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“What did you just say?”
My spine jerks, and I realize that maybe I fucked up and shouldn’t have answered that way. Not that I’m lying, and I shouldn’t be expected to be available for training on my days off, but someone as rigid as Viktor wouldn’t understand. He has his set views and opinions, and he’s like an unmovable mountain.
He reminds me of Babushka in some ways.
“Leave the newbie alone, Viktor.” A different voice comes from behind me before its owner stops beside me.
The newcomer is another member of the unit. He looks a few years older than me, is built like a wall, and has angular yet weirdly welcoming features.
“You.” Viktor points at him. “Stay out of it, Maksim.”
“No can do. You’re bullying the poor man.” Maksim grabs me by the shoulder and basically drags me out back.
I don’t resist, not even when I feel the murderous energy radiating from Viktor.
“Are you sure that was a good idea?” I whisper as we go outside. Instantly, my nose starts running and needles of cold penetrate my skin.
I’d rather stay in the semblance of warmth inside, but I doubt Maksim would hear that request. He seems like the type who sweeps you off your feet for some sort of adventure.
“Never mind! You don’t know this, but Viktor is like a mountain you occasionally have to climb or simply jump over so that he stops being a pain in the ass, especially when we have an excuse such as a day off… Jesus, you feel so small, newbie.”
I go rigid, but then I force myself to relax again. “My name is Aleksander.”
“I’m Maksim. I noticed you being all stiff and alone this past week, and we don’t do that shit in this unit.” He tilts his chin forward. “How about some fun?”
We come to halt in front of a field for…football.
The soldiers are divided into two teams of eleven players. Concentration and contempt shine on their faces as if they’re on the battlefield.
A flat-out war is taking place. Not only do they tackle and hit each other, but they basically step on one another on the artificial turf.
Maksim, showing little to no care about the brutal play, strolls into the middle of an attack and steals the ball. Then he tactfully slips from the clutches of a few angry players.
“You and you. Out.” He points at two soldiers. “Lipovsky and I will be subbing in.”
At the mention of my name, almost everyone’s attention turns to me. I might not get as much shit from these guys as I did with Matvey and his goons, but they haven’t warmed up to me either. They keep me at arm’s length and barely address me at the meal table.
In fact, Maksim is the first one who’s ever talked to me.
“It’s okay,” I say, conscious of the unpleasant energy. “I can watch.”
“Nonsense.” Still holding the ball, Maksim comes to fetch me by dragging me in a half chokehold that kind of cuts off my air, but I’ve come to know that guys generally handle each other with roughness.
In theory, I can fight the dragging, but in reality, I can’t. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to.
Despite my mother’s protests, I played football with my cousins and my brother all the time when we were growing up. It’s one of those games that holds a special place in my heart.
“Give back the ball, motherfucker!” someone shouts from the distance.
“That’s Yuri,” Maksim tells me. “The true motherfucker in this unit. Don’t sleep near him, Aleksander, or you’ll suffer a slow death. He snores like a dying pig.”
Some soldiers laugh and point at Yuri, who glares at each and every one of them.
“Ready, bitches?” Maksim stands in the middle of the field, then—no surprise here—throws the ball in our team’s direction instead of the middle.
Apparently, there’s no formation in this thing. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to play defense, midfield, or offense. Turns out, everyone plays all spots at once.
All twenty-two soldiers are wherever the ball is.
