The War - It's Party Time

“All clear Boris?” 

“All clear Nkita. The bloody fascist cowards have all fled. And look,” he opened a wooden cabinet at the side of the room. “They have left us a drink to celebrate our victory.” 

“Vodka!” 

“Not just vodka, there is whisky, there is wine, the finest western delicacies. 

“I prefer vodka. I tried wine once, woke up with an entire factory hammering away in my head.” 

“Then have a vodka.” Boris poured two glasses. 

“All clear?” said Fyodor, rifle shaking its way nervously through the door. 

“Where have you been?” said Nkita. “We’ve just killed a hundred fascists.” 

“I was checking the shed.” 

“Anything?” 

“No, nobody there.” 

“Anything worth taking?” 

“Taking?” 

“We’re not here to fight, Fyodor. We’re here to pillage. The fascist Ukranian cowards have all fled. They have left us presents.” 

“What, like gifts?” 

“Yes, like vodka. Here, have a glass.” 

“Should we be drinking? What about the Ukrainians?” 

“There is no-one here. They have all fled. Ukrainians are cowards. Let us drink, to victory, to the spoils of war.” 

The three men drained their glasses, which were quickly filled. 

“It is hardly war,” said Nkita. “We walk in, they run out.” 

“We’re made here,” Boris said. “A nice little hoard of trinkets, a TV, computer, stereo, we can take all this back with us when we’ve won the war, set up a shop, 2nd hand electronics.  But first ...” 

“But first we must win the war,” said Fyodod.” 

Boris gave him a hard stare. 

“The war is already won. First we must drink. We shall party.” 

“We need to report back,” said Fyodod. 

“Not until morning. Morning is a long way away. Until then – we drink. To the easiest war ever.” 

“The easiest war ever.” 

“The easiest war ever.” 

xxx 

The following morning the three bodies were found by a patrol, their colleagues searching for their missing comrades. 

“Have they been shot?” asked Ivan. 

“No,” said Akim. “Not a mark on any of them.” He smelled their breaths.  “Poisoned.” 

“Poisoned? But how.” 

Akim searched around. It wasn’t a long search, the table was littered with empty bottles and glasses, which he sniffed in turn. 

“Something in the vodka, I think. I will take what’s left of the bottle to test.” 

“Who puts poison in their vodka?” 

“Who? Ukrainians who are expecting unwelcome visitors. It is a sneaky trick.” 

“My god. I stole a sausage yesterday. What if they had poisoned the food before they left as well.” 

Akim shook his head sadly. “I guess you got lucky with your sausage. These three ... not so lucky.  These Ukrainians – I think it is going to be not such an easy war.”