Bell was no stranger to the strange phenomenon known as Heat Lightning. Growing up on a farm in Delaware (Dela-where? as the Drill Sergeant at Basic liked to joke), it was a common occurrence, especially in the late summer, warm air cloying, insects buzzing and the mysterious silent flashes in the sky. Her father, a religious man, would say that it was the devil’s lightning, portent of bad times to come. Bell wasn’t so sure about all that; she actually thought it was quite pretty, and would sneak to the window after she was supposed to be in bed, and watch the storm rage without sound, like a silent movie.
Now she was older, and had seen a thing or two, she wasn’t so sure her old man was entirely wrong. There was something unnerving about a storm you could see but not hear; a threat of implied violence was almost worse than the violence itself.
She noticed her crew mates were on edge too. Jess and Tessa were struggling to get the Winter Solstice’s turret operational; it was currently stuck in the nine o’clock position, which made driving difficult and combat almost impossible. Whilst they were behind friendly lines, and ostensibly safe, they were alone out in the field, and you never quite knew when action would find you. The heat lightning only served to heighten the tension in what was already a stressful situation.
“Anything?”
“Нет. Nothing.”
“Aw, fer fuck’s sake. Piece of shite.”
There was a clanging noise as Jess hit the hydraulic manifold with a wrench. Jess was the Tank’s driver and, out of all the crew, had the most mechanical experience. But the idiosyncrasies of the Iosef Stalin series were starting to get the better of her.
“This wud be so much easier if everything weren’t labeled in bluidy Russian!”
“Is Russian tank!” Natalia retorted. She was standing up on the turret with a service manual, and had been translating as best she could for her driver and gunner. “What you expect?!”
“Actual f’ckin letters, not this weird backwards malarkey.”
“In English tank, is English. In French tank, is French. In German tank, is German. In America tank, is little pictures.”
“Fuck you, Ivan,” Bell shot back at this cheap shot. Natalia ignored her.
“In Russian Tank, is Russian. Why is this hard to understand?”
“Alright Tsarina, don’t get yuir panties in a twist.” Jess stuck a bent cigarette in her mouth and sucked on it. She wanted to light up, but was sitting right next to a high-explosive shell, and she wasn’t suicidal. Yet.
“I think the problem is in the line itself.” Tessa spoke up from somewhere below Jess. “It happened in the middle of that last battle, maybe it got ruptured?”
“No, ah checked the line. Pressure is good. It’s in the pump mechanism somewhere.”
“Machines don’t just stop working-”
“Aye, They doo whin they’re made cheaply and quickly like this Soviet scrapheap…”
“You are wanting to walk home? Be my guest!”
“Yer bum’s oot the windae, yer fuckin’ bampot…”
“Пошёл на галма, сука, блядь!”
“EY!”
Bell’s shout cut through what looked like was going to turn into a full-on screaming match between the Commander and her Driver, which was unusual. Natalia normally kept her cool when things got dicey. Similarly, Bell usually stayed quiet during altercations, so her interjection came as a big enough surprise to the other crew that it stopped the fight dead in its tracks.
“There’s a freaking Forward Base about 15 miles from here. Why don’t we just go there and get someone to fix it there?”
“You sayin ah cannae do it Yank? You feeling brave today, hen?” Jess narrowed her eyes, a dangerous look in them.
“All I’m sayin’ is that maybe instead of yelling at each other, maybe we can actually go somewhere with the resources to do the job right?”
“Is too dangerous. If we encounter combat, we vulnerable.” Natalia pointed out.
“How is that any more dangerous then sitting here in a tree line waiting for a Panzer to take a pot shot at us?”
“She’s got a point.” Tessa chimed in.
“Naebody asked yoo.” Jess retorted, kicking blindly at her.
“Jessica.” Natalia was back in Ice Queen mode; all signs of her previous frustrations gone.
“Can you drive to Forward Base with turret stuck?”
“Ah can drive it to bluidy Constantinople and back if ye want.”
“Then let us do that. Bell is right, is waste of time trying to fix here.”
“Aye.” Jess disappeared inside the hull, clambering into the driver’s seat.
“Thank you Bell.” Natalia spoke quietly to her Loader. “Is good to have voice of reason. The storm, it is …uhm. How you say…putting me on edge.”
“No problem commander. It’s been a rough couple of days. I even forgive you that comment about American tanks having pictures instead of words.”
“Is that not case?” I thinking that…”
Whatever the rest of her comment was, it was drowned out by the engine roaring into life. Bell shook her head, then shrugged.
Natalia shook her head too, then gestured into the turret. Bell clambered inside, followed partly by Natalia, who kept her head and shoulders above the commander’s cupola.
It was a tight space for four people to share, and the occasional fight was to be expected.
The Winter Solstice made its way south, the landscape lit up sporadically by flashes of lightning, and the occasional colorful curse as Jess had to take another wide turn around an obstacle to avoid hitting the main gun.
*
Anatopism 