Special Forces: Soldiers Vashtan/Aleksandr Voinov and Marquesate

him to explain. He didn’t have to. ‘He’ was the officer that hated Lesha’s guts, a 

meat grinder of a man as vicious as frontal fire from an MG, and Lesha was a 

comrade. 

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Out into the freezing rain, gusts of wind whipped Vadim’s face, almost 

skidding on the cracked concrete, but Vadim ran on, could see commotion up front, 

out in the light of one of the guard towers. 

Saw naked flesh on the ground. He sank up to his ankles into the freezing 

mud while running, thought it can’t be this, it must not be Lesha getting the shit 

kicked out of him. 

Vadim’s steps lengthened, pulling his body together once more, racing 

ahead of Misha like it was a race and all he had to do was overtake him. Seeing 

the officer’s boot hit Lesha’s legs, ass, groin, ribs, ass again, mostly ass and back 

of the thighs. Hamstrings. That hurt like a motherfucker. Never mind the hail, ice 

rain and Lesha being completely naked. 

The officer didn’t stop, cursing at the man on the ground, and Vadim didn’t 

know what he was doing, or what he would do next. Too tired to think to be scared. 

He couldn’t remember an hour or a minute in this place that he hadn’t been scared 

in some part of his mind. He couldn’t touch an officer. A superior. 

They had every right to punish him – deserved or not. Was part of the  

hazing, was part of getting discipline into the worthless maggots. 

Vadim, however, saw another kick coming, the man off balance for a 

moment, and he knew about balance. Shoulder charging into the bastard, throwing 

him off and making him stumble over his victim’s body. Vadim’s weight came 

crashing down on him, hat went off flying into the mud, the whole bastard sank 

deep into the freezing shit, and Vadim pinned him down, taking the bastard’s face 

and pushed it into the mud, covering his face. Feeling nothing but horror and a 

bizarre moment of elation even though he was in deep shit, worse than he’d ever 

been. This was not real, not happening, he had the tail of a tiger that’d kill him if 

he let him go. Worse. He was in a tiger cage full of tigers while doing this. 

A quick glance betrayed Misha finally arriving, looking down at Lesha. 

“Bring him inside!” shouted Vadim, while the officer struggled against him, and 

Vadim let him come up for air, heard curses that seemed just as threatening as if 

the officer was overseeing their training, ignored him, only kept him down, had no 

idea what to do with him apart from keeping him from hurting Lesha. 

“Get the fuck moving!,” he shouted when Misha paused, staring at him on 

top of the officer, an image and a story that would make it through the barracks, 

but that didn’t matter. What mattered was Lesha. 

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Other recruits appeared from the darkness, ghosts that wouldn’t have 

moved a finger while seeing one of their own killed for the pleasure of cruelty. All 

witnesses. All cattle. 

 “I’ll rip your heart out, Vadim Petrov…” Down the head went again, 

Vadim using all of his weight and strength to control the bastard, who was trying 

to throw him off. The man was powerful, but in a bad position, and Vadim saw 

Misha gather Lesha up, who gave a weak sound of pain. Alive. 

And they trotted away, leaving Vadim who gritted his teeth, hating the 

bastard’s guts, but couldn’t just kill him. As much as he’d love to, as much as he 

wanted to, because he’d never killed a man, and didn’t want to, because killing 

was something they’d talked about as if it was a kind of sport, something that men 

did, and especially soldiers, but this, this was a superior. 

He had no idea what would happen to him if he did, so, once seeing the 

others and Lesha vanish into the darkness, he let the bastard go, stepped back and 

felt, no, knew he was making a mistake. 

Breathing heavily, the officer pushed himself up, grunting. Vadim noticed 

Lesha’s uniform, even his boots, on the ground, a pile. This bastard did that. 

Forced recruits to undress – in this kind of weather, at this time of year. Senseless 

and nothing short of cruel. Amid the wanton violence, the casual, sickening cruelty, 

this bastard stood out because his humiliating games so very often had a different 

edge to them. A different flavour. A taste of male flesh. 

“You just enjoy this,” murmured Vadim suddenly. He knew he was dead 

meat, but that actually set him free. The ‘thing’ nobody talked about. He himself 

had liked looking at Lesha, he was good looking, dark hair, which, on a photo from 

before he’d become a recruit, had looked thick and rich like fur, expressive dark, 

curved eyebrows that made Vadim feel strange when he looked at them for too long. 

A short, strong nose, greyish green eyes, long lashes of the same dark type as his 

eyebrows, and the lips that opened too easily, shapes that made Vadim want to kiss 

him. Impossible. He’d never kissed a man. Never slipped a tongue inside a mouth, 

never tasted, never felt the hardness of teeth, but couldn’t help imagining. 

“You are the fucking faggot,” hissed Vadim. “And if you touch any recruit 

ever again, I’ll report you.” 

The officer stared at him, mud running down his front, whipped off by the 

icy rain, lashing at them in gusts. No witnesses, not in this weather. A mortal insult, 

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the beginning and the end of something. Vadim had no idea if that threat registered, 

but the very fact that the bastard didn’t attack him gave him an inkling of hope. He 

was condemned, but he didn’t go down without biting at least. He took Lesha’s 

uniform and boots, and headed back, running through the abysmal weather, not 

challenged, not shouted back. 

But he didn’t believe for a moment that that was the end of it. 

Lesha had been covered in blankets, was shuddering violently, and the 

other recruits looked like they were about to bolt and run. When they noticed 

Vadim they looked up at him, and, as Vadim and Lesha were known to be close 

friends, they figured Vadim would take care of him. Misha lingered for a moment 

longer, offering to bring more hot tea, and Vadim was glad for that. Vadim ran his 

hand over Lesha’s skull, felt the shorn hair against his skin, and felt yet another of 

those strange, odd, stabs of something. They were friends, Lesha thought him some 

kind of brother, and Vadim was happy with that. Most of the time. But sometimes, 

he just thought of that body and it was nothing a brother should or could think, 

Vadim figured, confused, because he had no brother or sister and didn’t know 

what it felt like. 

Misha helped him clean Lesha up and wrap him up warm, getting hot tea 

into him, while the bruises began to form and darken on his skin. Misha didn’t 

mention the officer and Vadim pushed the thought away. He was dead anyway and 

the fear hardened and crystallized in his stomach. 

Just a few hours later, the officers came back, made them scurry like rats, 

out into the rain again, which hadn’t let up, like there was just no other weather 

but rain and hail and snow. Half-dressed, only trousers and boots, their breath 

misting in front of their faces, torn away by the fierce wind. Officers shouting, 

cursing, kicking, hitting. 

Lesha was swaying on his feet, his skin several shades of black and purple, 

he seemed barely alive, eyes swollen to slits, still following orders, just like Vadim. 

Vadim was cold, impossibly cold and wet and miserable, assuming the officers 

were being especially unpleasant just for the fun of it, and steadied Lesha by the 

arm. In the rain and in the ranks, the helping touch would be hardly noticeable. 

“Vadya...thanks,” whispered Lesha. 

Vadim nodded and squeezed his arm tighter. 

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There was an order given that he didn’t understand, and the recruits began 

to move, trudge along. Probably a small ‘tour of the barracks’, have them march 

in the freezing weather, half naked, just because...because. 

“Not you.” The officer, yes, that one, dragged Vadim and Lesha out of the 

line. “I’ve got something special for this pair of faggots.” 

It was digging. Vadim had expected to be locked up, or be subjected to any 

number of sick games the officers played. Or even other soldiers. Velociped, the 

bicycle. Stick balls of cotton between somebody’s toes and set them alight. The 

victim kicks his legs like being on a bicycle. Hilarious. Makaronina, little macaroni, 

make somebody rock his head to the left and right, and somebody strikes each side 

of the neck. Locya, the deer – stand with palm crossed, facing out, against the 

forehead. Then get hit by a fist, making the knuckles hit the forehead. That one was 

painful. Or fashka. Fill cheeks with air and get hit on the cheek – making the teeth 

cut the insides of the cheek.  

This was different. This was digging a hole, and Vadim felt the dread bite 

his neck that it was some kind of grave. The officer stood in the window of his 

quarters, in the light, and watched them there, outside in the rain. Fucking bastard. 

He’d warned them to not stop or pause, or he’d call it insubordination and make 

them really suffer. Vadim wondered how much worse it could get. 

“You...shouldn’t have got involved,” said Lesha, air wheezing in his lungs, 

his body struggling on despite the earlier beating, and Vadim was almost positive 

he didn’t see much with that swollen face. 

“Save your...fucking breath...” Vadim rammed the spade into the heavy, 

muddy earth, felt the ice ran run down his skin, knew he’d catch death this way, 

which was exactly what the fucker had in mind. Let the weather kill them. Die from 

exposure. Pneumonia. Him and Lesha. He suddenly laughed . 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just so strange. We’re fucking officer material, Lesha. More 

than that cunt.”  

Lesha laughed, lifting the spade, Vadim saw the bruised muscle work under 

the pale skin, saw him struggle, knew that Lesha would keep on digging, because 

that was the order, and Lesha was the type that would kill himself following orders. 

How and why Lesha could still trust any order after this was beyond Vadim. 

“Major Krasnorada, eh?” 

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Vadim shot him an amused glance. “General Petkov?” 

“Pleased to meet you, Sir.” Lesha laughed so hard he started coughing. 

Vadim grinned, and both of them snickered every now and then for the next 

ten minutes, the humour keeping them going for a little while longer. But Vadim 

couldn’t shed the thought that Lesha was much worse for wear, would have needed 

rest and maybe medical attention. Seeing him suffer like this hardened the fear and 

worry into something else, and Vadim felt anger rise, a hot, murderous anger that 

grew every time he saw the dirty bastard stand there, drinking tea and watching 

them. 

“I’ll pay him back,” Vadim muttered. They were both wet to the bones, half 

frozen, Lesha’s lips seemed bluish, and that was bad. Vadim had no idea how 

miserable he looked himself, but his muscles were cramping. Lack of food, lack of 

rest, the freezing cold, the repetitive strain of digging, and the anger clawing its 

way up like a parasite forcing its way out. 

The window opened. “Faster, you bitches.” The officer leant forward. 

Vadim could feel the warmth that escaped the bastard’s room on his face. He 

stared at him, wanted to hurl the spade to jump him and smash his face and skull, 

and felt Lesha’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Come on, dig.” 

 “You pathetic faggots, going all touchy-feely out there. Dig, bitches!” 

Vadim’s jaw muscles hardened, and he knew he’d kill the man. He’d been 

reluctant, but no longer. What had the officers said? War is about killing or being 

killed. This, then, was war. The officer was out to kill them, no doubt. And he could 

even – in case anybody wondered – say it was to “toughen them up,” and of course, 

if they didn’t survive, they had been too weak to begin with. 

Lesha deteriorated over the next hour or two. Badly. He didn’t react to 

jokes or humour, didn’t seem to know what he was doing, just murmuring “cold, so 

cold,” every now and then, and Vadim’s helpless rage grew. Grew and threatened 

to swallow him. Lesha, who’d told him he reminded him of his older brother, Lesha 

who’d touched and hugged him much like a brother would, and if Vadim could get 

nothing else, this was a most precious gift. Friendship. Vadim thought of the 

moment when Lesha’s been sitting against him, easy and comfortable closeness, 

both resting, Lesha nearly asleep, and Vadim’s head had moved just a fraction and 

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brushed his lips against the other’s temple. Wanting and desiring him, but not 

demanding, nothing, just fitting in with the others. 

The same man that seemed delirious, red spots in his face spoke of fever, 

and Lesha shook, uncontrollably, wrestling with the spade’s weight. Didn’t 

actually manage to dig. Vadim looked up to the dark silhouette against the window, 

and knew the bastard was having a great time watching them like this, knowing 

what Lesha did to Vadim, and especially his suffering. Vadim worked on, kept 

somewhat warm by his seething anger, when he suddenly noticed something was 

wrong. He lowered the spade and saw Lesha lean against the rim, the spade had 

slipped from his hands, and slowly, Lesha’s legs gave, which made Vadim drop his 

spade and steady him, then bend down and pull him across his back to carry him 

inside. He glanced at the bright window, but the officer didn’t move, didn’t tell 

them to stop, just seemed to watch what was going on. Maybe even smiling. Lesha 

needed to get out of the sleet, first and foremost, and Vadim didn’t care what that 

meant. The officer would keep doing this, anyway. He climbed out of the hole, 

shaking and in pain himself, but he had to get Lesha inside, so he carried him over 

to the barracks, stripped the wet trousers and soaking boots off him, quickly. He 

was just about to wrap him into his blankets, when the door opened, and the officer 

came in, a belt in his hand. 

Vadim only managed to raise an arm to protect his face, when the heavy 

brass buckle hit him on the chest, his frozen skin registered the pain, any touch was 

painful, but this was really bad. The buckle hit him again, and again, amid curses 

of “you fucking faggot, you bitch...” 

Vadim managed to catch the belt, though, before it hit Lesha, and tensed 

his arm, pulling on the belt so hard it slipped from the officer’s grip.  

“Your 

bitch will die anyway, whatever you do,” the man hissed, and that was when 

Vadim felt the anger turn to needles of volcanic glass inside him. Without thinking, 

he went at the officer, choked him with the belt and dragged him out of the room. 

He didn’t want any witnesses, didn’t want anybody to hear or see or interfere when 

he killed the fucker. Dragged him into the only room that promised a little safety – 

the man’s own quarters. 

The officer was only semi-conscious, Vadim kicked a chair against the door 

from inside, then rammed the officer’s head against the nearest wall, his nostrils 

flared when he could smell blood. The man’s legs went slack, and Vadim released 

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him for a moment to properly lock the door. He found a towel and tore it into two 

strips, then tied the bastard’s hands behind the back, manhandling the heavy body 

that was bleeding from a bad bruise at the forehead until he was nicely tied up and, 

for good measure, just in case the bastard screamed, stuffed a pair of socks in his 

mouth and tied them with another strip of the towel. Could feel the man come 

round again, beginning to struggle and Vadim had to pin him down again, while 

the rage inside continued to grow. He wanted to cut the bastard into shreds, 

wanted to break him, punish him, drive home the point he should leave Lesha the 

fuck alone. 

The struggling, powerful body underneath, the muffled groans, and Vadim 

suddenly felt an odd stab of something else entirely. Anger, but of a different 

colour, a different taste. A heat that flared up inside of him, stoked by rage. The 

man’s strong body...he was in top physical condition, only weak for the moment. 

Suddenly he knew what would break him. 

He hoisted him up by the shoulders, laid him across the bed, kept him 

pinned down while he tore down the man’s trousers, thinking, bastard, if it’s naked 

recruits and naked flesh you want, that’s what you’ll get. He just loved the feeling 

of struggling muscle underneath, getting addicted to the sound of heaving, 

panicking breath through a partially blocked mouth, and the scent of dawning 

panic. Vadim pressed against the man’s ass, could feel the struggle become 

stronger, like the bastard was coming back completely, and opened his fly, pulled 

his cock free. Lay down on the man, who tried to shout and doubled his frantic 

fighting, but kept him down with his chest. Opened the man’s legs with his knees, 

could feel the warm flesh, warm and dry and hateful. There was a tub of Vaseline 

near the bed. Made wanking better and Vadim’s lips curved into a nasty grin as he 

opened the tub and covered his cock with the stuff, hurried, then kicked the 

officer’s legs further apart and felt him shudder with fear and revulsion as he 

rubbed some more into his crack roughly pulling the flesh apart, forcing grease 

into the ass. Not for any kindness, no way, just so he could get in at all. 

The man said something – hectic, mumbled words that made no sense. 

Vadim grinned and leaned in. “I think this faggot here found a new bitch, 

you cunt.” He could smell the man’s fear, an acidic, sharp smell, and Vadim 

paused, wanted to savour his revenge, realised anticipation was half the fun, and 

he wanted to give him time to anticipate. “I’ll fuck you...like you’ve wanted it all 

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the time, or you wouldn’t have provoked it, you fucking cunt. You’ll feel me and 

you’ll love it, because faggots like you can’t get enough of cock.” 

Then, shuddering with the effort at control, he moved in, pressed into the 

hot flesh that resisted, then gave against his strength, while the man screamed into 

the gag and did everything to fight him, clench, buck, but Vadim handled the 

terrified struggle just like close combat, keeping the body pinned and under control. 

The heat was intoxicating, power and revenge, rage concentrated in a rising, 

furious lust, and he bared his teeth in a grin so fierce it hurt. The struggle was so 

fucking good, better than the elation of a fight he was winning, and Vadim felt his 

blood pump, incredibly alive and hot after the freezing sleet outside. All it took was 

a fighting body underneath to warm up, mind and heart and body. Possessing. 

The flesh yielding was an impossible feeling, coloured red-hot with the 

man’s seething hatred, and Vadim couldn’t help but see Lesha flash across his 

brain. His body, his skin, his dark hair. He began to thrust, thought of his comrade, 

and at the same time was completely aware this was the bastard that had tried to 

kill them both, but his worn-out brain didn’t care anymore.