Chapter 4 – The Breakdown 

      A creeping curtain of early morning mist hangs low in the farm valley as Sanya and Erica step from their overnight refuge. All is quiet and sorrowfully still. Soft birdsong is the only sound, barely audible, its maker’s invisible in the fog. Sanya is used to sleeping in, and her wobbling about clearly means she isn’t quite awake yet, her eyes still heavy with tiredness. Erica likewise would rather be in bed; however they both know they might have a lot of ground to cover today. With their rifles slung against their new coats they set off, trudging over the cracking mud, frozen in the night’s cold air. To stop her absent minded companion from falling over Erica puts her arm around Sanyas waist, bracing her, keeping her moving on. 

      “I’m sure Eila wouldn’t like this.” Erica jokes, drawing a playful smile from the sleepy Orussian. That smile fades soon after as Sanya thinks about how Eila must be feeling. They’d been together for years, always there for one another. They’d fought like all friends do but always made up in the end. Sanya had hoped, secretly that with the successful liberation of Moscow, Eila would open up more, that the importance of their military service was keeping her from acting on how Sanya knows she feels.

      Then again Sanya can’t exactly deny doing the same thing, it’s not like all those accidents falling asleep in the wrong room after long night patrols were really accidents after all. She knows how they both feel, but it’s difficult, scary even, airing those feelings. If Eila feels right now as she worries she does, then maybe Sanya will have to make that first move. All of the 501st have been lucky to survive the war against the Neuori so far; maybe next time Sanyas shot down that luck might run out. Her smile returns, a small, excited grin at the thought of just seeing Eila again. 

       “Don’t tell her we fell asleep together Erica. Eila might shoot at you as well.” she happily jokes back. Both girls burst out in a chorus of amused laughter at the thought. Eila does like to overreact. 

      The sun was now sitting firmly above the distant hills, throwing warming rays across the young witches, stunned into a shocked silence at the sight they had come across. They stand at the peak of a tall ridge, looking down upon a city in the distance, towers of smoke rising into the air. Some of it is clearly from factories, however others appear more sinister.  Even this far away the pair can tell that this was where last nights bombers had attacked.  It makes no sense though, there’s no Neuroi defences, no signs of their presence at all in fact. What is more worrying however is that the pair swears they recognise this place. 

       “Is that Saint Petersburg?” Sanya says under her breath in quiet disbelief. 

       “It can’t be.” Erica replies, just as confused. Her eyes darting around the ruined city, her hands shaking in growing panic, Sanya spots landmarks and features that could only indicate that this is indeed Saint Petersburg! The sunlight blazing off the golden dome of St. Isaac’s Cathedral, the iconic towers of the Church of the Savior standing tall despite the crumbling streets around it. Even Catherine Palace outside the city, however even this appears broken, as if it has been ransacked. Beyond the ruins lies the colossal Lake Ladoga, gleaming, a blinding white with ice and snow.

      Sanyas panic grew to terror when from close by down the slope a loud explosion rocks the hillside. Birds scatter from treetops for miles around as the distinct whistle of an artillery shell pierces through the air. With the sound of the first explosion still echoing across the landscape another quickly erupts, this time accompanied by a plume of smoke, fire and debris from the city below. Now painfully awake her eyes fall on the spot which had launched the shell, a camp nestled in a clearing full of tents, trucks and multiple, huge cannons. A trench line cuts through the earth, flanked by pillboxes and barricades, facing towards the urban area. Huge piles of spent brass casings rise like monuments, shining as they catch the morning sun, and while she does stand far away, the few soldiers visible to her appear bewilderingly Karlslandic.  

       “What’s going on Hartmann!?” Sanya cries as she grabs Erica by the shoulders, almost knocking her over. “Why is Karlsland attacking Petersburg!?” she demands, tears forming in her widened emerald eyes. Erica is just as dumbfounded, stumbling on her words as Sanya looks on the verge of a total breakdown. 

       “M-Maybe it… isn’t Petersburg? Maybe they… aren’t Karlslanders? I-I don’t know!” She stammers, her head swinging between looking at the distraught Sanya and the soldiers below. This response clearly doesn’t satisfy the scared Orussian as she gives Erica a violent shake. 

      “No! It’s Petersburg, I know it is! What about the 502nd?” she questions. “Why? How could they do this?” 

      Erica tries to pull Sanyas trembling hands from her coat, to take them in her own, to try and calm her down. 

       “Sanya please, something has to have gone wrong… maybe the Neuroi.” Erica can barely finish before she gets interrupted by Sanya, her grip tightening. 

       “There are no Neuroi! I don’t see any! I can’t sense any!” Erica can’t deny this; there are no signs of their enemy anywhere. Suddenly another cannon shot rings out, only this time from somewhere distant, not the camp below, yet still raining a shell down, blasting into the city with a thunderous crack. Sanya jumps in petrified terror at the sudden sound realising that there are other groups of soldiers out there firing upon Saint Petersburg. 

      “We have to stop them Hartmann!” Sanya yells, tears pouring down her rosy, flushed red cheeks. Saint Petersburg was where Sanya had first taken refuge after evacuating her home and being forced to leave her family behind. As her new, adoptive home she cares for the beautiful city deeply. Not only that but it is home to the renowned 502nd Joint Fighter Wing, a squadron she is firm friends with. To see it laying in ruins, under bombardment by her allies, the Karlslanders, is soul crushing, the feeling of absolute betrayal. Likewise for Erica she can’t understand why her country would attack Orussia. They were acting together just yesterday to assault Hive Leon, side by side as friends, but now the guns she is so familiar with are firing on Sanyas home. 

      “We have to think about this Sanya. We’re on our own out here.” Erica says in a reluctant, quiet tone, unable to look at Sanya as she whimpers. 

      “Please Erica… Please!” Sanya bawls. “Y-You’re always so active. You’re an ace! You have to help me! If it were the Neuroi you’d help! Please Erica!” Erica has never seen Sanya breakdown like this before, she wonders even if Eila has. The fear and anger in Sanyas young face is infectious, her eyes sparkling, hair a wavy mess against her tear soaked cheeks. Surely Sanya hasn’t been this emotional since she fled Orussia. Despite Ericas infamous childish nature she can’t help but feel that running into that camp, un-supported and with only a bolt action rifle, would be a horrifically stupid idea. This is one of those rare occasions where the light-hearted, carefree Erica Hartmann has to be serious and cautious. Steadily, with precision, Sanyas shaking hands are detached from Ericas collar.

      “Sanya… We can’t run in there alone. Let’s go find someone in command. I don’t know what’s going on, or why Karlsland is attacking the city, but I do know… We need to stay calm. We need help.” Ericas words stun Sanya into a reserved, unmoving, anguished shock. 

       “I’ll do it myself.” Sanya whispers under her breath, unable to even look at Erica . 

      “No. No, I won't let you.” Erica replies sternly with cold authority. 

       “You can’t stop me… Karlslander.” Sanya spits back, her words like knives to the blond teen . 

      “I’m pulling rank on you Sanya, stay here.” Erica threatens, her eyes narrowing into a serious, piercing glare. 

      As the atmosphere between the two witches becomes suffocating, the sudden, distant rumble of yet another artillery shot cements Sanyas mind. Before the shell even makes contact inside Saint Petersburg the furious Orussian bolts down the hill like the embodiment of her black cat familiar itself, rifle waving about on her back.

      All tiredness has left her, now she operates in an adrenaline fuelled rage. Erica hesitates, just for a moment, not quite able to believe that the shy and quiet girl she normally knows could act in such a reckless way. The moment passes swiftly however as she immediately begins sprinting after Sanya down the hill, leaping over stones and roots, skidding through patches of loose dirt and dead leaves. She desperately wishes that Sanya would stop, that she won’t just charge into the camp and get hurt. Erica is well aware that whatever is happening; these soldiers are more than willing to fire upon them. Either way running down the slope is a dangerous thing for both girls to even be doing. Any fall, a simple misstep could cause serious injury and there is no Yoshika to heal them up this time. 

      For Sanya however there is no question about her actions, these men are destroying her second home and she has to stop them. Her heart jumps, beating like a machinegun in her chest as she very nearly trips and stumbles. Still carrying on she rips the rifle sling around her to shoulder the gun in her arms. Could she really shoot someone? 

      Erica isn’t about to let Sanya make that decision as she pulses a sudden blast of her Strum behind herself to propel her body forward through the air, flying just enough to grab Sanya by the back and drag her to the ground. It’s a rough tumble down the last few meters of solid, muddy hillside, rolling one over the other until they eventually stop behind a line of dense shrub, just out of view of the closest tent. 

      Sanya had let slip her rifle in the fall and Erica now sits straddle across the crying night witch, her hands cupped firmly over Sanyas mouth to stop her from crying out loud, possibly alerting anyone close by. Sanya struggles with great effort against and under her assaulting wing-mate, her eyes blurry and drowned with tears, face burning red from Ericas choking hold. 

       “Shhh! I’m sorry! Please be quiet Sanya! Please!” Erica orders in a demanding whisper. Sanya kicks and screams below Ericas palms making a pitiful, muffled noise while flailing her arms to try and push her off and continue her charge. It’s hopeless however. Not that Sanya is weak, she wields her fliegerhammer no problem after all, but compared to the Black Devil herself, Sanyas overtired body is no match. Erica knows Sanya wants to break free, she can see it in her sorrow-filled eyes; hear it in her desperate pleas for release. She can’t let her go however, not yet for out of the nearby tent, a grey uniform clad soldier emerges, lighting a cigarette, the metallic clink of the zippo alerting both witches to his presence. An uneasy, nervous silence falls. 

      Luckily it seems that no one in the camp noticed the pair’s frantic chase as the soldier stand’s puffing away casually in the early morning glow. It isn’t long before a second soldier, dressed far less practically, strolls up to meet with the first, absent of his helmet and his shirt unbuttoned. 

       “Good morning Ulrich. What do we have for breakfast this morning eh? Stale rye and wurst again no doubt?” He calls out as he sits down against a pile of wooden boxes facing away from the witches’ restless hiding place. 

       “Are those American cigarettes? How did you find them?” he asks in a puzzled tone. 

       “Shhh Horst, quiet! I have my secrets. Don’t tell anyone I have these though.” The smoking man jokes. 

      “Ha! Only if you spare me one.” Together the two men share their tobacco in the icy, soft breeze. 

       “Say, Ulrich, did those reinforcements ever arrive in the end?” the sloppy looking soldier asks the other, as he takes a long drag and lets out a huge belch of smoke.

       “Funny story about that, apparently they were attacked by witches!” Upon hearing this both Sanya and Erica tense up, focusing and listening intensely. 

       “As if this war couldn’t get any worse now the Soviets have witches?” they hear said, mockingly from beyond their cover. 

       “They swear it. Though if you ask me some people have held onto their pervitin for too long! I knew a man stationed in Poland, who took so much he was high for a week!” Ulrich laughs, also drawing a firm chuckle from his companion. 

        “To be fair if I were stationed in the General Gouvernment I would want to be high as well.” Horst replies. 

       “There are worse places to be stationed. Have you heard what’s happening in the south? At least these Russians aren’t going anywhere!” Ulrich says as he begins to pick under his dirt caked nails. 

       The two witches lay confused; nothing the men are saying makes any sense to them, Russia and not Orussia? What’s a Soviet? Come to think of it, why did the soldier yesterday call himself a German and not a Karlslander? There are so many questions pooling in the girls’ heads, pondering if perhaps they weren’t in Orussia after all. Again the relaxing soldiers speak up, casually, as if socialising at a friendly bar. 

       “You know they’re probably eating better than we are down there? Every time we kill one of them it’s fewer mouths to feed, they probably still have mountains of food.” Horst bemoans, putting out his finished cigarette in the snow under his boot before having a long, spine-cracking stretch. 

       “No. They’re animals, they’ll be eating one another soon enough!” Ulrich claims, also finishing up his smoke. “We’ve a lot of bombardment to do today. You fancy a game of cards afterwards, Horst?” he asks casually. 

       He’s talking about firing bombs into Saint Petersburg, Sanyas home, or at least somewhere that looks like Sanyas home, so casually as to pass it in conversation. The referral to Orussians, as Sanya had heard it, as animals had also not gone unnoticed. Even Erica feels angry at the soldier’s flippant, uncaring nature, as if the people in the city below meant nothing to them. 

       As the two men leave, their conversation fading into the distance, Erica looks down at Sanya, still buried under her solid, silencing grip, to see a raging fire burning inside this once ghost-like spectre. Slowly she removes one hand, raising it with a pointed finger to shush Sanya still, just in case more soldiers happen to be nearby.

        “Calm down. We have to go.” Erica whispers, moving her lips more than she is actually talking. Seizing this moment, Sanya again begins to struggle and Erica responds by trying to pin her down once more, all the while staying as quiet as possible. Murmured shouts accompany the rustling of leaves and the thud of Sanyas feet against the hard ground. 

       With great effort Sanya finally manages to break one hand free of Ericas grip, lifting it to and grabbing the side of the Karlslanders face. Suddenly, as green magical needles appear, Erica recoils in agonizing pain, a debilitating high pitched tone shouting into her ear from her radio piece. This momentary distraction as she rips the small gadget out allows the bruised and dirty Sanya to slip free, leaping to her feet and over the bushes, into the camp.  

       Sanya tears around the corner of the tent which the two soldiers had disappeared behind. Her breath heavy, face flush with sweat and tears, she spots the men strolling away down an avenue of drab, white tents, laughing still with friendly banter. Without thinking she begins to follow them, soon after shouting out loudly for them to stop. She desperately wants an explanation; she needs to know how they could do such a terrible thing to her home. 

      The soldiers however, shocked and not expecting a confrontation, turn around looking perplexed and confused. After a second of frozen inaction the two panicking soldiers reach for their guns. Only one has his Luger on him, aiming it directly at Sanya, the other just points out accusingly as they both yell and scream at her to get down and put her hands up. Sanya hadn’t given any thought on what she was going to do to confront the men so she also begins shouting out questions as Erica skids around the corner behind her.  

      “Sanya stop!” Erica yells causing Sanya to erect her magical shield between them both, clearly putting further fear into the roaring soldiers. Like last time, these men have clearly never seen magic before and the sudden appearance of the huge glowing arcane circle only makes them shout out orders even louder. With Sanya crying out and the soldiers and Erica all yelling, the row of tents has become a cacophony of unintelligible demands, a thundering mix of words, shattering the morning's calm throughout the camp. 

      The dramatic commotion soon draws a crowd from the surrounding area, all soldiers like the others only now armed to the teeth with rifles and submachine guns, angrily joining the confrontation against these unknown intruders. Sanya twists and turns, looking back and forth across everyone gathered around her. She had been trained to fight alien death-machines, not her fellow man, and certainly not weapon-less at that. Maybe she’s made a bad decision here. 

      Suddenly as Sanya looks about, the tent closest to her flies open and a short, scrawny looking soldier emerges with a face full of tired anger as he adjusts his round glasses. 

       “What’s all this noise about!?” he yells amidst the endless cacophony, standing right next to the trembling Orussian girl. In his hand he carries a long handled broom, presumably to chase away the drunken misfits he believed were ruining his morning lye-in. This gives Sanya an idea, a chance at escape from this crushing situation before things become even worse. Quickly she lunges at the man, landing a solid punch into his shocked face, breaking his spectacles in two. With extreme effort Sanya throws up another barrier on her other side, shielding her from the onslaught of bullets unleashed upon her. If not for her magic, surely she would have been ripped apart while attempting this move, but she has a plan… a plan that doesn’t involve Erica. 

       As the deafening gunshots still ring out, laying hundreds of rounds against her shields, Sanya picks up the dropped broomstick. She swiftly straddles the handle and takes a deep breath before giving a pained, angry look towards Erica who stands with her arms up in surrender. Maybe Erica was right about not rushing in, in fact she was, but something inside Sanya felt nothing for her right now. 

       It’s been years since Sanya last attempted this, but it’s her only hope. She concentrates what magic she has left into a powerful boost of acceleration, taking off on the broom like the witches of old, rocketing into the sky leaving the attacking soldiers in a state of utter amazed, and terrified shock. Sanya arcs through the air towards the ruined Petersburg, soon disappearing into a low bank of white clouds. Erica meanwhile stands surrounded by armed men in total disbelief that Sanya would leave her behind. After everything they’ve been through, their solid friendship. To her it seems that the look Sanya had thrown her way was a sign of bitter, cold revenge. Erica had to stop Sanya from getting herself killed but now it looks like she’s the one at death's door, as a soldier brutally hits her in the back of the head with the stock of his rifle.