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March
1982, Afghanistan
The
rumble of the machine. Vadim couldn't quite sleep, and he
wasn't supposed to, but after three weeks guarding the convoy,
and more fake alarms than he could remember - seemed there
were no enemies in the mountains, only shadows that moved
and rocks that looked to these kids like enemies. Baba Yaga
out hunting children, some shit like that. He was as tired
as a long-rotten dog, decomposed, bones already ground to
dust. The mountains had the colour of ground-up bones, anyway.
Made for joyful driving.
The conscript's
name was Platon, like the old Greek, and that was probably
why they put him together with Vadim; Vadim would sometimes
say things hardly anybody understood, especially when he was
semi-drunk and not itching to kill or brawl, so, it was two
philosophers on the same truck.
Vadim's
head nodded forward, and he wanted to curl up and sleep, preserve
warmth and sanity.
"Do
you have a girlfriend?" Platon glanced over, his face
too young, far too young to be here, the shaved head made
him look like a child.
Vadim
nodded forward. "Concentrate on the road." He wanted
to sleep badly, could not remember when he had really found
any rest, and didn't have any idea when he could expect rest
again. And he kept nodding off, thirty seconds, or a minute,
while the trucks crawled forward, mine sweepers checking the
road bit by bit. One mine meant the whole convoy had to stop,
and that amounted to something like seventy trucks. He was
not supposed to sleep, he was on duty. Only that he hadn't
been off duty for three weeks, and was starting to fray. He
was perfectly willing to mistake anything for a dushman.
Ironic,
really, that the bandits were starting to pick up how to mine
the roads. The first attacks had been screaming and shooting
and standing perfectly in the open, but somewhere along the
way, they had picked up skills. He had heard they still refused
to belly crawl towards their targets, apparently they were
too proud. But they were starting to grow into it, the whole
guerrilla thing. Ambushes. They were getting trained to get
better, and one thing had to be said in their favour: They
were tough.
Vadim
yawned. "Huh?"
"Girlfriend?"
Platon reached inside his vest, showed him a photo.
Vadim
didn't really look. "Nice."
Platon
seemed a little surprised, but then worked out that being
puzzled by a spetsnaz was the least of his problems.
Vadim
obliged him. "Nice tits."
So much
for the bonding experience. Vadim did, on principle, not show
anything like photos. He didn't carry them out in the field,
as it were, and he sure as fuck wouldn't let anybody comment
on Katya's tits. And he didn't want any comrades to stare
at the children. These things didn't belong together. He knew
that the story went his wife was really not much to look at,
but then somebody had told that other story of the Olympics,
and the conscripts had fallen silent. They had been nothing
but children back in the days.
He jerked
awake again, ironically because the truck had stopped moving.
Platon began to sweat, even though the heating was off, saving
power. "Oh god, please ..."
Vadim
glanced at the sweepers, who seemed concerned. Might be a
mine, might be a mock-up. It was hard to tell, especially
with the sleet and snow outside. The mountains were starting
to fuck them big-time. "Five more, and you get a medal."
Twenty
trips per medal. It was getting that dangerous.
Platon
stared at him. "I don't want a fucking medal ..."
Vadim
laughed softly. "Then you're in the wrong place."
He pushed the door open, used the truck as cover as he brought
up the rifle. The ice rain was starting to battle against
the fur hat, the big woollen coat, visibility was a joke.
He saw absolutely nothing.
More
doors opened. Spetsnaz. Covering each other, while the sweepers
began their work of starting to excavate. No alternative.
Left was solid, vertical rock with boulders, right was a chasm.
Nothing new. Vadim was used to landscape suddenly ending in
this country, and hanging in mid-air.
He briefly
closed his eyes, burning from the cold, burning from lack
of sleep, burning with concentration.
Fuck
you, he thought, checking the rubble for figures. We are too
big for you to take. Or maybe you planted this and didn't
think the next one would be so big and now hold a fucking
loya jirga about whether to attack or not. He signalled, used
the trucks as cover, crossed the road and found himself a
nice bit of rock that looked like it had eroded from somewhere
higher up. Rocks coming his way was the last thing he wanted
to think about.
He could
see more soldiers take position, hit the ground, crawl, and
felt his blood burn. He wasn't tired anymore, just exhausted.
They
could always get a feeling for the territory from up there.
He began to climb, snow and rain and ice trying to crawl into
him, and after the damned heat of the summer in the lowland,
it had to be fucking winter when he got into this place. Just
his luck.
Five
hundred yards up - and he thought he could see movements,
scurrying, maybe small rocks that were dislocated and began
to dance down. Vadim paused, tried to see, thought he could
feel eyes and concentration on the trucks, but didn't want
to give away his position. He signalled again and advanced
a little more. No shots. No movement. They stayed put. Not
risking it this time. Not today. The convoy was too well-protected.
Platon
would get one trip closer to his medal. Vadim waited, heart
pounding, cold as fuck, hands on the rifle nearly without
feeling, just enough left in his hands to be able to tell
he was still holding something.
The lights
flared once down on the road, and Vadim signalled back to
the convoy. He knew what he had seen, but there was no point
in fighting this battle, not with visibility like shit. Not
cold and tired like this. But he knew that there had to be
caves, and that they used this position for an ambush. They
might do it again. Good sites were to be cherished. It wasn't
too far away from one of the Soviet strongholds, the kind
where they sat and waited, barricaded up and unwilling to
venture out, unwilling to leave, keeping losses down. Every
now and then, the dushmans would fire something at them, a
grenade, an RPG, stuff like that, and the Soviets would return
fire with everything they had, and usually stopped when there
was no more shooting from the other side.
Vadim
had the feeling that was not what he was there for.
He returned
to his seat, cold and wet enough to drip, at least the coat
held the worst off, and went back to half-sleeping, half-waking,
and nodding off without finding rest.
*
* * * * * *
Fucking
cold. Fucking snow and ice, howling winds and thin air that
stopped him breathing with lead weights across his chest,
only allowing frantic, shallow breaths even at the best of
times. Much worse if he tried the slightest physical exertion.
Fucking mountains, deadly freezing nights and goddamned fucking
Mujas who kept him in a maze of caves after caves. 'Is good,
Daan. Is safe.' And they'd nod. Fuck them. Fuck his weapons,
his frozen hands and the constant almost-frost bite.
Most
of all, fuck the Russians! Fucking Soviet cunts in trucks
and impossibly big convoys. Fuck their furry hats and sheltering
vehicles and fuck even more their mere presence. Bastards.
If they had stayed back home in Mother Russia he wouldn't
have to freeze his bollocks off.
The insurgents
had been warned the convoy would be one of the largest, but
had they listened and stayed in the fucking caves? Had they
fuck. It was out again and braving the elements. 'Go, Daan.
Good, look. Watch our mines. Good, Daan. Taught us. Watch
effect.' They could watch their own arses for all it was worth,
if it were down to him.
Dan was
trying to wiggle his fingers, had been holding his AKM rifle
for too long, the additional rounds on his back starting to
dig into his body. Too freezing cold to be for hours on an
observation post like this. Couldn't feel his toes anymore,
tried to move them as well, when the convoy came into sight.
Holy fucking Christ, he started to count, ending somewhere
around seventy. Shit. No way, it would be suicidal to attack,
no matter how long the trucks had to stop when the first ones
caught wind of the traps. Dan checked to his left and right,
praying his 'friends' weren't so bloody stupid to disregard
his advice.
He wiped
ice off the binoculars, shifted his weight, then started to
move slowly, crawling forwards on hands an knees. Stopped
when doors opened and soldiers came into view. Knew they were
highly armed and trained killers. No one but Spetsnaz to guard
the trucks, no one other than … Shit. That man. The tallest
of them. Dan checked again, concentrated on movement, statue,
body and gestures.
No doubt.
Felt
a twinge of unexpected desire hit the pit of his stomach,
greed curling deep in his guts. Fuck. How could he have forgotten
amongst all the strain, frustration and physical hardship
that there was one need that was growing with every time it
had been satisfied. A bottomless vessel, the more he filled
it, the emptier it got.
He stared,
transfixed on the man, aware of a hidden desperation. He had
to find a way to follow the Russkie; of course, it made strategic
sense. The convoy would split and make its way in two different
directions. One South, another deeper into the mountains and
higher into inhospitable terrain, and someone would have to
keep track. Dan knew just the place where the trucks were
heading to, but what was even more important, he knew in which
of the vehicles the Russian cunt sat.
Dan slunk
back once the convoy was out of sight, determined to talk
to the Mujas. Driven by the poisonous need, but no plan yet.
Pondered stake-out. Recce. Anything that got him close to
the Soviet outpost, trusting ideas to come to his mind once
he got there.
Fucking
suicidal, but at least he wasn't cold anymore.
*
* *
Dan had
convinced the insurgents easily, they would always listen,
just like children. He had gone on his own, refused to take
anyone else, claimed they didn't have the experience and besides,
how would they do their five-daily prayers?
He had
made it close to the garrison over night, despite the extreme
cold. Had learned from the Mujas how to survive, wrapped in
a thick Afghan coat and native clothing on top and beneath
his old army gear. Had a rough outline of cave location in
his head, never a map, too dangerous should he get caught.
He survived the bitterly freezing gales of the night, holed
up in one of the flea infested caves. Shelter, even though
he felt as if thousands of those beasts were crawling upon
him.
Dan had
been on the stake-out, mind-numbingly patient, for several
hours before he caught a glimpse of the one man he was looking
for. Grinning with bared teeth, could get himself easily killed
for his greed, but counted on the other man being fucked-up
and insane enough to bite the bullet that he was going to
offer.
Teeth
chattering after another two hours, Dan had enough information
to satisfy his official mission, called the recce a day and
started his own operation. His body was almost frozen solid,
but the rattling snake of unsatisfied lust was still coiling
in the depths of his stomach, suffocating him worse than the
thin air of the Hindu Kush's high altitude.
Reaching
blindly towards his back, Dan fumbled for one of his belt
pouches, searching for a reminder of early days and a leftover
scrap from a bag, the one he'd been wearing back in the days
of his reporter disguise. Dan pulled one glove with his teeth
from his fingers, prised the piece of fabric out of the pouch
and grinned, eyeing the soiled and torn Canadian flag he had
haphazardly stitched onto the front. Once bright red and gleaming
white, now dirty colour on tattered and frayed ground, but
enough contrast to stand out in the snow. Stand out and be
noticeable - for someone alert enough to see it. The Russkie
was a sniper, he'd spot the colour that didn't belong.
"Come
here, kitty kitty, come to Dan …" he muttered to
himself, carefully placing the grubby scrap on an outcrop
of rocks, weighed down with some stones to keep it from escaping.
Just a piece of fabric, blown across the mountains, of significance
to no one, except for one man who Dan would swear had an unrivalled
perception. He'd witnessed the other's sniper skills before,
after all.
All he
had to do now was slink back and find his way to the cave
that provided shelter, be economical with his rations, conserve
body heat and wait.
Wait.
*
* *
Vadim
had hated the cold from the first days of survival and winter
training, and that meant they'd established a mature mutual
hatred that Vadim started to feel comfortable with.
He was
fucking freezing, no surprise there, chest pumping against
the piercing cold air, but at least the drifting snow became
less dense, and the cloud cover was thick enough to allow
vision. Part of him enjoyed the mountains, if it hadn't been
for the treacherous ground of ice and loose rocks, and the
howl of the wind that could sound like human voices. It was
even worse when it sounded like non-human voices.
He was
walking patrol. They knew there was bandit activity here,
but they assumed the bitches would stay in their caves and
villages, and that, in the logic of someone entirely too much
in love with the concept of spetsnaz toughness and superiority,
meant it was a good moment to recce. Only a madman would be
out in this weather, under these conditions. They fanned out
over the mountains, even broke visual contact, every single
one of them on their own.
Vadim
moved, thought he'd seen a rock formation that seemed to potentially
harbour caves, crouched, was tired and slightly dizzy, brought
the rifle out, took position, observed the area through the
sights.
Blood?
No, a motion, small, fluttering. Bird? Signal? He checked,
the snow seemed to have been disturbed, but long ago. Might
have been mountain goats. Or it might be a sign for other
dushmans. He climbed higher, did a long, exhaustive circular
movement, came from the other side. Those rocks looked fucking
suspicious. He fumbled for the flare, kept it close to his
body, then advanced.
Yes,
caves. The thing looked man-made, nearly square. Cloth. Reached
for it, then realised what it was. Fuck. He pulled the hood
off his winter gear, pulled the rags away to bare his face,
just in case he was standing in a sniper's scope now. Canadian.
Yes, right. He knew he was here.
*
* *
Dan had
been watching. Waiting, again that fucking patience and battling
hour after hour with the freezing bloody cold that tried to
wear him down, but he kept in his position, only moving as
much as he needed to stop his body from succumbing to the
mountains and their horrors of winter.
There.
Movement.
Dan grinned,
right before the surge of heat shot into his body and pooled
in his guts and then groin, taking the grin and breath away,
as well as the caution. So close. Could shoot him, watch him
die and the goddamned endless white of the snow upon dull
grey of rocks turn into bright-red patterns of life and death
and lust and fuck. That wasn't what he wanted.
"Come
here, kitty …" murmured, Dan picked a small stone,
threw it towards the Russian from his vantage point higher
up. Hidden beneath an outcrop of rocks, the cave mouth invisible
from below. Watched the stone take momentum and disturb the
Russkie's vigilance.
I'm here,
cunt. I'm fucking here.
*
* *
Vadim
turned, eyes narrow. Hard to say where the small rock had
come from. Reached behind him, took the flag and stuffed it
into one of the ammo pouches, almost in an afterthought, then
began to climb, head bared, losing heat, he was cold, his
ears were numb, but he didn't want to catch a bullet.
Dan grinned,
but too bloody desperate himself to relish the triumph, watching
the Russkie's progress towards the cave. Closer, come close,
and don't you fucking shoot me, bastard.
Vadim
was climbing higher. Fucking madness to walk into an enemy
position, but he was convinced it could only be the Brit,
and he had to be alone. Please let him be alone. Vadim moved
faster, trotted up, then crouched to see what was there.
The mouth
of a cave. Good position. Hand on a pistol. "Is that
you?"
"Goat
fuckers don't usually have Canadian flags lying around in
the mountains." Dan's voice was coming from behind the
outcrop of rocks, the smirk was unmistakable. Fuck, he was
so bloody desperate he'd run into the garrison to get to that
body.
"I'll
put my safety back on, Russkie, if you do the same."
Vadim
raised the hand with the pistol, flicked the safety on and
slipped the weapon into its holster, then pushed the rifle
back over his shoulder. "Safety's on."
The answer
was a metallic click and then a shuffle and rustle. "Same
here." From the disembodied voice.
Vadim
moved closer to the voice, could finally spot something that
was the silhouette of a body. Excellent concealment. He could
have walked right over him without seeing him. "What
are you doing here? Sightseeing?" Vadim moved even closer,
grinned lightly, to mask the need that raged inside his body.
Not a chance yet to groom anybody in the garrison for sex.
No target he really wanted, but there was not much choice.
If he wanted a bitch, he better should start training one.
The silhouette
moved, started to form into a human shape, thickly clothed
in layers upon layers, sporting stubble on the little skin
that was visible in the rag-covered, grinning face that emerged
when Dan stood up. "I heard it was hunting season in
the Hindu Kush for shit-stabbing Russians." Grinned so
wide his teeth were showing, the insult not an insult this
time, too bloody horny to bother with their usual rituals
of enemy engagement.
Dan waved
the other inside, urging to step out of the howling wind and
biting cold. "I guess you haven't got any fags on you?"
The double-meaning escaped him for a moment, but when he caught
up, he smirked and set the rifle aside, fairly securely out
of reach and in the back of the cave. "Running low on
coffin nails." And even lower on sex.
Vadim
shook his head. "Don't even keep them as barter."
I want anything, I take it. I don't barter. He stepped out
of the cold, the lack of wind chill made it almost warm, for
contrast.
"Damn."
Dan muttered, but hadn't expected he'd be lucky, had used
up all his luck by still being alive, and together with the
Russian. He pulled his gloves and the sheep's wool hat off,
unwound the rag underneath and shook his head. Sporting a
veritable head of dark 'locks', his hair growing annoyingly
fast and no luxury as a barber in sight. "You got your
nice little bed warmly made up in the garrison, haven't you?"
A dry
cough. "It's better inside. Barely." Vadim regarded
the man that blended in, looking nearly like a beefy Afghan,
still fucking attractive, despite the wool in his face. "So,
you bitches do operate in this area", he said, thoughtfully.
"Mountains will swarm with my people. This is going to
be very unpleasant winter." As if any winter could ever
be pleasant. "My unit's outside."
Dan shrugged,
"Tell me anything new." Anything at all, other than
cold, danger, survival and blowing up Russkies. That, and
one of them right there for at least a few minutes. "Guess
you have the choice, in that case, to either try and kill
me straight away and thus save yourself the trouble later,
or stop the afternoon pleasantries and get your cock out,
because I am fucking desperate." A few months ago he'd
be shocked at the frankness of his words, not any longer.
"Your unit can wait for half an hour."
Vadim
glanced at the winter outside. Expose himself? He'd seriously
freeze his balls off. And spetsnaz out in the mountains. That
made it somehow ... interesting. Oh shit. "Desperate
for what?"
Dan rolled
his eyes, opened the long coat and dug through the layers
beneath, trying to avoid exposing any flesh. "Desperate
to get off, cunt. Have yet to find a brothel in these fucking
mountains."
Vadim
pulled the gloves off and stuffed them in his pocket, took
the rifle off and placed it against the cave wall. Wanted
to feel the other, yes, but maybe ... maybe the best way to
rub against each other and not bare any skin. Still wanted
that perfect round ass. He stepped closer to bring his hand
against the other's groin, rubbing it. "Half hour. Not
second more."
"Half
an hour." Dan nodded, reached for the other's coat and
buttons, working in haste to discover without uncovering the
flesh beneath. His own cock already hard, his hands were freezing
within seconds of being exposed to the air, but he'd be damned
if he'd let himself be stopped. "Been a long time."
Got through the coat to the tunic, shirts, vest and finally
the belt, fumbled with the trousers, "could come twice
in thirty minutes."
Vadim
nodded, surprised how fast the other worked, felt his cold
fingers on his flesh, his chest, and did the same, fuck the
temperatures, he assumed a mouth would be hot enough. He pressed
in, pressing the other against the cave wall, wedged between
sharp rock and demanding body, while pushing against whatever
resistance he could touch, thigh, hip, hand. "Too long",
he agreed. "Nearly made me fuck fucking conscript ..."
Hand warming against the other's flesh, while pressing closer,
didn't want to touch him cold, but couldn't stop, either.
"Only
thing available to fuck …," Dan's husky voice close
to the other's ear, "… are goats or sheep and I'm
not that desperate yet." Dark chuckle, then nothing but
teeth digging into the muscle of the other's neck, Dan's face
burrowed into layers of shirt collar and scarf, tasting skin.
He didn't have much room but pushed his groin into the Russian's,
hands, cocks, layers of cloth trapped between their bodies.
Preserving warmth, creating heat and friction.
"Shit."
Gasped out against Vadim's skin when cocks and hands connected,
hard flesh and ruthless strength, "won't take …
a minute."
Vadim
gave a silent groan, broadened his stance to get more leverage,
the bite on his neck always so fucking welcome, even if it
bruised, whatever, nobody would dare ask him where those marks
were from. Most wouldn't care, and he'd deny anything anyway.
Shut the fuck up about these matters, bragging and gloating
was for conscripts. Took the man's cock, wanted more than
that, but it would do. Had to. Madness to go for anything
more, and if he had to be caught pants down by his own unit,
at least he'd be mostly dressed, never mind the searing cold.
Firm
grasp, getting himself off and the other as well, shoulders
pressed against the Brit's, could smell the mix of fur, wool,
sweat, weeks with only the most improvised cleaning. But whatever
vermin lived in the other's native clothing, they would find
it hard to find any place to live on him. He was shaved and
clean, smooth. They thought he was especially reckless because
he shaved before a mission. They had this superstition about
shaving before a mission, about shaking hands, about saying
the word "final" in any context, and, of course,
about taking photos. They thought he was insane because he
shaved. What a strange place, this brotherhood of Afghanistan.
Vadim
laughed. "Maybe one day I'll let you fuck me. Better
than goats." Made the point with a twist and increase
of pressure, pulled his lips back from his teeth.
Dan was
too far gone to balk, humping and grinding like a mindless
animal, pushing against the other's body, teeth sunk into
muscle and sucking on flesh. Taste of sweat and body heat.
"Fuck … yeah …" could have meant anything,
but the throwaway comment had lodged itself somewhere in his
lust-raging mind.
His hand
brutally stroking the Russian's cock, giving as much as he
was receiving. Desperation of months without anything other
than his own hand and his memories, images of that Russian
cunt and the taste and feel of the body, the knowledge of
power and matching strength. Had rarely had the chance to
jerk off, those goddamned mountains owned his body and mind,
and when Vadim twisted his hand with an even harder stroke,
that was it, enough to make Dan crash and come, shuddering
and pushing against the other, as hard as he could, cursing
under his breath, eyes wide open and staring into nothing,
teeth lodged in the muscular neck.
Vadim
laughed, breathless, he loved how the other lost it, lost
it so hard it would even take this confident bastard minutes
to put himself back together. "That's ... it", good
boy, he thought, with an odd familiarity despite the months
between sweaty Kabul and teeth chattering mountains. Thrust
hard, as if trying to crush the body, which was going hard
and raw with orgasm, came a few moments later, pressing the
other's neck into his shoulder, anything to hold onto, whatever
he smelt like, whatever they had done.
Dan was
far gone and out of it, as always, since the very first time
of fucking instead of raping, torturing, shooting or nearly
killing. Lost himself completely, every time he came, but
only ever for a few seconds. Precious moments of utter lack
of control. He was leaning against the other, who stood, legs
going weaker.
Vadim
wanted to drink and sit down, instead listened to the shudders
in the other's body, how he relaxed a little, and knew the
touch wasn't welcome much beyond this. He stepped back, enough
to keep the heat, pulled the scarf from his neck, wiped them
down, quickly, efficiently, closed the coat, and found himself
a rock to sit down, breathing, feeling warm and relaxed, for
once. He could collapse right here and sleep. Checked his
watch instead.
Dan simply
let everything happen, in that spaced-out moment after orgasm,
then stood himself, pulled up pants, closed trousers, pushed
down shirts ,vests and rags, and finally fastened the long
coat over his parka. Leaned against the wall of the cave,
looked at the other while rolling one of his last cigarettes
one-handed. "Any chance for another enemy encounter?"
Vadim
smirked, glancing up. "I think I'm stuck here all winter.
Secure that road." There really was only one road, an
artery that needed to be protected. "Establish some footholds."
The other knew that of course, all he did was confirm it.
His very presence could only mean that. "Maybe two weeks,
here?" Couldn't propose anything else, couldn't show
him the map, too much information. "I'll be walking lots,
you know." He laughed. "Get my fitness up for summer.
Fucking training camp."
Dan shook
his head, "Shit, no. Can't do it. Got to go back."
Wherever the fuck the 'back' was, nothing for the Russkie
to know. Lighting the fag he inhaled deeply, revelling in
nicotine and hands that were warm for once; warmed by the
other's body. Sated, he knew the desperate need would be back
with a vengeance. Too soon. "Remember the cave on the
plateau? The water hole."
Heat,
pain, hatred and mercy.
"I'll
be there next month. Three weeks, max four." Endless
miles, on foot and mule through the mountains.
Vadim
smirked, no humour. "You're covering lot of miles. Don't
think I can make it. Might be able to volunteer if anything
comes up, but I'm stuck here. Can't just go sightseeing in
Afghanistan. I'm officer, not tourist." Would be nice,
though. "Shit."
Dan huffed,
a dry laugh, equally without humour. "Sightseeing is
highly overrated, as impressive as the mountains are."
Impressive and deadly. Hated them - loved them. Had become
part of them, the Afghan mountains were creeping into his
blood and bones. Wanted to just sod his orders, simply stay,
at least for a day or two, but even if he had the food with
him, he couldn't. Had his orders, impossible to defect, just
for a fuck. Just?
Vadim
frowned. The other wouldn't tell him where his base was, and
they might even find it with a little luck. His hand went
to the pocket with the map, which had this area on it, and
the part they were covering, too much tactical information.
Shit. He wanted to pull it out and show and decide on a meeting
point. Didn't think he'd walk into an ambush. The man wanted
his body, not his death, not a victory won like that. But
it would be treason. That was exactly the kind of information
that was never supposed to fall into enemy hands. "I'll
try. You will have to be patient."
Dan nodded,
the signs of relief ghosting across his face. Hope. Good.
Perhaps another encounter. Inhaling deeply some more of the
smoke, he nodded. "I will be there," shrugged, added
the inevitable, "if I'm alive, of course. I'll be there
in about three weeks, can wait for two."
"If
you're dead, no point in meeting", murmured Vadim, then
suddenly gave a grin that was not at all dark. "Listen,
stir some shit up in area. Just general area of that cave.
Whatever you do, I don't care. But it might give me excuse
to go there. Investigate." Yeah, and it entails wounding
and crippling my own comrades. Then again, that was what the
other man did. Where he did it, now, that was a different
matter.
Dan's
dark brows rose, surprise and amusement. "Not sure if
I'd want you as my comrade." Smirked, but nodded, understood.
"I'm
special forces. Other guys think we're scary anyway."
But no, you don't want to be my comrade, because I might jump
you at night and fuck your ass.
"Just
make sure you're not there when I raise hell." Dan was
baring his teeth in a feral grin, with death their constant
companion, mocking the skeletal rider came easy. "Unless
you're into getting off with corpses."
"Not
quite there yet." Vadim shook his head, laughing. "I
like fight. Corpses don't do that."
Dan shook
his head, remembered - refused to remember, and glanced at
his watch instead, gestured with his chin. "Twenty-nine
minutes. Time for you to fuck off, back into your cosy little
garrison."
"Hm.
I might be ten minutes late?" Vadim replied, encountering
another set of raised brows.
"Despite
my earlier boasting," Dan stubbed out the fag, "I'm
not up for another round. Must be the shit food and the cold,
definitely not my age." He grinned, had the odd sensation
for a moment that he felt at ease with the enemy and their
fledgling banter.
Vadim
patted down his BDUs, found what he was looking for, opened
the pocket and tossed him one of the peanut butter bars. His
lunch for the patrol.
"Cheers."
Dan caught the snack, figured it had to be one of his own
ones, grinned while tearing the wrapper open. "Looks
familiar." Bit off almost half of it, chewing too fast,
proof of how hungry he really was.
"What
about twenty minutes late?" Vadim grinned and got up,
understanding. "I have five more clicks to cover - will
be shit, but I don't want to be in after nightfall."
"Best
get going. I got to stay here over night, not suicidal enough
to cross the pass at night. So, unless you want that corpse
after all, you better make sure I don't get any visitors."
Dan shrugged, "besides, I wouldn't go down without a
fight."
Vadim
glanced around in the cave. What a lovely way to spend the
night. How fucking dangerous. "You're scouting our position,"
he murmured. "I wouldn't attack. We are too ready. Or
why are you here? Alone?"
Dan grinned,
swallowing, amused by the question. "Why I'm here? Why
the fuck do you think I'm here? Or do you believe I happen
to let scraps of coloured fabric flying around carelessly?"
Vadim
checked his pockets, found a bag of nuts, wrapped up like
he had bought them on the market, kept the beef jerky because
he was getting hungry, too. Offered his full water bottle,
he could always thaw more snow, after all. "Can't leave
kit lying around, though."
Dan took
nuts and water, beggars couldn't be choosers, polishing off
the energy bar before taking a few mouthfuls of the water.
Peanut butter taste was still vile, but he could feel the
calories kicking in, producing warmth throughout his body.
He stashed the nuts in the pockets of his parka, beneath the
coat, nodded his thanks while handing the bottle back before
searching his bergan. "Here." Found strips of dried
and spicy meat, a handful of dates, offering them to the other.
"Not too bad, try them together." Reminiscent of
his words, back in another cave, and in the midst of summer
heat.
Vadim
paused, remembering himself, beaten up and mentally broken,
sweetness and spiciness. Probably too spicy for his taste,
but he took some, careful not to take much. He could get more,
the other ... couldn't. Hissed as the pepper or chilli kicked
in, felt his mouth go dry, then water. The dates soothed it
a little, and added a fruity, slightly grainy layer. It was
a change from the usual chow, which was the main point to
be grateful about.
"I
recognised you," Dan watched the other eat, grinned at
the sudden hiss. He, too, was chewing on some meat and dates,
"followed you, found you, met you." Shrugged, "that's
why I'm here."
The unknown
dread up in the mountains. The faceless movements. Dan. Shit.
Good he hadn't shot wildly into the snow. And that meant the
other was here for him. How fucking wrong, and why did it
affect him. The other wanted a hand job, wanted to get off,
that was the main thing. Vadim, of all people, should know
to what lengths guys went for sex. He nodded. "Yeah.
That's why I'll be at other cave."
"Aye,"
Dan nodded, "That's why you and I will be at the cave
next month." He turned his head, following the other's
movements, as Vadim slung the rifle back over his shoulder,
still eating, but careful not to use up all of his stash.
"Safe
crossing. I better get going."
"You
too, Russkie. Or as the Mujas say 'Allah Akhbar', God is Great,
and may he be with you." Dan chuckled darkly, "not
that I believe in any of that shit, but don't let yourself
get caught by them." He shrugged, still leaning against
the wall, watching the other.
Vadim
made a rude gesture. "Fuck you, too." He grinned,
gave a mock salute, put the hat back on and left.
Dan was
still laughing when the other was out of sight, surprising
himself once again at the sense of ease he felt. Almost comfortable,
something insanely sane about the banter and if he weren't
so freezing cold, forced to survive a night with temperatures
plummeting well into the minus double-figures, he'd spend
some energy thinking about it. As it were, unable to start
a fire with the garrison so close and patrols in the mountains,
he set up best he could in the furthest corner. Thawed snow
in his canteen, kept nuts and food close, and curled up. Burrowed
into his coat with a blanket wrapped around him, Dan used
whatever he had for insulation, his AKM clutched in his hands.
Sleeping
despite the freezing cold. Dreaming of heat and sweat, muscles
and strength, and the salty taste of the Russian's skin.
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