Misha part 5, "The Ride"

Command showed up after 3:00 a.m., the safest hour when everyone was asleep or drunk, or both.

The engine sounded like a dying generator but didn't quit. The transmission whined over each rut and rock. A boxy Soviet-era 4x4 came out of the woods, approached the crater, and stopped.

The lieutenant colonel who stepped out and stood in the headlights looked older than the truck. He surveyed what was left: the black earth, trash, and silence.

Then he turned. Somehow, through the darkness, he looked right at me as I was lying in the forest.

"Ride?" he said. Not really a question.

I didn't answer. He didn't wait. He just climbed back in and started reversing to where I was. I grabbed my gear and met him by the trail. He didn't look surprised. He just pushed the door open. I climbed in without a word.

"Hungry?" he said, handing me an energy bar.

I nodded and ate it. There was no small talk. When I finished, he reached behind the seat and pulled out a soda, holding it out without looking. I took it.

"What happened?" he asked, calm like it was routine.

We were running the maintenance protocol, got spotted, and then got hit.

He glanced over. Not doubting or believing. Just filing it away.

"How did you survive?"

"I went to take a shit in the woods."

That got a half smile out of him.

"Did you see the spotter?"

"No. But after, it came around."

"Then what?"

"It left."

"And somehow, you're still alive."

"They didn't have an FPV with my name on it. Must have used up their supply."

He nodded like he'd heard something. Not the words. The space between them.

We drove on in silence for a while. He didn't press. Didn't reach for the radio. The ruts in the road kept throwing me into the door. Neither of us complained.