Ostnordia at War - chapter 3 - Sex Stories

Ostnordia at War - chapter 3

... spot in the middle of the day, crossing the snow field in our all-white clothing. The glare of the sun reflecting off snow and ice would likely blind most cameras.

As Anika started digging another snow cave, I prepared supper. I saw a sparkle in the sky and discovered there was a drone flying south to north over the border line. We ate some crackers with fish and vegetable soup. We decided to start across the border a little before noon. Skiing would be faster, but rapid movement would make it easier to detect us. We’d cross on snowshoes but be ready to change to skis quickly if we were noticed.

We snowshoed slowly, taking nearly an hour to reach the middle of the two-kilometer plain. I spotted a drone, but as it approached I saw it was Russian. We walked a little farther and heard engines in the distance. We looked around and saw eight soldiers on snow machines far behind us. We abandoned our snowshoes and skied for our lives. I was surprised they didn’t shoot, until I remembered their main goal was capturing Ostnordians to sell as slaves.

They were only a hundred meters behind when we reached a small village. We skied behind a barn and saw an old woman getting firewood from a pile. She heard the engines and waved us in her direction. We followed as she led us around a house and into the middle of the village. The Corp soldiers drove around the corner. They hopped off their snow machines, pointed their guns at us, and yelled for us to surrender. The old woman ...

... picked up a large metal funnel, holding it to her mouth like a megaphone. She shouted, “RODINA UUURRRAAAH!” – ‘For Mother Russia!’

Suddenly gun barrels protruded from every door and half the windows! There must have been a hundred! A few even had RPG rocket launchers! The Corp soldiers dropped their guns and held their hands up. Instead of capturing us, they became prisoners of the Soviets. Later I heard they were ‘reeducated to be good socialists’ by working in a mine for five years.

An elderly couple kindly invited us into their home. They gave Anika and I tea and food and were excited to have visitors. They called a government office and said an agent would come talk to us the next day. They were very kind, and the lady reminded me a bit of Great-grandmother. We were happy to sleep on their living room floor, indoors for the first time in two weeks. We wore only our underwear and a single blanket, but felt a little too warm.

Surprisingly, the Soviet government was efficient. The immigration agent arrived with a pair of soldiers before lunch. She was a tall, thin, angry-looking lady. Anika spoke to her, since she was older and understood Russian better. In the back of the agent’s car, she explained, “In the Russian immigration system, young men and women live in different buildings. I told her our last names are the same because we’re married. That’s the only way we can stay together. She got you a job loading trucks, and I’ll be a cook. We’ll have a small apartment in ...