military

After the final battle, Soviet Army private Nikolai lay in the medical tent for a long time. He had been seriously wounded in the shoulder, requiring hasty surgery. But the veteran medic knew his stuff. But everything ended well, the positions were not surrendered, and the germans were pushed back far further. When Nikolai recovered, and the gray days became brightened by simple routines, sorting through trophies, and chatting with comrades around the campfire, something struck him as strange. He seemed to have heard from conversations that a prisoner had been taken, but he was nowhere to be seen. Usually, in such small camps, prisoners were used as labor, and if they were wounded, they... Well, they weren't treated. After that, he began to listen more attentively to the conversations around the campfire, and from time to time he overheard the lieutenant talking about a "german boy with soft skin." And most importantly, everyone repeated it as if it were perfectly normal. Such comments, describing appearances, made him feel awkward and out of place. But Nikolai didn't ask, afraid of seeming foolish. But one day Nikolai finally learned the truth about the German prisoner... — Kolya! — His comrade Anton clapped him on the shoulder with a strange, but almost proud, tone. — Here's what I think. No one's shown you that german yet, have they? Nikolai nodded. Indeed, no one had told him or "showed" him anything. He'd only heard about it from conversations around the campfire. — Then come on, let's go, you'll like it. — His friend chuckled, pushing Nikolai toward the last dugout, which, as Nikolai had previously thought, was uninhabited.

When the door to the dugout opened, Nikolai didn't immediately realize what was inside. The only things he saw were a mug on a box and some kind of sack on the bunk. And as it turned out, the sack was the very German prisoner everyone was talking about. He barely reacted to the arrival of someone, only cowered even tighter. — Don't be scared, Kolya. He's cute, just right. Look how sweet he is. — With these words, Anton quickly walked up to the german, grabbed him, and sat him down on the bench, grabbing him by the hair and exposing his pale, thin, battered, and still very boyish face to the light. The german was covered in dirt and blood. Bruises and... hickeys were still visible on his cheeks and neck. All his clothes were covered in dust and dirt. But the pants... They were even worse. The back, right under the belt, was stained with blood and some whitish spots, the origin of which Nikolai didn't really want to know. And the blood... It had pooled right in the middle, in a round spot. There was no way it could have gotten there by accident, only for one reason... —Don't be afraid, the lieutenant gave us permission. To relieve stress, so to speak. — Anton held the poor german like prey, like a trophy, and he didn't even cry anymore... He'd gotten used to it. His face showed pain, both physical and emotional, but he remained silent and didn't resist. — So, Kolya, will you? — Anton continued to hold the boy, looking at Nikolai with a certain greed and unhealthy excitement. — Don't worry about it, it's just a prisoner