“Package delivered,” Maksimenko cheerfully says. “I love this job, Sergeant. Let’s go and say hello.”
However, he only walks a few meters toward the helicopter and then stays still, stiffening his stance and letting Shumenko and his Spetsnaz drag the two prisoners up to him.
“Major Tarasov,“ he says with a beaming smile, “it’s wonderful to see you.”
“Makes you wish for still having both eyes, eh?” Tarasov angrily replies.
“Is this the way to greet an old comrade, Mikhailo? What about ’good to see you too’, for example?” Shaking his head, Maksimenko steps forward and punches Tarasov in the stomach. “Or maybe, ’how good it is to be back at Cordon Base’?” His knee goes up and kicks the deserter in the face, who is still bending over after the painful punch. Nooria can’t hold back a scream.
“And who do we have here?”
“Don’t touch her, you bastard!”
Tarasov tries to break free with all his strength but three Spetsnaz jump on and overpower him like terriers would a raging bull.
“A witch, so I heard? Or a mattress where American deserters lay down for just a little bit of comfort?”
Biting her lip, Nooria returns his stare without a word.
“Pull back her hood,” Maksimenko orders Shumenko and the other Spetsnaz holding her. He rudely pulls on her hair to force her to look up at him. Seeing Nooria’s face, he grimaces.
“Good God! Did a mutant piss on your face or what?” Grabbing her head, he takes a closer look at her scar. “No… it definitely looks like you gave a blowjob to a bloodsucker and then got his acidic load all over your pretty face!”
Maksimenko gives a bellowing laugh. The low-rank Spetsnaz laugh with him, though Shumenko and Vlasov stay quiet and exchange a disapproving look.
“Glad you too managed to put on a grin at last, Sergeant Shumenko,” Maksimenko says. “You’re about to be rewarded after all!”
“Komandir, I—”
“Later. First you load this wreck of a woman into the chopper and escort her, or should I say it, to SBU headquarters. Wait for me!”
A hint of regret and compassion lurks in Sergeant Shumenko’s eyes as he leads Nooria to the Mi-24 and darts a glance to Tarasov, who is being manhandled and pinned to the ground concrete by the commandos. This time his gaze doesn’t elude Maksimenko’s attention.
“Sergeant, wait a minute!”
He turns towards the soldiers. “I know many of you have served under this deserter. He was a highly decorated officer. Look at him now. Look at him! He repaid the Motherland’s trust with treason and desertion. Let his be a good example for how we deal with such scum!” Maksimenko gives Shumenko a grin. “Sergeant, your reward is well deserved. You’ll be given the cash and extra leave as soon as you return from an urgent patrol to Limansk.”
Shumenko’s face grows pale.
“Sergeant, you don’t want to forfeit the reward by thinking stupid things over the fate of this deserter, do you? It will be best for you to stay away from Cordon Base until your former commander is being kept here. Same goes for his pet mutant.”
“But—”
“It’s in your best interest, Sergeant! Get out of my sight.”
Tarasov writhes on the ground to break free from the Spetsnaz’ hold. “You bastards! If you lay as much as a finger on her, I’ll kill you!”
Pulling all their strength together, the commandos manage to hold him down. Maksimenko gives Tarasov a cold, triumphant look. “I doubt it, deserter.”
As if Tarasov hadn’t been humiliated enough in front of his former soldiers, Maksimenko theatrically steps on him and cleans the sole of his muddy boots into his fatigue. Vlasov though, who is watching the scene with growing disapproval, quickly intervenes before the humiliating gesture could be followed by a kick into Tarasov’s face.
“What are your orders, komandir?”
Maksimenko fishes his mobile phone from his pocket.
“Take him to the holding cells. I want two Spetsnaz guarding this cage day and night until we bring him to Kiev,” he says. “If he escapes, or just tries to, I’ll make you wish you were never born!”
“Understood.”
Maksimenko dials a number. “Verka, it’s me. I have a surprise for you.”
47
Under normal circumstances, the wounded soldier would be a sight pitiful enough to make even a battle-hardened opponent feel just a little compassion.
However, when he looks into the steel-blue eyes of the Top who is holding him up into the air as if he were a helpless puppy, the soldier knows that he can hope for no mercy.
Nor can he expect any help from his four comrades. Two of them had already been incapacitated by shrapnel when they walked into a makeshift trap prepared from fragmentation grenades, and those still standing were hit by a well-directed volley of heavy slug rounds that effortlessly pierced their standard-issue body armor. Before they could even see their ambushers, the encounter was lost.
“All right, manchild, I’ll ask you one more time. Where is the woman? Where is Tarasov?”
“Ne znayo a shtom ty govorish,” the soldier stammers.
“He can’t speak English, Top,” says Pete who stands next to the Top, keeping his rifle pointed at the captured soldier. “This makes no sense.”
“Bullshit, Marine!” the taller one shouts back at him. “He’s Spetsnaz, special forces. He is supposed to speak English. They were trained to extract information from people like me and you.”
“Pozhaluysta… ya net Spetsnazam!”
“Speak English, you goddamn vodka-soaked Russkie bastard! We received Tarasov’s distress signal. It was next to the position of one of your squads, close to here! He was hunted, there was a price on his head, you must know where they would take such prey!”
“Klyanus bogom, ya ne ponemayu!”
“I think he said he is no Spetsnaz.”
“Since when do you speak his lingo?”
“I don’t but he said net Spetsnaz that obviously means no Spetsnaz. Do the maths, Top.”
“He fucking lies and I know only one Russian word—Tarasov!” The Top shakes his prisoner mercilessly. Bearing a deep gunshot wound in his limb, the soldier’s pain must be tremendous. Unmoved by his screams, his tormentor repeats his question. “Where is Ta-ra-sov?”
“Kordon… nasha baza,” the soldier splutters.
The Top tosses him to the ground. “Now we talk, Russkie.”
Pete tries to intervene. “I think…”
“I don’t care what you think. You better keep your eye on the bodies. I want no hostile-is-almost-dead-but-reaches-for-his-weapon antics on my ambush ground. Clear?”
“Semper fi, Top.”
“Now back to you, you miserable failure of a manchild playing soldier. How many men at your base? What weapons they have?”
“Kordon… tam spetsnazovtsi. Oni budut vam strelat… bugte umerit kak sobaki, blyadiviye Amerikosi!”
“Any idea what he said?”
Pete shrugs. “Cordon is guarded by Spetsnaz who will shoot us like dogs and that we Americans can suck his dick. Maybe something worse. Whatever.”
“How you know?”
“Spetsnaz means Spetsnaz and I heard the Doc calling his pseudodog a sobaka. The rest is easy to guess.”