own – that made his children fence until they bled, bathe in cold streams, work for the food on the table. He imagined him like an old Viking warrior, of powerful complexion, and large, white, flowing beard and hair covering old scars, big, bushy eyebrows above hard, cold eyes. The blizzard was merely the frown of this embodiment of the northern land. He prayed to God, but in his mind, this ruler of the taiga was present too.
“Please be compassionate with those I will leave, Lord, on this forgetful land.” he thought of comrades, some already dead before his eyes, family, friends, Anna. “Please go to my home, and close the doors and windows so that my children don’t get to see the bloody trail we have left.” His enemies as well as his friends.
Somewhere outside he recognised the dry, sharp sound of a gunshot. “Nagan” he guessed, unconsciously.
“And have mercy on my soul.” he added softly and almost inaudibly, “I have nothing else to appeal to. Just mercy.”
Then he closed his eyes for another moment, until the blizzard took the ray of sunshine from his window. He slowly opened his eyes again, clenched his teeth, and got up on his feet. He inspected his uniform that he had tried to keep as impeccable as possible, arranged his medals, and knocked on the door.
“Now I’m ready, gentlemen. Or whatever you call yourselves.”
He heard the guards shout in the corridor. One of them left to get his superior. A few moments later, hurried steps entered the corridor, and the admiral saw four men approaching. Two of them were soldiers, as far as he could tell - for this rabble did not wear uniforms - they had red stars badly stitched to their shirts and hats, the third was a man with a fierce moustache and fanatical eyes, skinny and dressed in clothes that seemed to big for his frame. The fourth was a short and fat sergeant with a black beard and white hair that came from under his hat in disorder and almost covered the large scar above what remained of his right eye.
The tall and skinny one wasn’t armed, so the admiral thought he was a civilian. They were busy with the keys outside. Finally they entered.
The admiral stood in the centre of the room, with his arms clasped behind his back. The arrogant attitude of the visitors changed as soon as they entered the room. Some still remembered his summary executions for treason and unionism. The civilian looked at him with a vengeful, almost wolfish grin.
“Have you prepared your defence, admiral?” he asked in a tone that did not leave room for optimism.
“I have. Even though coward traitors like you do not have the right to investigate me.” said the admiral.
The civilian looked at the sergeant, and the latter moved up to the admiral and tried to grab him by the jacket to push him out of the room. But the admiral didn’t let him, he slapped the man’s face with the back of his open palm, a hard slap, which startled everyone in the room and made the sergeant recoil backwards. The soldiers looked at each other and forgot about their rifles.
“Don’t you dare touch the epaulettes of a Guardsman! Don’t you dare touch the medals I received from the Tsar! You treacherous peasants!” his voice suddenly boomed across the hallway.
There was a silence during which the sergeant and the admiral burrowed each other with their eyes. “I could still forgive the misery of your dim intelligence, but what I cannot forgive in a soldier is a dirty gun.” the admiral finally observed, calmly. The storm had passed as suddenly as it had started. The sergeant looked at the Nagan tucked inside his belt. It was indeed unpolished.
His only eye was full of hatred. The civilian stepped in. “Let’s go back to the judicial chamber.”
The sergeant, with barely contained fury left the room, followed by the civilian and the admiral, while the soldiers closed the formation. They took him through the dark corridors of the building, across the street. The ‘chamber’ was a dark low room, which had obviously served as some kind of storage. The only light came through the small, high windows near the ceiling. There was a table in the centre, and four people sat behind it. The civilian joined them. The admiral recognised another silhouette in the darkness, Viktor. He looked at the admiral and tried to force a smile.
“In the name of the Bolshevik Revolutionary Committee, we ask you to present your defence, admiral.” said a voice behind the table.
The admiral turned to face them. His mind was made up, and his thoughts were clear. He had read the Hagakure once, and the first maxim of the samurai had made sense to him now.
“Leave to the middle-school girls this revolutionary fervour of yours. It does not suit grown men to hide in the multitude and in the dark.” his voice was strong, even Viktor looked at his defiance surprised.
“You are a traitor to this country, admiral…” the same voice replied from the table.
The admiral forced a laugh, interrupting the speech. “It is not for those to serve truthfully and honourably who know neither truth nor honour. I am not a traitor to my oath to my Tsar. You, and others of your kind, are the ones who have set fire to this country.
“Yes, you can learn to kill, shoot your enemies. You must believe me, however, when I say that you have sacrificed a thousand years of duty and honour to fill your insatiable gut for one year. And then you will squabble amongst yourselves like wolves for the remains of this poor country.” his voice had turned much quieter. However the silence in the room was such that they heard the wind outside.
“This court has heard enough, admiral. This was your last chance for defence. We received orders from the Central Committee this morning for your execution as traitors and enemies of the nation.” the voice at the table grew stronger, as if his doubts were fading. “You and Viktor Pepelyayev, are sentenced to death.” he looked at the admiral. “I have insisted that you are shot, as a military man, rather than hanged like a thief.” he finished.
Pepelyayev hung his head, and the admiral heard quiet sobs. He said nothing, turned around and walked out into the cold air. The soldiers were outside.
The guards took him to an adjacent courtyard. There were bloody marks in the bright snow. The admiral noticed his chaplain’s body lying on a bench, his face in the snow. “The holy father” he murmured “the soother of souls. May God have mercy on his.”
The sergeant pointed him at the wall that had blood and bullet marks. There was a large tree in the middle of the courtyard, stripped bare by the winter, half covered in snow. The admiral noticed painfully that everything was so white and beautiful. For the first time he came close to regretting his situation.
The soldiers had gathered, but were unwilling to volunteer for the task. Some still feared him, others were too young and inexperienced. They were standing in circle around the sergeant, arguing.
“It is my hour of death, and you rabble are standing without uniforms, or discipline!” the admiral exclaimed as he walked towards them. This had to be done. If they hesitated, the Reds, who had more reason to hate him would arrive to the city. They would torture Anna.
“I want military honours.” he said. “Sergeant, form your men in a line here” he pointed, parallel to the wall, at twenty paces.
The sergeant, as surprised as the soldiers, numbly obeyed, and the line was formed. The admiral paced along the line. “Sergeant, take the name of this man, he is unshaven!” he said to the sergeant who was absolutely out of his depth. Had the admiral ordered him to go storm the city, his first instinct would have been to obey. The man’s charisma was immense. “Throw out that horrible cigarette, soldier.” the admiral ordered. The man obeyed.
“Now” he said “train your arms for salute!” the men did. “Fire.” he ordered. The volley startled everyone, including him. He had forgotten about why he was there.
He paced back to the wall. “Arms to the front.” he ordered “Make ready.” The soldiers obeyed, saw him in their sights, and looked at the sergeant doubtfully. He was looking at the admiral.
The admiral looked at the sky, filled his lungs with air. “Forgive me Anna. God, take my soul.” he murmured. Then he looked at the sergeant. Smiled.
“Now I am ready, gentlemen. Or whatever you call yourselves.”
The sergeant nodded. “Fire!”
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Re: The Admiral
Originally Posted by SwordsMaster
I can not comment the grammar since I do mistakes there myself but I did not find anything disturbing.
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