Paper Airplanes

Prequel

On the battlefield, there are two things every soldier comes to cherish, solitude and silence. They can bring warm, comforting thoughts-- playing with siblings in the back lot, the smell of mom baking apple pie , the feeling of being back home. However, these things that bring so much happiness and hope come at a sinful price. Bloodshed, violence, sometimes a soldier's very life evokes these repressed thoughts. Yes, in the final moments in our lives, we truly know the price to live, to die, is far greater than most are willing to pay. In an instant, those thoughts and desires become paramax. Many people ask me how I know when it’s my time, when I know I truly am ready to die. I smirk. The answers always the same: when I can see my mom rushing around the kitchen making apple pie, seeing my younger brother graduate, helping my dad fix that stupid boat in the yard. That’s when I know I am ready to die.
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    The smell of sulfur and iron filled Ivan’s nose as he looked over the battlefield. Blood and bile stained the once emerald grass that shimmered in the late fall night. A frigid breeze howled and moaned mixing in with the semi conscious soldiers that gasped and fought for the luxury of an easy breath. Silent snowflakes drifted down onto the once tan scarf that wrapped around the commander's neck. He reached out a gloved hand and caught a single delicate snowflake. The crisp lines of frozen water twisted and turned in an intricate pattern Ivan neither comprehended nor understood. He rolled it in between his fingers and dropped the remnants of the once beautiful snowflake onto the ground to join it’s kin. The moon was their light. It made the snow shine and glisten into the silent serenity of the night. Ivan loved the snow. It was innocent, childish, but also dark and demanding. The snow decided who were the strong, the survivors, and the weak, the perished. He could already see the snow soaking in the American blood that had been spilled onto the chilled field. Ivan’s jaw clenched. This is why he hated the Americans. They took the simple, and innocent snow and tarnished its purity with the blood of a country not worth saving. It was heroic. It was glorious. It was pathetic.
    Ivan rose a hand up barely passing his ear. The men around them raised their guns and pointed them towards the field. A smile came across the command’s face as he heard the clicks of the Russian soldiers’ heels touch together ready for any command Ivan would give them. His bright violet eyes combed over the field in search for any threats that might shoot him if he lowered his guard for a single moment. That was the difference between life and death, a single moment of carelessness and clumsiness. Once he was certain, there was no threat, he turned around.
    “Kill any remaining Americans, except anyone with valuable information. Help the sick and wounded. Those are my orders.” He yelled out to the soldiers that snapped their rifles down and ran past him to find the American soldiers wounded. They all knew that Ivan liked things done quickly and expertly. He wouldn’t accept anything else. The commander made his way back to the dark green tent. Inside the tent, warm food, a soft cot, and comforting silence awaited him. As he walked, the soldiers on the ground reached out to him with gurgling throats and pleading eyes. Ivan would help them. He raised his pistol and shot the soldier point blank, right in between the eyes. If they were too weak to survive, he would take away their will to live. He didn’t mind the bodies that were in his way. In Ivan’s eyes, they were nothing. The crunch of  the bones that broke under Ivan’s boot once made him cringe, but now, it didn’t even phase him. Emotions were for the weak and broken, which Ivan was not.
    One of the captains caught up with Ivan and raised his hand in a complete and proper salute. Ivan bit his lip. There must have been a snag, an exception, where not even the captain knew what to do. Ivan chuckled and turned around smiling at the captain.
    “Captain, I thought I was clear with my orders was I not?” Ivan asked raising his hand to tell the captain to be at ease. The captain relaxed but still stood at attention.
    “Yes, sir. Your orders were as clear as the ice we tread on.”
    “Then, what seems to be the problem?”
    The captain continued to keep a stern face as he thought about how exactly he wanted to tell Ivan the news he received on the field. Ivan loved how loyal and thoughtful his soldiers were. He knew if he were to die, they would carry on the fight. The rule of fighting in Russia was simple: never give up, never surrender, and survive. “We found him, sir.”
    Ivan raised a curious eyebrow and took a step closer to the captain. He grabbed his throat and raised him off the ground a couple of inches. The captain gasped and grabbed Ivan’s hands. Ivan could even see the tears that welled in the man’s eyes. He was so weak. Ivan made a mental note to put his captain through extensive training the next day. He wouldn’t stand for his men being weak. The man started to gurgle and his pupils rolled out of view. Ivan dropped him to the ground, and he grabbed his throat struggling to catch his breath. “I am not a mind reader, captain. Explain yourself.”
    The captain gasped and looked over at Ivan. “The pilot,” he stopped and clutched his chest. His whole body was burning and he couldn’t breath. “The American pilot, the one that’s been taking out our bases, we found him. His plane crashed in the battle.” He stopped only for a moment to catch his breath. “He’s in the left field. He’s injured but not badly.”
    Ivan hummed and smiled bending down to the captain’s level on the ground. “Yes, this American, did you kill him?”
    The captain shook his head and started to tremble. He had violated direct orders from the commander. In this moment, it was a gamble where the prize could very well be his life. “No, sir. The other captains and I thought you would want to deal with this one personally. We know you have been looking for him for months now.”
    It was true. Ivan had been looking for the American for a while now. The pilot had been a pain in Ivan’s side since day one. He was crafty and cunning. Some of the Russian pilots told him that AJ-147, as he was called, had flawless technique in flying as well as battle tactics. Every time the Russians had him cornered, he would simply loop around and fly dangerously until he lost his potential captors. However, it seemed now that their little escape artist wasn’t exactly untouchable. The reason didn’t matter as long as they had him in their grasps. Ivan would make him pay for the bad name he had given Ivan among his superiors. Ivan put his hand on the captain’s shoulder causing him to flinch.
    “You did well, captain. Bring this prisoner to my personal tent. Thank you for your consideration. Your country would be proud.”
    The captain nodded and started to walk off to find the American. Ivan watched him for a couple of minutes and smirked. Here on the Eastern front, no one challenged him. Everyone was too afraid of Ivan for him to actually put them in their place. In this dog eat dog world, he was definitely the alpha male. Everyone else ran with their tails between their legs. He wanted excitement. He wanted competition. Someone who he could actually use to break, someone with an unbreakable spirit. Wouldn’t that be fun? The pilot seemed to be cocky in the sky. Ivan hoped he was just as much on the ground and especially when there wasn’t much hope. He hoped he was the one to break the American.  He hoped this American would bring a little excitement to his uneventful life.