But the horrors never ceased. Many were dead in their cars, still behind the wheel or slumped over onto the seat, with a sheen of frost under their nostrils and around their eyes where their dying breath had frozen — they had obviously been there a long time. Most corpses were lying outside, some carrying food or medical supplies, a few carrying other dead souls, probably for medical treatment when they succumbed to the effects of the nuclear weapon the Russians unleashed on the base. Bodies were lining the sidewalks as teams of investigators identified each corpse, tagged it with a baggage tag, moved it clear of the sidewalks and driveways, covered it the best they could with an article of clothing or a sheet, then moved on to the next. Tychina was so transfixed by one body, the corpse of a member of his own squadron, that he nearly tripped over another corpse sprawled in his path. It was like some horrible science-fiction movie about the end of the world.
The base chapel was being used as a mortuary. He asked the sergeant in charge about Mikola Korneichuk, a civilian, and after finding her name not among those who had been identified, was led over to two long rows of corpses of those who had not been identified lined up outside in the snow. The nuclear device set off by the Russians had obviously injected a lot of radiation into these victims, because most had substantial hair loss, huge blisters and lesions all over their faces, bloated skin, and horribly swollen tongues and eyeballs. But Mikki was not among the dead.
“You are Captain Tychina?” the mortuary officer asked him. “You are the pilot that drove the first Russian attack away?” Tychina tried to leave, but the man persisted. “Promise me you’ll destroy the Russians for what they’ve done here, Captain. Promise you’ll avenge the dead.” Pavlo got out of there as fast as he could.
It was easy to commandeer a vehicle — keys were left in the ignitions, and the dead owners were not about to complain. Security patrols were everywhere. Regular patrols allowed Tychina to pass freely after recognizing who he was, but some roadblocks to the officers’ housing area were set up by the local militia, and although he was recognized and his identification was in order, he was told to return to the main base immediately. Tychina wasn’t about to put up with any local weekend warriors with shotguns, so he sped through the roadblock. None of the militiamen bothered to pursue him.
The bachelor officers’ quarters were about three kilometers outside the main base area in one of the base’s many satellite housing areas, a typical bland Soviet-style settlement with many dormitory-style buildings, a park with a few scraggly trees, an exercise area, a small shopette, and an elementary school for the children of young soldiers. Tychina’s dorm was a huge, ugly concrete structure in which each unmarried officer was assigned an efficiency apartment, sharing a kitchen and bathroom with the person next door. The entire building, which housed almost five hundred officers, appeared deserted. He took the stairs two at a time to his fourth-floor room and found the door unlocked.
“Mikki!” He had been braced for the worst, but he never expected this: his fiancée was lying on his opened sleeper sofa, head seductively pillowed by an arm, her hair draped across a pillow as if arranged by a fashion designer. She was wearing a long, heavy flannel nightgown against the chill in the room — power had only recently been restored. She looked beautiful… even in … Pavlo was so overwhelmed that he burst into tears.
Mikola sleepily opened her eyes and smiled at him, the familiar, warm smile he had longed to see. “Hi, baby,” she said sleepily.
She was alive! Thank God Almighty!
“I waited up as long as I could. Give me a moment and I’ll be ready to go with you to the chapel.”
“God, Mikki …!” He rushed to her side and hugged her close, unabashed in his joy, his tears. “I’m so glad you’re safe … dear God, I thought you were in the chapel,” he moaned, burying his face in her hair. “Are you all right? Were you hurt in the attack?”
“No, I wasn’t hurt — scared, but not hurt. I’m still a little tired.” She yawned. “It got so cold in here when the power went off, but the loudspeakers said stay in the room, so I wrapped up in blankets and fell asleep, but I’ll be better, just give me a few minutes, just let me get out of bed and I’ll freshen up and I’ll be ready to go. Oh, I love you so much, Pavlo, I love you so much.…”
Her voice was trailing away, down to a barely audible whisper, as if she were walking away from him. Tychina noticed that she did not return his embrace, but her arms hung loosely at her sides …
… and when he lifted her head off his shoulders to look into her face, her hair dropped off her head like clumps of brittle needles from a long-dead Christmas tree. “Jesus Christ, Mikki …!”
“Pavlo?” Her voice was as faint as the buzz of a hummingbird, even though she was only inches away. “Pavlo, please help me to the chapel, I’m so tired …”
He got off the couch in a near-panic. He had to get her out of here. Had to get her help. She must have gotten a large dose of radiation, Pavlo thought, while she was waiting for him at the chapel. But she survived and somehow made her way back to the dorm room. Except for her hair, it seemed — he prayed — she didn’t receive a fatal dose. Perhaps she could be saved.…
But when he lifted her into his arms to take her downstairs for help, the skin from her left thigh sloughed off like wet tissue paper, exposing muscle caked with dried, blackened blood. Tychina swallowed hard to hold back the tears, laid her back on the bed, and covered her with blankets. “I’ll get help, Mikki,” he whispered. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.” But when he dared look into her eyes, he found them dry and lifeless, clouding up, her perfect mouth slightly open as she tried to draw in her last breath that never came.
“No … Mikki!” he sobbed, thinking perhaps she’d just gone back to sleep. Yes, that was it … she’d need her rest … while he went to get help. He held her close to his chest, his sobs growing harder, the tears falling down on her thin hair. He knew she wasn’t asleep, it’d been a desperate hope, a fantasy. He tried to bargain with God: Just take me, let her live, just take me. She’s too beautiful, too sweet and wonderful and innocent to die. He thought she was dead, had prepared himself for it, tried to muster enough strength to face it when he knew, ultimately, that he would. And yet, finding her alive, seeing her come awake, now … now only to die.
This is too cruel for any man! he raged silently at the heavens. Why? He sobbed even harder, clutching her to him, feeling as if his whole world were collapsing. Not caring whether he lived or died, but only praying for God — for anyone — to bring her back to life.
Mikola seemed so thin, so tiny, to Pavlo as he stapled her identification card to her nightgown and wrapped the body in a blanket. He was about to pick her up and take her down to the car when he heard, “Don’t worry about her, Pavlo. We’ll take good care of her.”
Tychina turned and saw Colonel Panchenko and several members of the command center staff enter the room. A security officer took the body from Tychina’s arms, promising to take personal charge of her until he could make proper arrangements. Tychina was going to follow the security officer out, but Panchenko stopped him with a firm, positive grip on his arm. “Not now, Pavlo. You have work to do.”
The young pilot shrugged out of the senior officer’s grasp and said, “Excuse me, Colonel, but—”
“It’s ‘general’ now, Pavlo,” Panchenko said. “I am the new commander of tactical air warfare for the entire Republic. The national military headquarters was destroyed by Russian air attacks. The chief of staff and the service chiefs escaped, but most of the senior staff was killed. I am transferring command to Turkey.”