The year is 2010..and a half.
Every night I get drunk, smashed beyond recognition and unintelligible, I suppose its because I have a drinking problem. Well maybe more than a drinking problem I guess. Depression some people call it but the truth lies deeper than that.
Truth is, I’ve lost a lot...I’ve seen my Grandmother be blasted to pieces in the Moscow bombings, my own Mother too was killed in a traffic accident. By a car.
I hate car, truth be told I have Amaxophobia which is silly but true. I’m scared of cars, terrified of them in fact.
Almost funny that I’m a tank driver, I go by the name “Nexus”,it isn’t Russian and was somehow coined to me when my father who is the commander of the tank division that I served in. Saw my talent for driving tanks and apparently said.
“He’s Nexus”. Which means a connection, usually where multiple elements meet, as for example spokes at a hub, originally from a Latin verb meaning "connect, bind." Taken from wikipedia after I got interested. After he called me that, the nickname stuck and nobody really called me by my first name anymore...just “Nexus”.
Anyway today is a good one. Out in the training grounds for my tank divison.Ive been serving for a few years, thanks to my father of course I am well respected and treated by the officers. Some people ask me why I didnt just get promoted. Well...its because I prefer being a sargent.
The day started off with me teaching some recruits how to drive a T62. A old 1950s tank that has been put into reserves, you see we dont scrap old tanks. We do something different, we just shove a bigger gun on or a fancy anti tank missle.
Of course the one that I was teaching on today was unfortuantly stocked with live ammouniation.
So I did the usual thing, let them drive and fail at turning corners. I guessed insantly that they were fanboys and promptly facepalmed. Apparently the US military has the same problem. People who think they are gods and....fail.
So there I was for most of the day,shouting at a bunch of recruits, one by one from the top of a moving tank turret. And yes I am that skilled.
The last one almost ended up in a ditch, why the hell they even let these morons in always confused me. I frowned and shoved the recruit out.
“See hows it done”. I said smugly and threw the old tank around the training ground, like it was a extension of my body. Like the connection where mutliple elements lead to to...I suppose I live up to my newer name.
The problem happened when I LET THEM ride the tank while I was moving. One apparently had a live grenade on him for some strange reason and pulled the pin for a joke. Danced arround on the tank body for a few seconds before realising the fuse time. Which is 5-8 seconds.
The grenade blew up,killing the recruits and sending shrapenal into the turret and hitting the live 115mm rounds.
I was lucky enough to have my head shieled from the grenade. But I knew what was going to happen. You never want to stay in a tank thats about to “cook off”. So I opened the drivers hatch and sprinted for my life. It then exploded. I was a good distance away but a piece of the tank itself hit my shoulder blade and I collasped soon afterwards.
A few hours or a day later I believe, I was in hospital. A local one.
I had already been treated and apparently the the piece that was lodged inside was easy to remove. I suppose I was at a safe distance after all. I allowed a few mintues to work my shoulder blade. Feeling it move up and down, letting it work again.
I was admitted out quickly.
Those recruits?.Well they died, they paid for thier recklessness with thier lives. They deserved that I think.
“Stupid...moronic...” I grimaced as I left the hospital. It was a short walk back to the barracks where I lived.
While I was walking down the moonlit streets(it was nightime). I suddenly realised that I had forgotten something....:Alcohol. I drank it every night.No exceptions. My only hobby, drink alone or drink with friends. Thats all I ever do now..
Anyway, long story short. I got slightly drunk this time, no too drunk that I had to fiddle around with my phone and call fifty random numbers while laughing hysterically in a effort to call one of my fellow sargents to pick me up.
The streets a few hours ago were dark, but now the only light was either the lamposts or the torch I carried around with me as I made my way back solo.
For a quick detour I had decided to go through the training ground, slip under the barbed wire and then just a few mintues walk, saves time.
While I was walking in a slightly drunk manner I came by either coincidence or fate:To the T62 that was blown up previously.
So what did I do?.
Get a little piece of the tank to take home with me of course. I was a bit of a advid collector, loved collecting things in my far and few between spare time.
The gun barrel was a good place to start, I moved my hand into the wreckage and felt something metal , it was of course a piece of the tank so I shifted it loose and to my surpise the entire barrel of the tank fell off and hit the ground with a clatter. In my partillary drunk state,I blamed the imaginary person or caterpillary standing nex to me.
“Sshhh, they hear you!”. I tried to whisper but shouted instead.
“Mmmmm”.
“What?”. Did I just hear something?.
It came from the barrel of the tank that was connected to the turret. Feeling brave I clambered onto the armoured figthing veichle and shifted both hands into the last remaing piece of the barrel.
To my horror and then suprise a little animal with purple hair found itself in my hands.
I started at it with a questionable look on my face, it was a horse baby...a foal?. But with a stubby horn on top of its head and a whiteish-grayish colour to its body.
I was confused.
I cant remember the rest as the next thing I knew was that I was in bed. Someone must have taken me in or I just somehow found a way back without remembering.
The question then came up. “What the hell was that thing last night?”.I said outload.
Sure enough ,as if to asnwer the “thing or foal” poked its head up from the opposite side of my bed.
It yawned and then went back to sleep. Of course I couldnt let something like that be in my room. I got out of bed and picked it up, deciding to throw it out of the window.
Thats when I realised that it could have use as a pet. Some weird coloured foal with massive eyes and a horn would be a good pet.
I needed to name it something.
It came from a cannon. Cannon is “Pushka”.
And the foal is a pony.
Together they make “Pushka Pony”. Or Pushka for short.
"Heh, my little Puska pony".