6. Kirill
KIRILL
I read the reports my intelligence sergeant sent over and study every detail with keen interest.
The reason my unit is the most successful isn’t because I have the best men—though I do consider them incomparable. It’s also not due to strength or weaponry.
Every success we’ve had thus far is solely based on strategy. Numbers, offense, and danger level mean nothing if I devise the right plan to keep us one step ahead.
It’s one of the reasons my father didn’t want me to leave the States. My family depended so much on my plans from the time I was a kid. Everything my father did was low-key instructed or inspired by my tactics.
Needless to say, he’s been feeling bitter since I left for the army a couple of years ago and took away his goose that lays the golden eggs.
Viktor likes to give me reports about the state of affairs back home, despite my explicit instructions not to.
His excuse is that I need to be in the loop because knowledge is power, and, apparently, according to Viktor’s spies, my dickhead of a brother is subtly confiscating that power after having crowned himself the head of the family once my father retires.
Of course, the process is taking place with the help of my mother. Or, more accurately, Yulia. Yes, she is the woman who gave birth to me, just like my father was the one who donated the sperm, but neither of them should’ve been anyone’s parents.
But I digress. Only slightly.
My focus homes back in on the intelligence report in front of me and I reread it one more time.
Tomorrow’s mission has to be perfect. I’ll accept no failure or losses.
In fact, my plan is so bulletproof that my men and I should be able to complete it in half the time given to us.
All we have to do is land near the insurgents’ nest by the mountains. Divide into two teams to clear them out from both sides. My snipers will take care of the loose ends and then, it’s all history.
No matter what angle I look at it, the mission is so easy, it’s insulting. But I don’t underestimate the possibility of something going wrong.
A knock sounds on the door before it opens, and Viktor appears like a wall at the threshold. I’ve known him all my life, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a grim, stoic, and an absolute dull sight to look at.
“They’re ready,” he announces.
“Have you divided their roles?”
He nods.
“Very well.” I push off my chair and burn the intelligence report. I already learned it by heart, so there’s no need for a physical copy.
Viktor and I stride down the hall in silence. I can tell he has things to say—he always does and has played the role of a thorn in my side for decades—but he, thankfully, chooses to keep his thoughts to himself tonight.
Which is all the better since I’m a million percent sure whatever he has to say will be about returning home, taking back the power, and putting my brother and mother in their places.
What Viktor doesn’t know, however, is that everything needs to happen in its own time.
My men are having dinner after a long training day. I gave them so much shit to do, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re too tired to eat or sit properly. But then again, I can’t have any mistakes tomorrow.
They had to learn the path we’ll take by heart. If someone makes a mistake, he’ll risk not only his life, but also the life of his teammates.
I’m ready to give them some leeway tonight—
I come to a halt at the entrance.
Instead of the gloomy, somewhat careful atmosphere I’ve come to expect before every mission, the hall bubbles with the exact opposite.
Utensils have been thrown around, drinks have been spilled everywhere, and some sort of an eating competition is going on in the corner. Laughter, cursing, and idle teasing fill the space to the brim.
But most of all, the mood is laid-back.
Maksim and Rulan are singing in their god-awful voices that I wouldn’t wish on an enemy. Then in the midst of the human rights violation, a softer voice slips through.
My eyes narrow on the slim, frail soldier between my men, and it’s none other than Lipovsky.
Of course.
Why am I not surprised that he’s in the middle of all of this?
The others clap, shout, or bang their cups on the table in rhythm with the singing. Yuri yells for Maksim and Rulan to shut the fuck up because they’re overshadowing Lipovsky’s more pleasant voice, to which they sing louder.
My attention remains on Lipovsky.
Bringing him to the unit wasn’t a well-studied decision. Yes, he showed improvement, and I could see the potential in him, but he’s too much work that’s not worth it.
No matter how much he strengthens his muscles, he’s still the weakest physically. He’s also the one with the most glares and subtle avoiding techniques.
He’s been part of my unit for a month, and he’s tactfully managed to avoid alone time with me for just as long.
It’s subtle things, such as always remaining in a group and joining Maksim’s foolish antics and Yuri’s physical routine.
Ever since the day he helped Team B win the football game for the first time in months, they’ve all switched to his side. He has effortlessly blended into the group and gotten used to the unit. Not only as a soldier, but also as an actual member of a community.
Although we have a paramedic, he personally cleans the wound of whoever gets injured and even has a small medical kit on standby. The fuckers actually prefer him over the medic because he’s apparently more gentle.
The fuck they care about gentleness when they’re soldiers?
Needless to say, he’s a bad fucking influence. I could’ve avoided this annoying shift in my men if I’d simply left him to rot in his previous unit.
“Is it too late to ship him back to the infantry?” Viktor whispers my thoughts.
Or what he thinks are my thoughts.
Taking Lipovsky in was a moment of chaos that I would repeat again in a heartbeat. Yes, he’s an infuriating little fucker, but he’s disciplined and plays well with the team. He’s also an excellent sniper, who’s only missing some field action.
He’s neither antagonistic nor individualistic. Bonus point, he actually cares about his colleagues’ well-being.
The moment Yuri became friends with him, I learned just how influential Lipovsky could be. Maksim knows everyone and is friends with the whole army.
Yuri, on the other hand, has never felt at ease, except in Maksim’s company and, now, with the newcomer.
After a certain incident a few years ago, he had to have reparative surgery and drew further into himself.
Until Maksim took it upon himself to get him out of his funk.
Unknowingly, Lipovsky has been helping with that, too.
And Yuri is an influential strategist in my arsenal. So whenever he’s in a good mood, I can count on getting the best results from him.
“He’s useful,” I tell Viktor.
He looks at me as if I’m the fruit of Satan and an unruly hooker, not bothering to hide the map of disgust covering his face. “He’s a fucking weakling who spends twice as much time to do the same activities the others do.”
“It’s one point five now. Not twice.”
“Still more than needed.”
“You weren’t born a mountain, Viktor. Improvement takes time.”
He narrows his eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you’re defending the slimy fucker.”
“Like fuck I am. But someone has to play devil’s advocate.”
The truth remains, as much as I dislike the change to plots and strategies, I prefer the unit when he’s around, which is a weird confession that took me some time to come to terms with.
I step forward, and Viktor follows suit. Upon seeing us, all the noise dies down as the soldiers straighten and salute.
Viktor gives them the ‘at ease’ motion, and they comply at once. My gaze strays to Lipovsky, who’s still between Maksim and Rulan, face red and so soft, it should be a crime for him to be in the military.
You’re getting distracted again.
I let my eyes wander to the rest of my men.
“As you all know, we’re departing tomorrow for the mission.
Viktor already divided the roles, and we practiced the path we’ll take enough times that you should be able to recognize it in your sleep.
Starting tonight, I want you to forget everything, including your names, and only remember the plan.
As usual, I’m going to need you all to come back in one piece. If you die, I will kill you.”
Some snicker, others nod while hiding laughter, but one stern look from Viktor is enough to throw them back into the serious mood.
He’s an asshole. No doubt about it. A useful asshole, but an asshole all the same.
“We’ll go through the plan again tomorrow morning,” I continue. “You’re dismissed.”
They salute again, and I turn to leave. Viktor stays behind, probably to nag them like an old hag for daring to have fun.
When I’m in the hall, I notice I’m not alone. I can also figure out who it is without looking back. Only one in my unit has light footfalls without trying to conceal them.
“What do you want, Lipovsky?” I ask as I turn around.
He comes to an abrupt halt and swallows thickly. His shirt is crumpled at the top, revealing the hair-thin veins peeking from beneath his fair skin.
Lipovsky, obviously caught off guard, shifts on his feet, studies his surroundings, and breathes heavily before he finally looks at me.
“I don’t have all day,” I say when he remains statuesque without saying anything.
“You…Viktor gave me the role of backup.”
“So?”
“Why can’t I be on the front lines?”
“Because you’re too volatile and I can’t trust you in a precise and sensitive spot.”
“I score among the top five in sniping.”
“That means nothing when you lack on-field experience.”
His eyes shine with that infuriating challenge that both made me notice and want to squash him beneath my shoes that first time. “How would I get that experience if you don’t give it to me…sir?”
The little fuck has the audacity to act all proper and according to protocol. It’d be so easy to destroy him and break his spirit enough that he’d willingly leave.