Special Forces: Soldiers Vashtan/Aleksandr Voinov and Marquesate

Dan’s eyes closed at the touch of lips on lips. Another kiss of life, how 

fucking ironic. 

Vadim pulled back, wiped his face on the starchy sleeve, and tried to give a 

smile. “You got more cables in you than fucking Darth Vader.” 

The feeble grin a mere ghost of Dan’s usual smirk. “More…like 

Sleeping...Beauty.” The machines started to change, different noise, altered pattern.  

Vadim reached for the water bottle, a squeezy thing made from plastic, with 

a nozzle, placed that between Dan’s lips and gave him a little to drink, his hand 

shaking badly. 

Swallowing was painful, and Dan’s eyes closed as he took small measures 

of water. Reduced to goddamned thankfulness for a sip of liquid. 

There was a rustle behind Vadim as a nurse entered the room, speaking 

before Dan could muster the strength to try and talk once more. “Sir, you have to 

leave now. The five minutes are over. You may wait outside.” A bench, in front of 

the glass window. No one had ever sat there, no one had visited. 

No one would have witnessed Daniel McFadyen die. 

Vadim looked at the nurse, hated her more than any American in his whole 

life, more than any Brit and that included the British captain of the Pentathlon team. 

Knew if he made a wave he wouldn’t see Dan again. Reached out to touch that 

face again. “I’m here,” he murmured, again almost choking on the words. He’d 

imagined seeing him and leave, but he couldn’t leave Dan like this, too much to 

tell him, too much to regret and apologise for, too much to explain before Dan left 

for home. “Rest up, soldier. I’m here.” Squeezed the hand again, turned, left, sat 

down on the bank, and cried, cried with the fear and the sadness and the pain, too 

tired to do anything but cry, didn’t even have the strength to tell the nurse to wake 

him up in an hour, couldn’t waste the time, needed to speak to Dan. Leaned against 

the wall and cried like a boy losing his family. 

Less than thirty minutes later a nurse re-appeared. A different one this time, 

it seemed the hospital was staffed extremely well. “Sir?” She stood, waiting, until 

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Vadim acknowledged her. “Sir, if you wish to refresh yourself, a room has been 

made available for you. It is one of the overnight staff rooms that the surgeons are 

using. If you wish, you may also use the staff canteen and some fresh clothes are 

ready for you. You will find them in the room, if you’d like to follow me?” 

Something must have happened in the meantime. Something...had shifted 

the already surprising treatment, allowing this rag-tag run-down Russian stranger 

to see a British patient, and now...now he was treated like a guest. ‘On the house’, 

so to speak. No questions asked. No answers given. Just observed. 

She waited, her small figure prim and proper in the perfectly starched 

nurse’s uniform, the jet-black hair in a bun and crowned by a neat cap. Seemingly 

concerned about the stranger’s acquiescence, she pointed towards the window 

which showed Dan asleep again. “Sir, the patient is resting at the moment, but you 

may visit once you have refreshed yourself.” Adding with a smile of generic 

friendly politeness, “It is safer for the patient if you change into the provided 

clothing.” 

Vadim nodded, stood, felt so grateful and tired it was pathetic. Safer for 

Dan if he didn’t bring all the dirt of Pakistan with him. It made sense. He gathered 

his clothes, the bergan, followed her, as tired as after a night exercise, no, worse. 

The room was small, clean, white, a narrow bed, made for these small dark skinned 

people, he wanted to crash so bad it hurt, but then, he could sleep in prison, he 

thought, and found that hilarious. He just didn’t think he’d get away with it. He 

was waiting for the hammer to fall, but in the meantime, he’d get the stinking rags 

off, tossed them in a corner, would wash them later, checked his body for parasites, 

lice, ticks, fleas. Had slaughtered the veins of his arms with the Italian syringe, if 

he’d ever get into heroin, he’d inject the shit in the insides of his legs, or between 

the toes, but he’d needed something more obvious. Had needed to bait his old 

friend. As long as the doctors didn’t think he was a junkie soldier out to finish a job. 

He couldn’t be here legally, not if they had worked out he was Soviet. No 

passport to leave Afghanistan, enter Pakistan, leave Pakistan, enter India. He either 

was on a mission, or a deserter. Vadim began to wash, half-closed his eyes, needed 

to focus to get the job done. Refreshing. He’d be clean again. 

But they allowed him near Dan. For whatever reason. He didn’t believe in 

kindness, not after all these years in the fucking military. The ambassador? Why 

would she? She didn’t strike him as the compassionate type. Might groom him to 

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be a traitor, then. Double-agent. Maybe they had already confirmed his identity. 

Might suspect he was Interior Ministry. The hammer would fall. By all rights, he 

should be scurrying away. Self-preservation. The clothes were a loose-fitting 

shalwar kameez, loose trousers that didn’t reach his ankles, and a shirt that didn’t 

reach his knees, sleeves that didn’t reach his wrists. Cotton, a dark blue. Easily the 

nicest thing he’d worn for years, light, caught the breeze that entered through the 

shaded window. Stashed the bergan under the bed, wanted to shave, cut his hair, 

but had decided to return scruffy and hairy to base, if he did. After all, he was 

going through cold turkey. Might still shave, but just now couldn’t be bothered. 

Returned to the room they kept Dan in, expected MI5, expected eyes and ears, and 

couldn’t be bothered to evade or hide anything. They were both screwed anyway, 

he had nothing to lose, whatever. As long as they allowed him here, he was fine. 

But there was no one in Dan’s ICU. No one but a junior nurse who sat in 

the corner, waiting patiently. She nodded at Vadim as he entered, without the 

starched coat and in the clothes they had provided. Clean, and not infectious. If he 

was dangerous, that seemed to be a different matter. She stood up and left the room, 

but not before she had moved the chair towards the bed, pointing at it with a smile 

and a soft “Please”. 

Vadim gave her a nod, then turned to Dan, who appeared to be asleep, or 

simply resting, but soon began to stir, the restrained hand jerking, then stilling 

again. Resignation that went bone-deep, settled into every fibre. He’d survived the 

blast, injuries and subsequent infections. It had taken everything out of him, to the 

last cell in his body and most of his mind. Loneliness, while fighting to survive, 

and he’d lost his strength and reason on the way. 

Vadim placed a hand on the twitching fingers, pressed them for a moment, 

let his hand linger there. He didn’t need to cry now, still fucking tired, and hurting, 

but better now. They allowed him here. 

Dan’s eyes opened, his face had an almost childlike expression. He smiled, 

a mere ghost, and his tired voice croaked. “How?” 

Vadim smiled, sat down, stroked that hand. “Just booked some time off. 

Colonel sends greetings, everybody hopes you’ll get better soon.” Inhaled deeply. 

“And the shit you pull just to get a new haircut, huh?” Reached out to touch the 

short hair. 

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Dan grimaced, laughing would hurt too fucking much and was too much 

effort. Energy he didn’t have. “You...bullshit.” Moistened his lips, thirsty again. 

They’d refilled the bottle and he glanced pointedly at it. 

Vadim took the bottle, and trickled some more liquid into Dan’s mouth. He 

could do that for the rest of his life, and not feel he’d wasted any of his talents. Dan 

swallowed with a wince, but thankful for the water. “Those who…remember 

me…celebrate...f dead.” Talking took a goddamned lot out of him and he closed 

his eyes, concentrating on breathing while the sounds of the machines remained 

steady. Heartbeat, respiration, blood pressure.  

Vadim smiled. “I remember you, bitch.” He ran his hand over Dan’s cheek 

again, who visibly relaxed, faintly smiling. Just fingertips, didn’t want to upset, 

just be there, just tell Dan any way he could he’d be there. He glanced at the 

machines, each one unfeeling, witnesses, helpers. 

When Dan opened his eyes again he tried to look at his hand and the hated 

restraints. “Fought…too much…I think.” Rolled his eyes. “Don’t remember. 

Just…dark...fear…pain.” 

Vadim found the strap that bound that hand, loosened it, knew Dan 

shouldn’t be tied up, freed at least that much. “Don’t be disappointed I take no 

advantage of you. I’m too fucking tired. Pakistan isn’t exactly tourist destination, 

definitely not for folks like me.” 

“You should...sleep.” Dan’s own voice got quieter by the second.   

“Insane.... Russian...fucking...bastard...cunt...” He ended in a whisper, with a smile 

that took the last reserves out of him and he closed his eyes. He didn’t want to 

sleep, tried to fight it, but his breath evened out almost immediately, and so did his 

heartbeat. It slowed, but grew steadier. Unfeeling machines that told a story of 

emotions through facts, sounds and numbers. 

He had to look horrible, Vadim thought, if even Dan could see he needed 

rest. Touched Dan’s face again, so glad he could do that, everything else would 

find a way, somehow, they’d got this far. “Sleep. And get better,” he murmured in 

Russian near the other’s ear, then sat again on his chair, determined to stay right 

there until they made him leave. Not one minute less. 

The sound of steps in Vadim’s back, entering the room. “Sir, we need to 

change the dressing and it will be best for the patient if he has the opportunity for 

prolonged rest.” The voice was male, one of the doctors, accompanied by a nurse. 

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They left the strange Russian alone, and yet there was a distanced alertness about 

them. Friendly, but reserved. They had clearly received instructions, but from 

whom, and what they were, impossible to tell in their politely friendly faces. 

Vadim looked up. “Yeah, I guess.” He wanted to offer to be quiet, not wake 

Dan up, if he could only stay, just like one of the machines, his duty merely to 

ensure Dan was there and safe. 

“We suggest you take some much needed rest yourself. You may see the 

patient in a few hours. It will be necessary to conduct some observation and 

medical tests and this might prove upsetting. Less on the patient, who will be 

sedated, than yourself.” The doctor’s words were kind but left no room for 

discussion. 

Vadim thought about resisting. How unsettling could it be? After what his 

imagination had done to him? This was nothing, they’d just keep that body running, 

nothing unsettling about living and maintenance. He stood, knees weak, stiff, tired, 

his back hurt, his eyes hurt, most of all the place in his chest that felt. 

“You may stay in the room that was provided for you. You will find supper 

waiting.” 

“Yes.” Vadim moved to the side. “If anything changes...anything. 

Whatever it is, I need to be there.” Tried to make it sound like an order, knew he 

lacked authority. More like pleading. 

Left, back in ‘his’ room. Somebody had taken the dirty stinking rags, 

maybe tossed them into a washing machine. A bowl with rice and spicy sauce and 

bits of meat, looked like lamb, and naan bread. Vadim tore some of it up, dunked it 

in the sauce, shovelled it in, not used to the spiciness, some minty yogurt stuff 

cooled his tongue, halfway through the food his body told him he was no longer 

starving, and he dropped the rest of the bread into the bowl, carried it over to the 

bed, put it on the nightstand – like a raw conscript, expecting food to be stolen -, 

pulled the shirt off over his head, lay down, pulled the pillow up, decided he could 

finish the food later. Slept.  

The well-oiled machinery that was the hospital worked smoothly and 

competently throughout the night. Silence, where the staff rooms were, busy 

efficiency around the patients. That night, though, saw extraordinary 

communications, explanations and procedures. Phone calls, faxes, and 

deliberations between hospital staff and the embassy in Kabul. The  question ‘why’ 

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was asked, time and time again, until answered with ‘because you will find me a 

reason.’ 

So they did. They examined, checked results, gave eye witness accounts, 

read the output of machinery and readdressed the situation. A life that had been 

hanging in the balance for weeks, sustained by machinery and medical care, but 

one dimension missing. Another ‘why’. The ‘why to live’ and ‘what for’ and the 

human need for a reason. 

The early morning saw the patient shaved, freshly cleaned, carried on a 

waterproof sling to the shower rooms and back, and the nasal feeding tube 

removed under sedation. It was time to test their theory in practice and to find a 

reason besides ‘I wish it so’. 

Dan was still sleeping after the removal of tube and some stitches, as well 

as re-dressing and bandaging of abdomen and left hand. The right resting on the 

pristine white bed linen beside him. Unrestrained. Several arterial lines and the 

automated blood pressure missing, but heart rate measure and waste catheters 

remained. The high-tech room was oddly quiet. They did not wake Vadim, let the 

man sleep, whose name they knew and yet they did not. Not in his face. 

Vadim woke, disoriented, but not in a bad way. Didn’t panic, didn’t freak, 

just rested and relaxed, thought the bastards had let him sleep, and that probably 

meant nothing had changed, nothing required his presence, as if he was only a 

visitor. Came to his senses, lay there, trying to work out how much time he’d have 

before he had to go back. Maybe a day. Maybe two. The risk was obscene, he 

could just as well make the most of it. Washed again, dressed, ate the cold spicy 

food – nobody had entered the room in the meantime – the bread, drank cold tea 

with that. 

He left the room, headed back to the ICU ward, hoped they’d let him in and 

maybe stay for longer. 

“Sir?” A nurse stopped him before he could enter Dan’s room. “Since you 

appear to be a friend of the patient, and the only visitor, we took the liberty to 

assume you wished to help deliver the first solid food the patient has had since the 

injury?” ‘The patient’. Only ever ‘the patient’. No name, a number, and yet they 

had cared for Dan as if he were their own brother. 

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Vadim glanced towards the door. Only visitor. No family, no comrades, 

nothing. “Aye.” Solid food. Dan was getting better. Couldn’t wait to get back 

inside. 

Dan was awake at last, groggy and sniffling quietly. With the nasal tube 

removed he was sore again, irritated at the itching in his nostrils and down his 

throat. Bad-tempered, he didn’t know they had reduced the morphine dose to speed 

up the healing, but he could feel the pain somewhat more acute. 

“They said no steak yet, but you can eat.” Vadim walked towards the bed, 

grinning. “Might be that holy cow thing, you know.” 

Dan smiled tiredly at Vadim in greeting. Not alone. No longer alone. Not 

dead. Not dying on his own amidst fear and terror. The darkness, the lure, fighting 

the urge to give up and simply let himself be dragged under. No longer.  

Vadim sat down and took Dan’s hand. “You look better. Hard to imagine, 

but you do.” He kept that hand in his. “They treat me like fucking hotel. My own 

room, food, seems like nice place for holidays.” 

Dan blinked, confused, but at least one thing provided a constant. The hand 

that held his own. Fucking pathetic, really, that all he could think of was how he 

craved the strength of that hand. Felt weak, unlike ever before in his life. 

“Why?” Croaked. Why Vadim had come. Why they treated him like a guest. 

Why he was even still alive and why the fuck he could not make any sense of 

anything except for that hand. 

The nurse quietly slipped in, leaving a tray with a bowl of puree that looked 

almost edible. ‘Solid food’. The term was used most loosely. 

“Guess they hired me as pretty unlikely nurse. Maybe they worked out 

these darkies aren’t really your type.” Vadim reached for the puree, smelled it, 

seemed to be vegetables of some description. Gathered his thought as he took the 

spoon and scooped some food up in it. “Well, I thought it was smart idea to walk 

into British embassy.” Raised the spoon and put it to Dan’s lips. “Now, be good 

boy.” 

Dan’s eyes widened, fixed on Vadim, not the spoon. “You did...what?” 

Made the mistake of opening his mouth and before he could try and find enough 

energy to say anything else, the spoon was pushed between his lips. He grimaced, 

but took the food and made a mighty effort to swallow. Wasn’t all that bad. 

Tasted...of food, not plastic nor sterile solutions nor the horrible taste of death. 

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He didn’t have to chew, thankfully, and the way the puree made its way 

down to his stomach was almost close to bliss. Felt like life. One step closer to 

living. Swallowed, grimacing again. “You...crazy fucker.” 

Vadim laughed. “Yeah. Above and beyond, and who dares wins...” He 

shook his head. Enough military talk. Pulled the spoon back and gathered more 

food. “Told them you’d let me live and that I wanted to thank you. Needed to 

know.” Another spoon between Dan’s lips, another little bit of food.  

Dan frowned, but swallowed. Resigned to the food that kept coming. The 

fighting spirit was still there, it had just been buried. 

“The woman ambassador gave me some trouble, but told me name.” And 

yet another spoon. 

“Maggie?” Dan managed to bring out before the food made its way into his 

mouth again and he had no other option but to swallow. 

“Hairstyle like that Thatcher woman? Then it’s Maggie. Your boss.” 

The deal clear. As long as Dan swallowed, Vadim would keep talking. 

“Didn’t quite exactly tell them who I am, thought that was smarter. They might 

guess, but I don’t care.” He glanced at Dan. Another spoon, and another heroic 

effort to get that goddamned puree down. “Faked heroin addiction, freaked out my 

commander, pissed off into mountains, killed less Pakistanis on the way than I had 

thought, and well, barged right into this place. Quite funny, really.” 

Dan was listening, eyes wide, while obediently swallowing, the first food 

by mouth for several weeks. But soon he raised his fingers, just a little, feebly 

prodding Vadim. He couldn’t anymore, just couldn’t. His stomach full to bursting 

after a few spoonfuls. 

Vadim put the puree down, spoon and bowl went back on the tray. Took the 

napkin and wiped Dan’s mouth. 

“Why?” Dan whispered. Why. Again. Why. “You risked...Your life...” Tell 

me why. Tell me. Tell me why you’re here and why the fuck I’ve been fighting so 

hard to live. 

“No, didn’t risk anything. Well, yes, okay, nothing more than what I 

usually do.” Vadim shrugged. “Thought I’d at least get to say goodbye before you 

piss off back home.” He nodded to Dan’s abdomen. “That’s ticket home, Dan. 

Good for you. You’re making it out alright...” More cheerful than he felt, by far. 

Needed to get Dan’s spirits up, only way for him to bear it. 

 633 

“Fuck you...Russkie.” Even the raspy, quiet voice could transport some of 

Dan’s intensity. “Fuck...you. Not going. Nothing keeps...here. Not soldier. You 

know.” The machines were getting louder, the bleeping faster, aggravated, blood 

pressure shooting up. “No one...back. Not...away. Here with you. Fuck...you.” 

Machinery exploding into a cacophony of noise and the sound of feet rushing 

towards the room was heard. 

Vadim groaned, tried a smile, but was too alarmed. “Hey, take it easy. Dan. 

Fuck. I was joking.” Because it hurts. Reached out to touch that hand again, had 

blown it, knew they’d kick him out now. “I needed to see you before…Just needed 

to see you.” Stepped away from the bed, as if to indicate he was just as startled as 

anybody else and raised his hands. 

“Out!” The nurse ordered, came rushing in, pushing Vadim out of the way 

as she ran to the patient. 

“Fuck you!” The hellish noise of the machines drowned out Dan’s 

desperate attempt to shout, abusing his throat and ending with the worst: coughing. 

Fists clenched and faced crunched up in pain, eyes shut. The nurse was talking to 

him, but even through the glass pane it was obvious he wasn’t listening. Face wet. 

Crying. 

She kept talking, but Dan refused to listen and even when she turned to 

glare through the glass panel at the man who seemed to have caused the upset, 

Dan’s lips would still mouth “no”. Over and over again until she finally nodded, 

and the machines began to quieten. 

Vadim rested his forehead against the wall outside, watched, wincing, felt 

guilty as hell, shouldn’t have brought up the issue, of course not, Dan wasn’t a 

‘comrade’ who would go home to a medal and a pension that wasn’t enough. 

Dan had stayed around because he was still tied to the meat grinder. “Good 

work, Vadim,” he murmured. “Excellent work.” 

The nurse stepped out, shook her head to a surgeon who appeared in the 

door frame, spoke in Indian to him. The man glanced at Vadim before he left and 

the nurse addressed the Russian. “The patient asks to see you again.” 

She was apparently not happy about this request. “Please, Sir, whatever you 

do, try not to aggravate the patient. He is far more fragile than you might think and 

we are lowering the morphine dose, he will be suffering from withdrawal. He is 

probably not quite himself.” She stepped aside. 

 634 

“Yes, I’m sorry. I said the wrong thing.” Vadim inhaled, almost didn’t