Lithuania screamed and writhed in pain, clutching uselessly at the mud around her. The pain was excruciating—her body was breaking—falling apart. And then—
“Lithuania!”
Marco? Lithuania opened her eyes in sudden recognition.
And then the terrible trumpeting sound stormed again through the air, and the pain in Lithuania’s body was gone. She was still in a ditch, covered in mud and spluttering rain, but her senses had returned to normal. She could think rationally again, and her mind was telling her to stay in the crevice and remain as invisible as possible. The creature was out of sight, but definitely near.
The monster was breathing heavily, wheezing and releasing the occasional snort. Lithuania held her breath, praying that the beast wouldn’t detect her. The few seconds that passed seemed like hours, and despite the incessant sound of rain, Lithuania could have sworn she could hear her own heartbeat. Then a grave, unearthly voice emerged, sending shivers down Lithuania’s spine. It spoke in a language she did not understand— a language of long, drawn-out sounds, which together with the voice’s deep and unearthly pitch, came as close to demonic speech as conceivably possible. It was addressing the beast. Could this voice be coming from… its rider?
A minute later, Lithuania could hear the beast retreating, its footsteps sending reverberations through the earth. Lithuania’s heartbeat settled down. The rain grew a bit weaker, but she had no desire to leave the ditch, not until the beast was miles away.
And as she sat there in the mud, Lithuania attempted to understand what had just happened. She considered what she had just heard: the voice of Marco, in the midst of her searing pain. But that was impossible. It must have been a delusion, provoked by that malignant spell of pain cast by the trumpeting monster. She had no idea how the spell had been cast, but whatever provoked those sensations in her body, it most definitely was not human.
But the sound of Marco’s voice… Lithuania shook her head. The adrenaline from the encounter was messing with her mind. Her emotions were unsettled— she was confused about how she felt. Yet for the first time since she had abandoned the helicopter wreckage, Lithuania devoted more than a minute’s thought to Marco. She suddenly thought of the field training session where she had noticed him for the first time, when they were both just first-level Air Force trainees. Marco had missed a step on the rope ladder and gotten himself tangled up. Lithuania was about to go set him loose, when one of Marco's friends beat her to it. Then she heard Marco's voice, thanking the friend who set him loose... there was something in his tone that struck her fancy.
Lithuania smiled painfully, feeling her eyes sting with the grief of his loss. She would never have shed a tear in the presence of someone else, but now that she was alone, she gave way to her sorrow and wept. Abandoning all pretenses to practice her highly valued sense of self-restraint, Lithuania dropped her head to her knees and sobbed, just as the rain picked up full force.
When she saw his corpse, she convinced herself she felt nothing— or at least that what she did feel was perfectly under control. It was the natural, understandable sadness of an officer upon witnessing the loss of one’s second in command. A sadness bordering on disappointment, but not grief. Yet what Lithuania wanted to convince herself she was feeling and what she actually was feeling could not have been further apart.
Now, lying in a ditch, covered in mud and all by herself, Lithuania couldn’t help but give way to her emotions. She was head of the Foggistani Helo Fleet— she was first in command— and yet here she was, lost, with no communication, and her entire troop dead. She had failed. And most importantly, she had lost the one person she cared about most. She had lost Marco.
Lithuania’s shoulders heaved up and down uncontrollably as she sobbed. She tried to stifle her tears, out of a habit of discretion. But the tears kept coming, mixing with the rain and the mud on her knees. She crumpled into a fetal position within the ditch that had just saved her life, wishing, desiring, hoping she were somewhere else. Finally, her tears gave way to an uncomfortable but much-needed sleep.
“Lithuania!”
Marco? Lithuania opened her eyes in sudden recognition.
And then the terrible trumpeting sound stormed again through the air, and the pain in Lithuania’s body was gone. She was still in a ditch, covered in mud and spluttering rain, but her senses had returned to normal. She could think rationally again, and her mind was telling her to stay in the crevice and remain as invisible as possible. The creature was out of sight, but definitely near.
The monster was breathing heavily, wheezing and releasing the occasional snort. Lithuania held her breath, praying that the beast wouldn’t detect her. The few seconds that passed seemed like hours, and despite the incessant sound of rain, Lithuania could have sworn she could hear her own heartbeat. Then a grave, unearthly voice emerged, sending shivers down Lithuania’s spine. It spoke in a language she did not understand— a language of long, drawn-out sounds, which together with the voice’s deep and unearthly pitch, came as close to demonic speech as conceivably possible. It was addressing the beast. Could this voice be coming from… its rider?
A minute later, Lithuania could hear the beast retreating, its footsteps sending reverberations through the earth. Lithuania’s heartbeat settled down. The rain grew a bit weaker, but she had no desire to leave the ditch, not until the beast was miles away.
And as she sat there in the mud, Lithuania attempted to understand what had just happened. She considered what she had just heard: the voice of Marco, in the midst of her searing pain. But that was impossible. It must have been a delusion, provoked by that malignant spell of pain cast by the trumpeting monster. She had no idea how the spell had been cast, but whatever provoked those sensations in her body, it most definitely was not human.
But the sound of Marco’s voice… Lithuania shook her head. The adrenaline from the encounter was messing with her mind. Her emotions were unsettled— she was confused about how she felt. Yet for the first time since she had abandoned the helicopter wreckage, Lithuania devoted more than a minute’s thought to Marco. She suddenly thought of the field training session where she had noticed him for the first time, when they were both just first-level Air Force trainees. Marco had missed a step on the rope ladder and gotten himself tangled up. Lithuania was about to go set him loose, when one of Marco's friends beat her to it. Then she heard Marco's voice, thanking the friend who set him loose... there was something in his tone that struck her fancy.
Lithuania smiled painfully, feeling her eyes sting with the grief of his loss. She would never have shed a tear in the presence of someone else, but now that she was alone, she gave way to her sorrow and wept. Abandoning all pretenses to practice her highly valued sense of self-restraint, Lithuania dropped her head to her knees and sobbed, just as the rain picked up full force.
When she saw his corpse, she convinced herself she felt nothing— or at least that what she did feel was perfectly under control. It was the natural, understandable sadness of an officer upon witnessing the loss of one’s second in command. A sadness bordering on disappointment, but not grief. Yet what Lithuania wanted to convince herself she was feeling and what she actually was feeling could not have been further apart.
Now, lying in a ditch, covered in mud and all by herself, Lithuania couldn’t help but give way to her emotions. She was head of the Foggistani Helo Fleet— she was first in command— and yet here she was, lost, with no communication, and her entire troop dead. She had failed. And most importantly, she had lost the one person she cared about most. She had lost Marco.
Lithuania’s shoulders heaved up and down uncontrollably as she sobbed. She tried to stifle her tears, out of a habit of discretion. But the tears kept coming, mixing with the rain and the mud on her knees. She crumpled into a fetal position within the ditch that had just saved her life, wishing, desiring, hoping she were somewhere else. Finally, her tears gave way to an uncomfortable but much-needed sleep.
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