Special Forces: Soldiers Vashtan/Aleksandr Voinov and Marquesate

1987 Chapter XVI Special Forces—Red Cross 

June 1987, Kabul 

 

Dan looked dramatically changed, a completely different man from three 

months ago, when he had walked and climbed two days to the cave, weary and 

exhausted after nine months of hell in the freezing mountains. 

His hair cut, the long strands chopped off, back shaved and sides neatened. 

He could almost be a squaddie with that cut. Face smooth, making the scar stand 

out even more in his scrubbed face. Still an angry red line, the untreated knife 

wound would take some time to pale and blend itself into the living skin. Scrubbed, 

indeed, when he took the shades off, Dan’s hands looked neat, fingernails clean 

and cut short. 

He grinned at the approaching man, the full beam of his relaxed grin, while 

leaning against a wall of dried mud in a godforsaken corner of the city. So casual 

in his jeans and sweater, he looked as if he owned the place. All of fucking Kabul. 

The bright white arm band with gleaming red cross contrasted against the 

dark material of his sweater, and a plastic photo card dangled against his chest. 

Announcing him as Douglas MacFarlane, humanitarian aid worker from the British 

Red Cross. 

So that’s how he could move as freely through this shithole, as anyone 

could. Dan pushed himself off the wall to greet Vadim, walking the few steps with 

an undeniable limp, caused by a stiffness in the right knee. He seemed to neither 

notice nor bother. Dark eyes and bright grin focussed on Vadim and nothing else. 

“Welcome back, Russkie.” Dan said in Russian, “good to see you in one 

piece.” 

The driver had dropped Vadim downtown, they thought it might be 

something official. Military advisor, specialist work. Again, risky, especially with 

the new medals on his chest. His career was moving fast, and up, but it didn’t 

matter, because in his unit, everybody was an officer and on the fast track. It made 

him dizzy, sometimes, but it was not like he was moving into any place with real 

power. Connections, yes, but nobody he could trust, nobody who could do what he 

actually wanted done. 

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But never mind. Vadim paused, regarded him, took him in, this stranger. 

Dan. Limping. He looked at the knee, very obviously so, one way to ask a question 

when he would just get a piss take should he speak it. 

“It’s you who is back,” he murmured, patting Dan on the shoulder. “Red 

Cross? I knew you bitches were everywhere. We should kick you out of this 

forsaken country.” He tugged at the photo card, read the little personal information, 

regarded the photo which was fairly recent. “No go, Sir, I need to check this on the 

list.” A faint smirk, and a long look up and down and especially middle. “You will 

see me in my office, where I can check this.” 

Pointing at the card. Leaning closer. “And I’ll show you my desk.” Hand 

found Dan’s jaw, patted it, a motion bordering gentle slaps. “I am sure you can 

convince me you’re genuine.” 

Dan laughed, dark, warm chuckles mixed with gruff amusement. “You 

fucking idiot. Can hardly run around as who I really am, eh?” Who he really was. 

His rank? Staff Sergeant? Never mentioned it to anyone, it didn’t matter. Glanced 

at the new tinsel on Vadim’s uniform. “Do they provide cushions for the desks 

with those?” 

“Pay’s shit, but rank’s alright.” Vadim shrugged. “And Afghanis pay more 

for my head now.” He moved one arm lazily to block the follow-up punch with as 

much conviction as Dan had put into it. 

Dan smirked after a swift glance around to make sure they were still not 

being watched. He nodded towards the other side of the narrow path, talking while 

slowly walking. The limp pronounced but despite Vadim’s obvious glance at it, 

Dan refused to comment. “You will find that I have been a humanitarian aid 

worker for quite some time.” Dan winked, making his way to an even narrower 

alley, quiet for a little while. 

“I need to talk to you.” Gesturing with his chin to a rickety door made from 

nothing but wattle, which led them into a ground floor room that let in shafts of 

light through cracks in the wall. 

“Talk? Damn.” Vadim glanced around the room, then focused on Dan. 

Joking was less easy when he was this close. Things always grew a little serious. 

He took off the peaked cap and placed it between arm and chest. “Okay. I’m 

listening.” 

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But Dan did not talk straight away. Instead glancing around the room, 

satisfied that it was exactly how he had left it. The half-torn shutters and tattered 

window hangings were darkening sufficiently, with the sun creating thin beams 

through tears in the fabric. Dust was dancing along every speck of light, and after a 

moment of adjusting his eyes to the murkiness, he could make out the stacked pile 

beside his bergan, atop the rolled out sleeping bag. 

He bent down, picked up a large piece of wood that had been hidden in 

darkness, and bolted the door. 

“Right.” Dan finally nodded, reached for Vadim’s cap, plucking it  

unceremoniously from under his arm. With a flick of his wrist, it landed on a 

recently wiped-down block of wood, serving as a table. “I have to go back to the 

UK.” He turned, reached for the top button of Vadim’s uniform, started to undo it. 

“My right knee needs surgery, impossible to overlook, hm? The quack promised it 

would be as good as new afterwards.” He grinned, gleam of teeth in the gloom 

while each button slipped through one buttonhole after the other, before he began 

to unravel Vadim’s neck cloth. 

Vadim stood bolted in place. He ran a hand over his hair, his shaved neck. 

Dan’s hands on his uniform made him straighten. Fuck. The uniform made this 

awkward, somehow, the ribbons and medals, all the brass as they called it. 

Different in the camo. Less official. His gaze fell on the sleeping bag. Another one 

of those encounters. He was sick of hiding, sick of coupling like an animal under a 

rock, hidden away. And he knew that there was no alternative to it. 

“How long do you have tonight?” Dan was hoping at least well into 

darkness, but never assumed anything. 

“Should be back first thing in the morning.” He might get into trouble for 

that. But curfew was too early to return, and Vadim didn’t want to be out after that. 

That gave them ten hours. 

“Good.” Dan nodded, smiled, mind set on the hours they had. Taking care 

with the uniform, careful not to crease or stain it, he knew what a bastard they 

could be, even though it had been ages since he’d last worn his No 2s, let alone No 

1s. Fumbling with the polished belt buckle, opening those bitches from the wrong 

side hadn’t got any easier in all those years. He finally managed and pushed the 

tunic off Vadim’s shoulders. 

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“The new General Secretary is making strange noises about Afghanistan,” 

Vadim murmured. Shit. He shouldn’t bring up politics, and why mention it in the 

first place? The withdrawal – if it happened – would take forever. And he’d be here 

up until the last day. He would have to help and secure and guard and kill. And it 

might be just empty rhetoric. There was unease in the army, and some wondered if 

accepting defeat in a backwater place like this might not be too damaging. 

“That Gorbatchev sounds different to your old guys. I used to call Brezhnev 

the ‘fish’, always seemed he breathed in air like a carp.” Dan was undressing 

motionless Vadim like a child that bared a precious doll. 

“There’s this joke in Kremlin: ‘What support does Gorbatchev have? – 

None, he walks unaided.’” Vadim laughed, and so did Dan. “Unaided. Cracks me 

up every time.” He was nervous, somehow. Helped by moving his shoulders, 

tensed his muscles, showing off. Millions of crunches. He just didn’t have a life. 

“Damn.” Dan murmured, regarding the smooth chest before him, and the 

chuckles stopped. Raising his eyes level with Vadim’s. “Been seven years and I’m 

still addicted to your body, you stupid fuck.” 

Vadim smiled, pleased, oh so very pleased. Body remembering the things 

they did, a slow, warm flame that spread slower than normal. Ten hours to burn to 

ash. As if they could ever manage. “If you add up hours, we’re still in our 

honeymoon.” Pat against Dan’s jaw, the closest thing to slapping him. 

“Honeymoon?” Dan laughed, placed his palm over the dog tags, 

“Alternative travel package tour?” Still grinning, his hand covered the warmed up 

metal.  

“You got to take them off, but you have to trust me.” 

“You take them off.” Another grin, and Vadim spread his arms, bent his 

neck a little. “I won’t move one muscle.” 

Dan nodded, slipped the chain with its tags off Vadim’s neck, before letting 

his fingers buzz upwards against the short-shaved hair in the back. Leaning closer, 

lips touching Vadim’s ear as he murmured, voice deliberately dropped low. He 

could guess what that did to Vadim. “I bet you my favourite weapon that I could 

make you move a muscle.” 

Goosebumps all over Vadim’s body. Oh yes, that particular muscle 

twitched, obedient. Not could. Can. Fuck. He closed his eyes briefly, devastated by 

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all the right things. Hand in his neck, breath against his ear, and Dan playful and 

sexy. 

Dan chuckled, dropped the tags onto the uniform pile and slapped his 

Russkie’s arse like a prize horse. “Now, get out of the rest of your kit yourself. If I 

do it we’ll never get where I want to take you, because I’d just screw your brains 

out.” 

The slap stirred him out of that moment, and Vadim cleared his throat. 

“What’s wrong with screwing?” He murmured, but obliged. Boots, trousers, pants, 

baring himself completely, including what Dan’s proximity did to him. 

“Nothing wrong with screwing, but I got something that will make it even 

better.” Dan stood with arms folded, then took one step back, had to restrain 

himself from touching. Ah, that cock. Loved the cock. Could never get enough and 

had the persistent urge to just get down onto his buggered knees, sod decorum, 

forget about plans and suck the goddamned sexy fucker off. 

“What’s plan?” Vadim looked up. Pleased to let Dan take over. Maybe he 

was that tired. 

“Plan is,” Dan cleared his throat, his voice betraying his own physical 

reaction, “for you to come with me.” Refused to give the game away, limped 

instead over to the pile beside the bergan, and brought it back. An armful of clothes, 

civilian. An armband like his own, even a plastic ID. Not too well forged but it 

didn’t matter. A rag like all of them were wearing. “First part of the plan, get this 

on and cover your head. You don’t blend into the crowd very well.” 

Vadim gave a short laugh, but realized Dan meant it. He liked the idea, 

even though the clothes were a mild shock. He was able to wear any number of 

uniforms, part of the whole deal of his occupation, he only looked too damn 

European, too Slavic, that few bought it. But in theory at least, he could become 

something else entirely. 

Even better. Getting dressed. Okay. Restrain the urge to get into Dan’s 

trousers right now. He wasn’t twenty-five any more. Part of growing up – and 

maybe old. “I always thought deflecting was more difficult,” Vadim joked, 

checking over his clothes again, could feel how empty his chest was, the absence 

of the constant shifting metal between his pecs. 

“We should be fine.” Dan grinned, cocked his head as if judging and—

expectedly—approving of the other. “Not many patrols where I take you.” He went 

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to retrieve the back pack, pulled out a spare knife and handed it to Vadim. Better 

safe than sorry and all that shit. Stored the uniform and hid the bag beneath a 

carefully stacked pile of rabble and wood, before wrapping his own head in a rag. 

“Let’s just say I harvested in a few favours tonight.” He gestured for Vadim 

to follow, before unbolting the door and slipping back into the alley. Leading the 

way deeper into the bowels of the city, the limp obvious but not hindering the 

progress, while keeping his head down all the way. Two busy aid workers, nothing 

else. 

Vadim felt nearly naked, somehow. Strange to be out on the streets – alleys 

– without uniform or camo. No lying about internationalist duty, he had dropped 

the usual rhetoric with the cloth that came with it. It was as if deserting his post, 

and it was both a relief and a tingle of excitement that the cutting of an enemy’s 

throat failed to deliver. 

He always drew attention because of his height, so he slumped a little, kept 

his head down, did everything to appear tired. Trusted Dan to have done all the 

recce. He could just follow, tread exactly in his footsteps. It was a bigger relief 

than he thought it would be. Vadim wondered whether he should ask where they 

were going. But it looked like some kind of present, a surprise, and he’d hate 

spoiling that. 

They had to walk for about ten minutes, ending in a part of Kabul that 

looked nearly untouched from the war that had been ravaging for seven years. 

Lower buildings, same mud, but partly painted, smaller, jumbled like toy boxes 

scattered and stacked haphazardly back together. Dan nodded to Vadim, pointing 

to a corner that turned to the right and led a few steps into an alley. The sun barely 

reached a wall that blocked the end of the pathway, with hardly enough brightness 

to allow a glimpse of the once colourful woven rug that covered what seemed like 

an entrance. 

“That’s it. Welcome to heaven.” Dan grinned, took the few steps into the 

darkness, pushed the rug away and knocked in a curious pattern on the wooden 

door before pushing it open. An Afghani young man appeared, dressed in a long 

robe, nodding with a bow. They exchanged a few words in muted Pashto, the 

young man glancing at Vadim, before he bowed again then stepped outside, 

vanishing out of the building and into the alley. 

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“Everything’s ready and we are alone for the night.” Dan waited for Vadim 

to enter into the dim ante room before closing and bolting the door behind them. 

“This place has a few surprises, one of them is the existence of two additional 

escape exists.” Dan grinned and stepped aside, pointing towards the rectangle of 

light. He couldn’t help it, he felt like a kid at Christmas.  

The room that opened into a succession of further rooms was partly filled 

with mist, coming from the next room on, and revealed a couple of larger pools, 

one steaming. Mosaics on the walls, tiles on the floor and gleaming slabs of stone. 

Most of all, water. Plenty of water. 

“Welcome to our personal hamam, Russkie.” 

Speechless. No place Vadim had visited in years, he could no longer mingle 

with people like that, too dangerous. The smell of water, the feeling of humid air, 

and the ridiculously safe atmosphere of this small cave of civilisation in a place 

that was all claw and tooth. Alone. Night. Water. Dan. Vadim knew that these 

places had a certain reputation. 

For a moment, he felt inclined to forgive Afghanistan. A little. He stared at 

Dan, realized something more, water for the swimmer, moisture and soothing dim 

light for a skin that hated sun. A gift indeed. He pulled the rag off, wiped his face 

with it, looked at Dan again who expected a response, and deserved one. He 

stepped closer, chest to chest, and kissed him, slow and gentle, a long kiss that he 

felt bared his soul when he placed his arms around him and pulled him close, just 

to feel him right there. Didn’t think that was enough, but it was a start. 

Dan stood stunned, passive. This kiss was different, new sensation even to 

the re-learned kisses throughout the time in the cave. This was not a kiss of lust, 

but.... But then he’d known for longer than he’d realised, and now more than 

accepted. The kiss left him strangely breathless and oddly silent. Three weeks of 

cajoling, prodding, requesting, almost begging, scheming and demanding had been 

worth it. 

Vadim pulled away, walked in, nodded Dan over. “Come here.” 

Dan caught himself and grinned, “Bossy tonight, Russkie?” Walked duly 

over, couldn’t wait to feel skin on skin again. “Seems I’m overdressed.” Yet he 

stood expectantly, waiting. Perhaps he’d tell Vadim later tonight how he had 

royally fucked up that knee, back in the mountains, or perhaps it simply wasn’t of 

any importance. 

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Dan lifted his arms, now it was he who was waiting to be undressed like a 

puppet. 

 “Yes,” said Vadim, to both questions, really. Hands went to Dan’s ID card, 

took it off, cast another quick glance at the photograph, that grin, that half cocky, 

half-self-conscious grin. Dan didn’t know how good he looked, had never 

understood it, just because he was by no means a conventional beauty. 

Those things made him stunning, the eyes that seemed too close together, 

long face, long classical nose, the hair that Vadim couldn’t imagine in any other 

state than tousled and sweaty and dusty. 

He placed his hands on Dan’s chest, where they quite comfortably rested 

for a few heartbeats, then pulled the rag loose, opened the first two buttons to bare 

the collarbones. Leaned in to taste the hollow above the bone to the left side, close 

enough to feel the scar under the shirt, the round scar. He couldn’t understand how 

he had ever had the guts to shoot Dan. Young, reckless, angry. And oh so hurt in 

his pride. He breathed in, taking in the other man’s smell, deodorant, sweat, 

shaving gel, while his fingers continued to open the shirt, flat hand moving inside, 

stroking his front, then pulled the shirt out of the trousers, and placed both hands 

on skin. Stroking upwards to the shoulder, now touching the scar as he pushed the 

shirt over the shoulders and pulled it off Dan’s hands behind his back. He wanted 

to spend time kissing the chest, but even more, he wanted to have Dan naked. 

Should take more time, when time was still so very precious. 

Dan emptied his mind, forced himself to forget that time was, as always, 

precious and terribly limited. Wanted to drag every moment of this—this yet 

another new sensation, until it lasted beyond Kabul and a war he had long given up 

to understand. Touches that brought a shudder onto his body; a tremor he failed to 

be ashamed of. 

Vadim opened the belt, grinned, because he was getting better at this, 

pulled the buttons open, not teasing him too much, just brushed the side of his cock 

accidentally with the back of his hand, once. Well, twice. Then knelt down, close 

enough to see how pronounced Dan’s interest was, eye to eye, so to speak, and 

began to open his boots, and pull them off. Brushing the cock with his cheek as 

Dan placed a hand on his shoulder to help him step out of the boots. 

Naked, Dan’s hands rested on short shaved blond hair, too tempting to urge 

Vadim to taste his cock. He might even get suck off if he was lucky, but no, it was 

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about something else tonight. “Water?” Looking down at Vadim’s face, he’d never 

lose his fascination for the icy pale eyes. 

“Should get clean first.” Vadim stood again and stepped away to get the 

bucket. The water was cool, but not cold. A piece of cloth swam on top. He fished 

it out, water running down his hand, and wiped Dan’s chest, watching how the 

water ran down his body, pooled around his feet, then continued to give him a 

wash, every now and then dipping the rag into the bucket to get more water, 

enjoying to see the other dripping wet. Gave a short laugh at the expression on 

Dan’s face, took the bucket and emptied it above both of them, shaking his head 

like a wet dog, grinning. 

 “Now. More water. Come on.” Vadim stepped towards the tub, down the 

steps into the steaming water. Every muscle alive, cool water, hot water. Settled on 

the stone inside, watched Dan join him, his hand moved up to grab hold of the 

other’s cock, to pull him close. 

“Hey!” Dan protested feebly, “you out to prove I follow my cock as well?” 

Dan stopped in front, grinning, bodies touching. No where else to go. 

Vadim smirked, leaned in to murmur into Dan’s ear. “Been thinking about 

this...something like this.” He swallowed, which probably ruined the effect. 

Difficult to tell Dan what he wanted, and how he wanted it. Could be difficult in 

the water anyway. Not without oil, and he couldn’t see any. 

He flashed a grin, took a handful of Dan’s hair and pulled him under water, 

holding him there just for a few moments, then let him go, laughing. 

Dan didn’t come back up immediately, stayed under the water, revelled in 

the feeling of weightlessness and silence, just his own blood rushing in his ears, the 

violent world and a knackered body far away. Bubbles of air kept popping to the 

surface until the need to breathe took over. Searching blindly for the other body, he 

pulled himself up with his arms on shoulders that were equally broad, if not more 

so. Dan laughed, gasped for air, and shook his head, spraying water everywhere. 

“Good thing the hair’s shorter, eh?” Grinned, hooked his fingers and hands 

together behind Vadim’s neck. Dan didn’t say it with words this time. 

Mine. You’re mine. 

“No, I got used to your khippie look.” Vadim grinned back, each and every 

tooth showed up to the molars. Saw the face intent, despite the grin, that deep 

expression in the dark eyes, the way Dan held his neck. Never to bow it, unless he 

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agreed, unless he wanted the same, never about breaking, just accommodating the 

other. Each other. 

Vadim’s grin slowly faded, dangerous ground here, the feeling went deep. 

As if, the more Dan put into the punch, the deeper it hit him. And Dan always put 

everything into his punches, and that made Vadim always, always feel it. His lips 

spread into a sly grin, and he grabbed Dan by the legs, took him up into his arms, 

and then, very unceremoniously, dropped himself into the water, Dan and all, one 

big splash. Wasting a lot of good, clean, hot water, but that was the closest to 

decadence he could get in Afghanistan. 

Dan nearly thought he’d drown, laughing under water turned out to be a 

bloody stupid idea, and came back up spluttering, about to pummel Vadim. The 

smirk in his face at odds with the wet dog look. “Want a water fight, fucker? You 

lose!” 

Vadim wiped the water off his face and scalp, grinning, the thing water did 

to his eyes, made them gleam and shine, just reflections, a play of light on 

pigments. He half-crouched, hands and arms open in an invitation to wrestle, attack 

the other and force him under water. 

He laughed again, a challenging laugh. “No. I’ve won thousand times.” 

You will never win, Dan. Ever. “Come. Try.” 

The tantalizing thing about skin on skin under water. Vadim had nearly 

forgotten how erotic water was. He wanted Dan, wanted the way water would 

support his bulk, the smell it added to human skin. Kissing, licking wet skin.  

Dan bared his teeth in a feral grin. “You only want to get me on my knees.” 

Knew damn well as strong and tough as he was, the Russian had more bulk and 

thus more power. “No fucking chance right now.” Mocking. “I knew that fucked 

up knee would be good for something.” 

Smirking, Dan took the challenge anyway, always would. To the last breath. 

Moving forward, he shouldered into Vadim’s body, to get him off balance.  

Being a sneaky git who liked to fight dirty, Dan snuck his hand under water, 

between Vadim’s legs and squeezed his balls. “You’d make a pretty girl, Russkie.” 

Vice grip, laughing. 

Inhaling sharply at the hand around his balls, desire flared up again, worse 

than before, Vadim loved the squeezing, loved how quickly it became serious and 

bordering pain. Being Spetsnaz was just easier with an appreciation for pain. 

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“Yeah,” he breathed. “See my pretty curls and big tits...” Decided against 

headbutting Dan for that, and went for the other’s cock instead, just brushing it 

with his hand. 

“Big tits you already have.” Dan grinned, his sharp intake of breath 

mirrored the Russian’s. “And you’re still a sick fuck, liking this shit too much.” 

Gripped harder, but before Vadim could retaliate after all, he hooked his good leg 

under Vadim’s and let himself fall backwards. Hand still on balls, holding, lips 

seeking the other’s, the kiss was immediate and deep, while they both sank under 

water, Vadim on top. 

No longer about the sex. Even though Dan made him horny, even though 

they fucked, they laughed even more. Banter, the other’s presence just plain good, 

whether they kissed, or ground, or washed. Vadim felt himself relax far deeper 

than he had been, at peace with himself and Dan, a cave of a different kind. A 

small world unto itself. Different rules, that was, no rules at all. 

Eventually, after hours, they rested near the water, Vadim on his back, Dan 

draped across him like an especially heavy towel, Vadim’s hand and arm in the 

water, lazily watching the waves his fingers made, then drawing Cyrillic water 

letters on Dan’s shoulder. Lapushka. I love you. Random words, enjoyed watching 

the letters dry on the dark skin. 

Vadim rested up while staring at the water, observing the still surface, 

noticed that Dan had fallen asleep. Checked the time. He’d be in trouble. Yeah, 

Colonel, bite my fat one. 

He moved, placed Dan carefully on the ground, kept his legs open with his 

knees. Dan was tantalizing, but Vadim was completely and utterly spent, and they 

needed to leave, maybe fifteen minutes now. He was pretty sure he could fit a 

blowjob in, one of the good, slow, excruciating ones. See Dan squirm and take that 

memory with him when Dan left and he had to return to the barracks. 

What a nice way to wake up, Vadim thought, and smiled. And what a nice 

way to say thank you. 

When Dan woke, it was to the sensation that had no name. Heat and friction, 

wet tightness and suction. He’d never equated the word ‘blowjob’ with what 

Vadim was able to do. Far more than ‘cocksucking’ and let alone ‘giving head’. A 

whole universe of black holes, dying stars and super novas. Unlike himself, who 

worshipped the other’s cock, shamelessly addicted to taste, smell, sound and 

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absolute power. Vadim granted a blowjob like royalty—as much as Dan granted to 

get himself fucked. 

Fifteen minutes, and Dan relished them all. Squirming into and out of those 

hands, pushing and feeding from lips, throat and tongue. Relishing each and every 

second of it, until against all odds, he finally spent himself again, and lay winded. 

He had to be hauled up by Vadim and struggled into his clothes.  

They had to make their way back to the safe house, where everything lay 

just as they had left it. Dan hated he had to leave, and scolded himself for that 

weakness. It was just one of those things; was the way their lives worked and their 

worlds kept spinning. 

Don’t leave. 

Dan sat on a pile of wood, watching Vadim turn himself back into the 

Soviet soldier. Brass, ribbons, bells and whistles. He sometimes envied the other 

for all the trimmings, he’d lost his soldier’s identity long ago. For Queen and 

Country? Nothing left. 

Just one. One man. 

Vadim smiled, a smile that lit his whole face up. He looked well-fucked, 

and he was. Well-loved and well-worn, and well-sucked and a whole pile of other 

good things. Took the cap and wiped off dust that was only metaphorical, then saw 

Dan slump there, and paused. 

“Dan? You alright?” He stepped closer. “Don’t worry about surgery. You’ll 

be fine.” 

Dan shook his head, too mellow to do anything but smile. “Not worried 

about it. Just tired.” Yes, Dan. And you will never tell him, not even with one word, 

how it rips you apart to watch him leave, because leaving yourself is much easier. 

Vadim patted himself down, then found the pocket, right one, just where he 

had slipped them yesterday. Felt self-conscious about it, had no idea what it meant, 

or should mean, gifts and all that. 

He took Dan’s hand and pulled the tasbih from his pocket, placed it in 

Dan’s palm. Prayer beads. He didn’t care much for the symbol, he didn’t believe in 

God, and even less the more he fought the so-called soldiers of God, whatever the 

name. Just didn’t believe there was anything outside. But he did like the stone. 

Afghan lapis, dark blue, with specks of gold. 

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“Found this on the market.” Sent one to Katya. Fuck. Katya and Dan. The 

two people that kept him sane. 

Liked the way the colour reminded him of the impossibly dark blue sky out 

in the mountains, sitting in front of a cave, still feeling the other on his body, 

everywhere, in his mouth, deeper inside. This one was not part of any loot. He had 

seen the guy who had carved it. 

Dan pushed himself off his seat, stood and glanced at the item in his hand. 

Beautiful. Fucking beautiful. Sparks of light, stars, everything that was good about 

this bloody place. The sky. The mountains. This man. Cleared his throat, closed his 

hand around the beads, felt the cool smoothness. And the colour of the stone is like 

your eyes in the darkness. 

Vadim smiled. “Really only souvenir worth taking, I’m afraid.” And I 

wanted to give you something more than sweat and lust and a blowjob. “I sent 

Katya some as well. Unless it gets stolen. Wouldn’t surprise me.” Looked into 

Dan’s eyes. Did I just tell him he’s some kind of wife? I guess I did. He winced. 

Didn’t see anything aggressive in the man. 

Dan nodded, wanted to say that the stones were beautiful, the beads 

something special because they were not tainted with blood and death, but said 

nothing. ‘Beautiful’, no word a bloke could use, and thanks for a gift that was a lot 

more than a scrap of stones and a token of thoughts? No. Couldn’t possibly 

comment, silently slipped the beads into his pocket, had to feel they were there, 

reassuringly safe. 

“Listen, Dan. I know it’s mistake and everything, and I shouldn’t be doing 

this, but I want to. Things are going on in army, I don’t know, there are lot of 

strange noises from Moscow. If I should get...” shot, “withdrawn or moved, I want 

you to get in touch with Katya. She understands.” Definitely if you show her the 

lapis, he thought, but couldn’t speak it. “You can find me through her.” 

He reached into his inside pocket, for once carried this, another mistake. It 

should be locked away in his desk. A photo, carefully tucked away in a foil sleeve. 

Katya and the kids. Anoushka pulled a face, which was so typically her that Katya 

had decided to send this one. 

“Your family.” Dan forced himself to look at the photo, didn’t want to see 

the face of the children, let alone the wife. This person who had some sort of rights 

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over Vadim, who would know if he had died, while he was nothing, no one. An 

enemy without access to files nor information. 

Vadim turned the photo and pointed at the hand writing. His address in 

Moscow. “Just if anything happens.” 

Dan shook his head, took a step back. “I’ll keep it save.” Don’t talk about 

loss and death, about things that could happen and had not happened for seven 

years. Shut the fuck up, Russkie, pretend that this world is not a shithole full of 

death and destruction, and come with me to stay and sleep in a real bed with 

starched linens and wake to sunshine in your face and the smell of proper Scottish 

breakfast. 

Fuck. 

A life together would never be his, that world belonged to ‘her’. When the 

war was over. If Vadim survived, he would become part again of a world of 

children, wives, daily work and feather duvets. 

“I’ll keep it save.” Dan repeated. I wonder if she’s ever loved you as much, 

and if you ever meant as much as life and survival to her, as you do to me. 

Vadim smiled. “Thanks. If I’m not here when you come back, Katya will 

know why. And she’ll tell you what happened.” Just in case. It was always so 

fucking difficult to see Dan go, and wonder whether he’d come back. Surgery. Dan 

was going home. He had no idea how long it could take and what could happen in 

this place. If Gorbachev got his act together and decided to launch an offensive, or 

decided to use special forces, or whatever. He didn’t know what the plans were. He 

doubted the Kremlin knew, and that, now, that was scary. 

Dan couldn’t help but cast another glance at the photo. “The girl looks like 

you. When you try to be funny.” Swallowed. 

“Anoushka? Yeah, when she marries, I’ll give her away with leash and 

whip and collar. Poor bastard will need that.” 

“Guess it’ll be awhile before she marries.” Dan managed a grin. And I’ll 

never know because you’ll be in that strange country of yours, the one that is 

falling apart at the seams. Leading whatever life an Afganet like you would lead. 

Watching your daughter marry a man, would you ever wonder what became of this 

one? 

 530 

Dan safely stored the photo together with the beads. “Suppose I should be 

glad you gave me a string of beads and not a collar, eh?” Shit. Too late. He cringed 

at his choice of words. 

Vadim grinned, and coughed to hide just how amusing that idea was. Dan 

and a collar. Yeah right. “That would take some explaining.” 

Changing the subject as quick as he could, Dan shrugged. “I should be back 

in half a year at the latest. Knees take some time, but I heal well, will probably be 

less than that. I’ll let you know via the usual routes.” 

Vadim nodded. Would be the teeth of winter. No cave, then. Difficult to 

leave Kabul. Dan was already slipping away, and impossible to say when he could 

get him closer again, could touch him. “Take time. Joints are, what’s word, 

complicated.” And I’ll miss you and think of your body when I’m alone. That 

laugh, that expression on your face when you smile, or sleep. Shit. Fallen so very 

hard for this man. So hard it hurt all the time. 

“Dan.” Shit, just let him go and stand here stunned, waiting for the mask to 

slip back into place, killing machine and officer. “I’ll do my damned best to be 

here when you come back. And I...” miss you already, “will be waiting for your 

message.” Hoped the Simple Future Continuous expressed the sense of time and 

longing. Stupid English. 

Dan nodded, couldn’t touch Vadim, already too late. Had to watch him go 

then leave himself, a few minutes later. Red Cross badge and armband back in 

place, rag ready to be wound around his head. Vanishing into the quiet streets of a 

waking city of dust. 

“I will be back.” No matter what, no matter how. “I will find you.” 

Whatever it takes. He turned, stepped to his Bergan and started to pack. Just not 

look. 

What had his Russkie once said? Have you ever loved without lust? No, 

Vadim, I haven’t, but I’m loving more than I should. 

Vadim stood there, thumb rubbing the rim of the peaked cap. Red star in 

the centre, like an eye, an oddly deformed eye where none belonged. Dan’s bent 

back, he wanted to touch him again, tell him everything would be alright.  

At loss, unwilling to face the Colonel. They had to think he was keeping a 

sweetheart somewhere in Kabul. He guessed it was tolerated, not welcome, but 

they cut him some slack. 

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I will find you. 

Looked back at that dark hair, Vadim saw how those hands packed, stuffed 

things into pockets, knew exactly where everything was going. That was reassuring 

– the machine kept running, Dan would be fine. 

Gave the red star a baleful eye. Fuck you, and fuck what you make me do, 

you are a lie, and nothing else. Vadim bared his teeth, put the cap on, tipped it into 

the right angle. And now we are one again, and I’ll go on fighting your useless war. 

The streets of Kabul didn’t know the difference between them. And it was 

his duty to not show that a difference even existed.

 

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