Soviet Superwoman – Spectres of the Past

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The powerful amazon known as Walkiria stepped gingerly up the steps to where her lover and spouse was still sleeping. She cursed under her breath as a splash from her coffee mug spattered the steel staircase as she made her ascent. It would have to wait until later. She and Olga had been up most of the night and despite how cold the metal, hyper-reinforced floor constructed for her by Yoyodyne felt, it could hold up under the strongest exertion without so much as a groan. She smiled as she thought back to a mere few hours ago. Olga had been on a roller coaster of emotions since her battle with the Russian, running the gauntlet of depressed, stricken, morose and as was the case last night, manic and full of energy. The son of a bitch had somehow tapped into something Olga had kept hidden deep in darkness and forced it out into the sun, fully exposing it. The talk they had had yesterday was good for her, but she was still withholding whatever it was that made her afraid.

Afraid was the best word for it and that word bothered Maia. Olga never seemed afraid of anything. She would be the first to charge an enraged Ultrawoman and her posse of over-sexed bimbos head-on with no back up. Fear simply wasn’t in her genetic make-up. Sure she had been afraid the first few times she entered combat, but anyone who said otherwise was a liar. Maia stopped and blew the steam gently off the tops of the coffee cups. They were in matching mugs with their appropriate symbols on them and that always made Maia smile. The first time Olga saw them she launched into a grumble about commercialism. That was what the red-haired beauty associated them with now. Sometimes her Soviet lover was too much. Like the time she asked the projectionist to zoom in during a web conference with Lone Stranger. Stuck in the past at times. Maia hoped the physical activity of last night coupled with her favorite coffee drink and some vodka would loosen whatever secret she was still clinging to.

The covers were down and Maia frowned somewhat. Not that her lover’s chiseled physique or jutting, heavy breasts was any cause to frown, it was the fact she was bathed in sweat and she shaking her head from side to side slowly, caught in the throes of a nightmare. She mouthed a word that Maia didn’t understand…maybe it was Russian. She listened as her wife spoke it again, more softly this time. She put the word to memory and continued walking over, smiling wide.

“Wake up Comrade,” said Walkiria, kneeling her own nude body down next to hers and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I made your favorite: one cup coffee, one cup vodka, two creams and two sugars. Go easy because it’s the only vodka you get today hon.”

Olga rubbed her eyes and looked up at her mate. She smiled and took the coffee mug with both hands. “You know I hate this mug…” she said in a scratchy voice.

“It’s got your symbol on it, take it as a compliment. Soviet mugs weren’t the rage until you flew in from the sky.”

The Soviet Superwoman blew on the coffee and took a big sip, quickly followed by another.

“You were a busy girl last night,.” Maia winked at her, “No wonder you’re so thirsty.”

“I did not hear you complaining Возлюбленная. The only thing I heard was you moaning and begging for more.”

“Well you know I love it when you use that thing on me.” Maia blushed and leaned over to kiss her. Olga’s mouth was warm from her beverage and inviting. Their tongues intertwined for a moment and the Russian let out a little moan of her own. Walkiria smiled and broke it off, taking a big sip of her own non-alcoholic morning drink.

“Were you looking to have another go, my Возлюбленная?” Olga said leaning back to expose her tremendous pectorals capped with enormous breasts and her ripped abdominal six-pack. Maia arched an eyebrow.

“Well the news this morning has been slow. No super-criminals are apparently up and active this early.”

“Then we can get quickie in before we head to the gym, da?” Olga purred.

“Actually…” Maia started carefully, “I have something serious to ask you hon. What does the word, and forgive my pronunciation, Saj-mist-e mean?”

Olga’s face turned white and she looked away towards the ceiling. It seemed as if her entire mood suddenly deflated like a balloon. “Where did you hear this word?”

“You said it several times in your sleep love and I’m positive I’ve heard you say it before. What does it mean?”

“It is Sajmište…and it is a place.”

Maia nodded and finished off her coffee, moving closer to her lover. “Sajmište…I take it this is someplace from the war?”

Olga nodded, fidgeting her hands around the mug handle, her knuckles bone-white as she clutched it.

“Dammit Olga you have to be honest with me. I know what you told me yesterday wasn’t the whole story. You’re a soldier, just like I was. I’m sure the Germans you killed that first day were traumatic for you, a young girl raised on a collective farm and sheltered her whole life. Your whole family had been murdered a week or so earlier. It’s not something you ever forget or should ever forget…but I’ve also heard you tell other stories from the war, where you smashed the Germans at Kursk, or finished off the ‘Iron Chancellor’ and you didn’t bat an eye telling me about any of those deaths. You understood what it was like to be a soldier, to do what you had to do and to have discipline. You didn’t cry for all those other Germans and Nazis you had to kill.”

Olga put down her coffee mug and met Maia’s stare with one of her own.

“You do not understand. You did not see the things I saw in that conflict, the same things that the Voyevoda pulled from my past to torment me with! We are both soldiers, da, but in different conflicts.”

“Bull.” Maia barked at her. “The Olga I know isn’t afraid of anything and yet she’s afraid to tell me why she won’t take any more lives and why she lets guilt gnaw away at her when confronted with that truth. You’ve bottled it up since I met you…since you went to Russia and tried to claim it as your own…every time you’ve crossed Genocide…and recently since you fought Ultracow. I can’t help you if you won’t open your heart and let me know what happened to you to make such a strong-willed, powerful woman…a woman whose heart and spirit I fell in love with despite our obvious differences in politics and nationality…fall apart and lose herself in crippling doubt to the point where she kills herself slowly with vodka whenever confronted by it.”

Olga curled her arms around her, as if the room had suddenly gotten twenty degrees colder. She looked at Maia with her sapphire-blue eyes and a face made of plaster.

“I know this Sajmište…this place is the root of it all. Just tell me what happened Olga…please. I can help you. I love you.”

Maia leaned over and took her lover’s hands in hers, looking deeply into her eyes. There was just the two of them, both naked and in complete silence sitting on the bed. No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity. When she finally did shatter the quiet all around them, Olga’s voice was soft as she mentally reached back into the past and prepared herself for what she knew she would find there.

“Alright Возлюбленная…I will tell you about Sajmište and you will understand.”

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Soviet Superwoman - Spectres of the Past, 4.8 out of 5 based on 5 ratings

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