East Bound - Russia x Germany

Sëyaha by Plane

Muis Kammenyui looked much more developed than any of the other cities we've been to in the north so far. There was a large port where ships docked and an airport. Russia haphazardly drove through a gate and parked the tank near an army outpost entrance. The soldiers on guard were to say not amused. We packed up our things and left. The temperature was even colder than in Laborovaya and in Vorkuta, and it was very windy so my blue scarf blew in the breeze. There were no ships in the water because the boats came in May, Russia told us. It was too dangerous for them to come at this time when the ice was freezing up. The only way in and out really, we're small turbo planes. We were just the extreme, we came on a borrowed terrain vehicle. We came out and walked into the streets after a short conversation with one of the soldiers. Russia managed to get fifty rubles from him just by talking. That and the hundred we still had wasn't going to get us far. A Euro was around ninety rubles, I calculated. I had my own money, but I was told to keep it for emergency purposes. There wasn't an ATM machine anywhere to make a transaction, so I did. We crossed over to the other side of the town, where the airport was located. Poland asked how much a ticket on it was.

"They're cargo," a worker said stubbornly. "Not passenger."

"You must have at least one," Russia countered.

"But it's not for commercial use," the other replied, ruffled at these strangers with foreign looks.

"We just need to get to Dixon," Poland begged. "That's all. Three people."

"No." He shook his head. With that, Russia dragged Poland and me away. The man watched us and then turned to his work. Our 'leader' told us the next part of his plan.

"He is as thick as Walrus blubber," he said. "We need to find somebody who'll let us do this."

"Who?"

"Someone that is higher up in rank. Not a regular worker." Russia pointed to a woman bundled in a thick woollen coat and a white hat. "Or a sympathetic woman." He skipped over to her in a flash and started to talk. He tapped her shoulder politely and started to account our story with much-animated hand waving. She kept nodding, and soon he came over with a smile saying that she'd call a pilot to take us to Dixon.

"You overreacted, right?" Poland sighed.

"No. Just the truth."

"I'll believe it when I see it," the planes here were small, with sharp noses and had rotor blades on the wings. Most of the planes had almost sledge-like metal bars on the wheels, to land on water and ice, I presumed. You couldn't always count on an earth landing. The woman came back and introduced us to the pilot, Nikolai Vasilievich Zaitsev.

"My son," she added. He was thin and lanky, and his uniform hung from his shoulders loosely. He would be carrying cargo up to Dixon and was happy to give a ride to three extra passengers. The plane he led us to was white with red streaks from the tail, winding out toward the wing. He did all of this in silence, but when he finally spoke, I was surprised that his lanky form didn't match his deep voice.

"Good day," were his first words. "Dixon, right?"

"Still on the schedule," Poland said.

Nikolai smiled. "Glad to hear that." He pointed to the space not obstructed by boxes. "Unfortunately this isn't a passenger plane, and our motto is ' The faster, the better,' so there is a lack of safety equipment, as you see. No seats, except for my own, and if this plane goes down...well, we go down with it. Unless you can fly, which I doubt." His hazel eyes scanned our crowd. I noticed a crawl on the back of my neck and urged to scratch it. Poland bit his lip and fumbled with his hands. Russia shifted his weight from foot to foot and was staring at the ground. All right, was my thought. So be it.