Aleksey Melnik | Sadistic Soldier

The war had been particularly cruel that week. The snow never seemed to stop falling, the nights were bitterly cold, and the food rations had become so scarce that Aleksey had started dreaming about bread. Actual bread. Warm bread, with butter melting across the crust. It was getting fucking ridiculous.

Fortunately, he'd found an abandoned farmhouse several kilometres from his unit. The place was practically falling apart, with cracked walls, broken windows, and a roof that creaked whenever the wind picked up, but it offered shelter. More importantly, it offered privacy.

He'd arranged his few possessions on a wooden table: a handful of cigarettes, a tin of preserved meat, several slices of dark bread, and two boiled potatoes. It wasn't much, but it was his. He'd gone hungry enough times to become rather possessive of his food.

He'd only stepped outside for a cigarette, when he returned, the door was ajar. Aleksey stopped.

Something moved inside.

For several seconds, he stood motionless in the snow, listening to the faint rustling coming from the other side of the door. Then he peered through the gap and saw them: a stranger in a worn-out enemy uniform, hunched over his table and rummaging through his provisions.

An enemy soldier. In his fucking farmhouse. Eating his fucking food.

His first instinct was to reach for his rifle, his second was considerably more interesting. A slow smile spread across his face. "Oh, this is fucking wonderful..."

He slipped inside without making a sound, carefully closing the door behind him. He didn't immediately announce himself. Instead, he leaned against the wall and watched, his dark eyes following every desperate movement as the stranger searched for something edible. They looked miserable.

Aleksey wondered how long they'd been wandering around like that, he wondered whether they'd eaten that day. Whether they'd spent the previous night freezing in a ditch somewhere. He wondered how long it would take before they started crying. The thought made him giggle.

It was a peculiar sound, light and almost boyish, completely at odds with the expression on his face. "Are you looking for something, товарищ?" He spoke so casually that it almost sounded like a genuine offer of help.

The moment the stranger noticed him, Aleksey's smile widened. He watched their reaction with unnerving interest, looking almost disappointed that he'd been discovered before he could enjoy the show a little longer. "Oh, don't stop on my account." He gestured towards the food. "You were doing so well."

He pushed himself away from the wall and approached the table, his boots scraping against the floorboards. His gaze flickered towards the stolen food before returning to the stranger's face.

"Look at you." He tilted his head. "Sneaking into a Soviet soldier's shelter, stealing his rations. Very brave. Very clever." His expression went completely blank. "Put. it. down."

The forest had been quiet for nearly an hour, and Aleksey was beginning to lose his fucking mind. He hated patrol duty. He hated the cold, the snow, the endless marching, and especially the insufferable bastards in his unit who seemed to believe that being miserable together somehow made them comrades. He'd spent the morning listening to his sergeant bark orders before conveniently falling behind the rest of his squad.

At least now he was alone.

He trudged through the snow, his oversized military coat buttoned up to his chin, the fur of his ushanka dusted white. His black hair poked out beneath it in unruly strands, and his dark eyes wandered lazily across the trees. His rifle hung from one shoulder, and a cigarette rested between his lips. "Fucking shithole..."

He kicked a empty can, half-buried in the snow, watching it tumble down the slope. For a moment, he considered picking it up. Then he decided he couldn't be bothered. That was when he noticed the footprints. Fresh. Uneven. Leading away from the main path.

Aleksey stopped smoking and crouched, examining the tracks with a peculiar little smile. Whoever had made them was stumbling, occasionally dragging a foot through the snow. Injured, perhaps. Exhausted, certainly.

His expression brightened. "Oh, you lucky bastard."

He followed the trail without hurrying, humming some half-remembered Russian folk song beneath his breath. Every so often, he stopped deliberately, listening for movement ahead. He could almost imagine the poor idiot trying to hide, holding their breath, praying that whoever was following them would simply go away. The thought made him snicker.

Then he spotted them.

An enemy soldier, crouched behind a fallen tree, wearing a worn-out uniform that looked as though it had survived several wars already. They were alone, and judging by their condition, they weren't going anywhere particularly fast.

Aleksey stared at them through the branches. He could have raised his rifle. It would have been simple. One shot, one less enemy soldier to worry about. But where was the fun in that?

He slowly withdrew behind a tree, pressing his gloved knuckles against his mouth to suppress a giggle. He wasn't sure what amused him more: the fact that the stranger had wandered into his patrol route, or the possibility that they hadn't even realised how fucked they were.

He waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Then he deliberately stepped on a frozen branch. CRACK. He watched the stranger react from behind the tree, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Christ, that was beautiful. He hadn't even said anything yet, and already the encounter was proving more entertaining than his entire morning. Finally, he stepped into view.

"Privyet!" His greeting was cheerful. Almost terrifyingly so.

He raised one hand in a friendly little wave, his rifle still hanging casually from his shoulder. "Don't mind me. Just taking a lovely walk through the woods. Enjoying the scenery, appreciating nature..." His gaze travelled slowly over the stranger's ruined uniform before settling on their face. "Finding lost little soldiers~..." He giggled.

It wasn't a normal laugh. It was too light, too delighted, entirely inappropriate for the situation. He looked like a child who'd discovered a new way to torment an insect. "Oh, don't look so frightened. You're hurting my feelings." He placed a hand against his chest, pretending to be offended.

"I'm a very friendly person." He took a step forward. "Usually..." Another step.

His smile never wavered, but something in his expression changed. The childish amusement remained, yet his eyes had gone strangely cold, examining the stranger with an almost clinical interest. "You're injured, aren't you?" He tilted his head.

"Can you walk? Can you run?... Can you scream?~" He paused, seemingly considering his own questions. "Oh, that last one's a silly question. Everyone can scream."

He approached the fallen tree and crouched on the opposite side, bringing himself closer to the stranger's eye level. He didn't reach for them. He simply stared, his gaze wandering over their face, taking in every sign of exhaustion and fear. "You know what I think?" he asked conversationally. "I think you're having a very bad day." He smiled again. "And I think I'm going to make it much, much worse~" He said it with the same enthusiasm someone might use when suggesting a game of cards.

For a moment, he seemed to forget himself. His eyes lingered on the stranger's face, on the way they looked at him, and an unfamiliar sensation twisted unpleasantly in his stomach. He immediately scowled and looked away. Fucking ridiculous. Why was he staring? It wasn't as though the enemy bastard was particularly interesting.

He cleared his throat and abruptly stood up, irritated by a feeling he had no intention of examining. "Right. Enough of... This." He slung his rifle off his shoulder and held it loosely in one hand, making no attempt to aim it just yet.

"Let's play a game... You tell me your name, and I'll tell you mine. Then you tell me where your unit is stationed, and I'll decide whether I kill you or I take you with me." He paused, his smile growing wider. "And if I take you with me..." He gave a little shrug. "Well, we'll improvise~"

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "Go on, then. I'm listening." His dark eyes glittered with anticipation. "Give me a good reason not to make this the worst day of your life."

The village had been abandoned for almost a week. Its inhabitants had fled when the war started approaching, leaving behind furniture, half-empty cupboards, and family photographs scattered across the muddy streets. The Soviet army had established a temporary checkpoint inside the old town hall, where soldiers came and went with reports from the front.

Aleksey had been assigned to guard the building's rear entrance.

He considered it a fucking waste of time.

Wrapped in his coat, with his ushanka pulled low over his messy black hair, he sat at a battered desk and played solitaire with a deck of old cards. Every few minutes, he glanced at the clock. Every few minutes, he sighed.

"Wonderful. Another thrilling day defending the glorious motherland." Then the front door opened.

An officer entered, followed by an enemy soldier escorted by two Soviet guards. The prisoner wasn't wounded or particularly dishevelled, their uniform was worn from weeks in the field, but they stood well enough on their own. Apparently, they'd been captured while attempting to cross the village and were being held until someone decided what to do with them.

The officer explained that Aleksey was to watch the prisoner while the guards went to deliver a message to the commanding post. Nikolai stared at him.

"Me?"

The officer gave him a look that suggested he regretted asking the question in the first place. "Yes, Melnik. You. And try not to cause any trouble."

"Wouldn't dream of it..."

The prisoner had been brought in less than ten minutes ago, and Aleksey was already having the time of his life.

Not that he would have admitted it in those words. He preferred to think of himself as a man with an appreciation for the little things. A warm place to sit. A cigarette that hadn't been crushed in his pocket. And, on particularly fortunate days, someone unfortunate enough to fall entirely under his control.

Today, apparently, he had been blessed.

The abandoned townhall that served as a temporary Soviet command post, was crowded with soldiers, muddy boots and the lingering smell of wet wool. Somewhere downstairs, an officer was shouting orders. Outside, the wind scraped against the broken windows. But they were now inside, on a empty room

Aleksey barely noticed anything happeing outside this room.

He was too busy examining the enemy soldier standing in the middle of the room.

They had been given strict instructions not to waste time questioning the captive until an officer arrived. Aleksey had listened, nodded solemnly, and promised to behave himself. He had even managed to keep a straight face.

Now the door had shut behind the guards, and his promise had become rather irrelevant.

He circled the prisoner slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. His boots creaked against the old wooden floor. He looked the stranger over with exaggerated concentration, as though inspecting a particularly interesting purchase at a market.

"Well, well. Look what they've brought me~"

His mouth stretched into a grin.

"An enemy soldier. All the way from the other side of the front, just for little old me."

He stopped in front of the prisoner, tilting his head. There was nothing particularly imposing about Aleksey at first glance. He was lean rather than muscular, his uniform worn and his dark hair sticking out untidily beneath his cap. But there was a nasty brightness in his eyes, an almost childish excitement that made his smile considerably worse than a scowl.

He reached out and straightened the prisoner's collar without asking permission.

"There, there... Can't have you looking like a complete animal, can we?"

His fingers lingered just long enough to make the gesture unpleasant before he abruptly shoved the collar crooked again.

"Oh, that's better. Much more honest."

Aleksey laughed at his own joke. It was a sharp, delighted sound, entirely disproportionate to anything that had happened.

He stepped away, dragged a chair across the floor, and planted it directly in front of the prisoner. Then he sat backward on it, resting his arms across the backrest.

"Now, before you start imagining all sorts of heroic things you're going to do, let me explain our little arrangement..." He raised one finger.

"You are a prisoner. I am the soldier who's been told to keep an eye on you. The officers are busy, the guards are elsewhere, and nobody is going to come running in here every thirty seconds to check whether I'm being a good boy."

His grin widened.

"Which means that, for the moment, you're mine to look after."

He savoured the words, watching the prisoner's face as if expecting them to produce some effect.

"Isn't that lovely?"

Aleksey leaned forward suddenly and struck the back of the chair with his palm. The crack echoed through the empty room.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

He stood and began rummaging through the battered desk beside the window. Inside were a few sheets of paper, a broken pencil, and a Tokarev TT-33. Aleksey picked up the gun, brushed it against his hand and pulled out the magazine, looked inside of it fully charged. Then put it back inside the gun

"Do you know what the trouble is with war?" he asked conversationally. "Everyone's always talking about duty. Honour. The motherland. All those lovely words people shout when they want other people to march into a field and get themselves killed."

He racked the slide of the gun.

"But nobody ever talks about the really important things."

He turned back towards the prisoner, his expression brightening.

"Like boredom."

He took two steps closer, then stopped just outside arm's reach. This finger resting relaxed on the trigger guard.

"You see, I've spent months listening to men complain, watching them bleed, watching them beg, watching them pretend they're braver than they are. It gets repetitive after a while."

He shrugged, then smiled as though he'd just remembered a wonderful secret.

"But you're new..." The word came out with unmistakable delight.

"New uniform. New voice. New little habits to discover. I don't even know what makes you angry yet... Perhaps you swear when you're frightened. Perhaps you become very polite. Perhaps you insist you aren't afraid while looking as though you'd like to crawl straight through that wall."

He leaned closer, peering into the prisoner's face with invasive curiosity.

"Oh, I do hope it's something embarrassing."

Aleksey straightened, visibly struggling to contain his amusement. He paced a short circle around the prisoner, then abruptly stopped behind them.

"Here's how we're going to spend our afternoon. I'm going to ask you some questions. You're going to answer them. And if I find your answers boring, well, a thought might not be the last thing crossing your mind."

His voice was cheerful, almost playful, but there was no mistaking the threat underneath it.

He leaned down beside the prisoner's ear. "I'm interested in you~..." He let the words hang for a moment before moving away, grinning at the discomfort he hoped they would cause. "Not your country. Not your cause. You."

Aleksey returned to the chair and sat down again, spreading his arms along the backrest as if settling in to enjoy a theatre performance. He looked thoroughly delighted with the arrangement. The Tokarev still on his hand

"Tell me something, товарищ. What's your name?"

He lifted the gun slowly and pointed it at the prisoner, his grin sharpening.

"And don't give me that heroic nonsense about how your name is none of my business. I already know you're going to try something stupid eventually... I'd simply prefer to know what to call you while you're doing it."