Cursed War - prologue

 

It was a beautiful May day. The sun was high above the ground, and clouds, white as snow, were slowly drifting westward. I, too, awoke cheerful and full of life. The housemates had been on their feet since early morning, going about their daily, albeit boring, duties.

My father was getting ready to leave for a business trip to a company in Poznań, my mother was complaining, as usual, about the mess in my room, and my sister had been in the bathroom for an hour. As for Grandma and Grandpa, I'd bet they'd been watching TV since early morning. "Panorama" probably intrigued them, or if not, then the daily "Coffee or Tea."

Well, yes, but what was I doing? I'd been sitting in the garage since early morning, where I'd set up a makeshift gym. I spent almost an hour lifting dumbbells. It's a pleasant experience—your arms might get a little tired, but it's a good way to relieve stress or let off steam if you get out of bed on the wrong side.

After this brief workout, I headed to the kitchen in search of something to eat. Intense exercise makes you hungry, after all. I ate two sandwiches that were practically waiting for my sister, but I was sure she wouldn't mind. She didn't like ham anyway.

After the meal, I found myself back in my room. I settled into a comfortable swivel chair and turned on my computer. I found myself hidden away on the internet, on some fantasy forum...

And so the time flew by until noon.

*

It might have been a pleasant enough day, if not for what happened around 1 p.m. As I sat at the computer, replying to emails and posts, a fire siren wailed. But not the kind of siren that fire trucks have. More like the kind that wails at extraordinary moments. This had recently happened when a very important person passed away... but I had no idea why the siren would be sounding now.

Before I could think about it, I heard the sound of jet engines—it was unmistakable. And when you can hear such engines, it usually means a plane is flying nearby. I went to the window to investigate.

And indeed, there were planes in the sky. They were flying very low, and there were probably more than a dozen of them. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that their fuselages bore a distinctive symbol—a black cross outlined in white.

What the hell, a neo-fascist attack? I thought. Suddenly, small, oval objects began falling from beneath the planes, inexorably approaching the ground. I didn't know what to do, so I ran down the stairs to get a better view of what was happening.

And then a sound so loud it nearly burst my eardrums. I felt the ground shake, and at one point, I heard nothing but my own heartbeat.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds. I didn't even feel my lips touch the ground. Clouds of smoke rose above the ground, and where my neighbor's house had stood just minutes before, now lay its remains, consumed by fire.

I was surprised to see that the garage next to my house looked similar. God, if those planes had arrived a few hours earlier, while I was practicing, I would have been finished.

Perhaps you can imagine how disoriented I was at that moment. I didn't know if I was dreaming it all or not. I assumed the latter, then got up and went back inside.

"What happened?" I asked my mother, who was looking out the window.

"I don't know!" she replied, and I managed to see tears streaming down her face.

"A terrorist attack?

" "I don't know!" "She said louder, and then immediately crouched down, as if she didn't want anyone on the street to see her.

I went to the window. My mother grabbed my arm and tried to pull me down, but I was stronger. I saw a group of at least ten men walking along the sidewalk. They were dressed in military uniforms with fascist patches. Each of them was holding a long firearm. I'd never seen one like that before, and I'd dealt with military equipment many times. Finally, I crouched down.

"What are these, Nazis?" I asked, but my mother only shrugged.

Through the window, I saw a group of my friends, all holding weapons, line up behind a pile of bricks and talking to each other. I saw fear in their faces, even though they were over a hundred meters away. A moment later, shots rang out.

Do you know what it looked like to me? An attack similar to the one we witnessed in 1939. That was exactly 66 years ago. The quick reaction of my friends, as well as others, who ran up to the soldiers in foreign uniforms and asked what was happening, was astonishing.

I saw my neighbor approach one of them, probably higher up, judging by his more elegant uniform. A woman, not quite fifty, with tired eyes and ailing hands. Very obese. We called her "Cistern." I had the impression she asked, "What's going on?" The soldier replied briefly, then quickly drew his pistol from its holster. I just caught a glimpse of her uncertain expression before the man pulled the trigger, and the bullet slid cleanly into her skull, covering her entire head with blood. The soldier ran after the retreating unit and headed toward the meadow.

I realized that Pawlo, Leśnik, and Krzynio, as we called each other, had stayed in the meadow and were carrying weapons. It all seemed very illogical to me, but I knew that if this man had shot my neighbor, he wouldn't hesitate to do the same to my friends. I heard my mother's voice sobbing at the sight of "Cysterna's" body.

I opened my father's private drawer. There were business cards piled high, a large calculator, and several pens. There was also a pistol. He'd obtained his permit for it less than two years ago. I grabbed the gun and two magazines lying next to it. I ran down the stairs, reloading and cocking the gun as I went. I quickly put on my worn-out sneakers and ran out into the yard. It looked clean, but I'd learned that appearances can be deceiving. I stepped out onto the street. A few curious residents stood in the distance, watching all this. When I looked the other way, I spotted a soldier just as he was disappearing around the bend into the clearing. I cut a corner and ran across the street, careful not to trip over my neighbor's body. I saw the posthumous grimace on her face. If she were alive, that expression might have been amusing, but no—it filled me with terror.

I kept running until I finally passed the bend into the meadow as well. I could see those ten individuals now, but also the brick wall behind which my friends were probably waiting, hidden all the time. Potential enemies walked without looking back, and thank God, because if they had turned around, they would surely have seen me—there was nothing for me to hide behind.

I heard a shot. One of the attackers fell to his knees and dropped his rifle. What I suspected happened was exactly what I suspected—one of my friends opened fire. I was almost certain it was Forester. The others started looking around, but they also scattered for cover.

So these aren't amateurs, I thought, and we won't be picking them off like ducks. The soldiers also opened fire. Bullets struck the bricks and knocked some of them over. Pawlo, Krzynio, and Leśnik certainly didn't feel safe. Incidentally, they were amateurs, judging by what they showed when I invited them to a paintball party. Of course, we were also accompanied by girls back then, who, thank God, weren't here at the moment.

I ran a few meters ahead, towards the soldier, who had decided to lie down and shoot from a prone position. He made the mistake of not noticing my foot pinning his face to the ground. He was now unconscious, but another problem arose – two bullets flew past me. This wouldn't have been unusual, except that they were from Leśnik's rifle. It probably missed by a full meter. The boy couldn't shoot. Paul, all my hope is in you, I thought.

Taking advantage of the fact that my opponents hadn't yet spotted me, I took the liberty of aiming precisely at the head of one of them. I pulled the trigger, and the soldier fell to the ground with a groan. Two of the attackers immediately turned towards me and fired. They were quite far away. One shot missed, but one of the bullets lodged in my boot and, judging by the pain it caused, reached my foot. I dropped my father's pistol, reached for the rifle of the unconscious soldier, and fired a burst at the two soldiers crouching next to each other. This time, my aim failed me, and I don't think I even wounded either of them.

"Paweł, fucking cover me!" I shouted, hoping he'd hear me and recognize my voice.

He must have, because bullets immediately rained down from behind a pile of bricks. I also heard a shout, "Bartosz! No!" It couldn't have been a good omen. Damn it, what could four paintball enthusiasts do against seven soldiers!?

I heard footsteps behind me. I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see that the enemy, who had been persistently shooting at me but had hit the rock protecting me, was reloading. I took advantage of this and hit him in the torso. However, I didn't suspect that this shot would send him to the Hunting Grounds. Only then did I turn to see whose footsteps I'd heard. If it had been the enemy, I'd already be dead, I thought. The men running towards me were wearing green camouflage uniforms with a red and white flag. There were five of them.

"Just in time!" I shouted at them and resumed fire

. The Polish soldiers dispatched the remaining enemies in a flash. Only then did Pawlo and Krzynio emerge from their shelters, carrying the Forester in their arms.

"What happened to him?" he asked, running toward them.

"He got hit in the shoulder," Pawlo replied. "It's good you arrived in time. We might not have made it.

" "We certainly wouldn't have made it if it weren't for these gentlemen." "I pointed at the soldiers who were examining the enemy bodies.

I ran to one of the Polish soldiers.

"I think we have a wounded man," I said, pointing behind me. The soldier nodded and walked towards the Forester.

"This one is unconscious," I said, pointing at the soldier lying at my feet.

"Well, I see, one of them is less pale," said one of our rescuers, a short blond with blue eyes and not very impressive build. "And these three? Is that your work?

" "One of them took one out," I gestured towards my friends. "And I took care of this one. That one is probably wounded, and this one is unconscious, as I already said.

" "Yeah. That one probably just died.

Indeed, he was already dead. And I could have sworn that just a few seconds ago, he was lying on the ground, wriggling, searching for his dropped weapon.

"Who are they... or were they?" I asked.

The blond man crouched down next to the unconscious man and showed the symbol on his uniform. It was the same one seen on airplanes.

"It seems they were our western neighbors."

I didn't understand a word of it. I picked up the gun from the ground. For the first time in my life, I'd killed a man. As it turned out a moment ago, not one, but two. It's... an unpleasant feeling. I wouldn't wish that on any of you.

I returned to Paweł, Krzyń, and the medic who was treating Forester. Fortunately, he was conscious.

"Can you tell me what this is all about?" I asked, wiping the gun

. "I was hoping you'd tell me.