Four weeks pass in a blur.
At first, the rhythm was unbearably exhausting and drove me to the edge of my physical abilities. I nearly threw up and fainted multiple times. I considered quitting, but leaving the military institution was out of the question.
As my uncle insisted, if I’m out of here, it’ll be a matter of time before I’m found and killed. Worse, I might even lead them to the rest of my family so that they can finish the massacre they started.
On the bright side, my endurance has improved with time, and I can go for hours without feeling the need to collapse.
When the captain caught me and started this challenge, I thought I would never get this far, but as he told me, it’s only a mind game; once I learn the rules, everything will be easier.
Kirill Morozov. That’s the captain’s name.
I learned it during the time I’ve spent physically torturing myself to build my muscle strength.
It’s been a steep hill to climb with lots of leg, arm, and abdominal work. He has no intention of making me buff since, according to his observations, my main advantage is speed and a ‘decent’ aim.
He still has every intention of pushing me beyond my limits, though.
A long time ago, I used to pride myself in being a strong, determined girl. I used to wrestle with Papa, my uncles, my brother, and my cousins. Running, sparring with wooden swords, and climbing trees were everyday occurrences.
I about gave my poor mama a heart attack every time I went home with my torn and grimy dresses, a dirty face, and disheveled hair. She used to give me the longest lecture as she bathed and dolled me up again.
Back then, I’d stare in the mirror and love how I looked. I adored the lacy dresses and my long blonde hair that reflected the sun. I used to play with my strands and reign as a princess over my cousins.
Despite my tomboyish activities, I loved how pretty Mama made me look. I just couldn’t resist joining my brother and cousins whenever they went on a mischievous adventure.
If they were to see me struggling with training right now, they’d taunt, “Is that the best you can do, Sashenka?”
My shoulders droop as I hop down from the metal bar and stand on the ground. I continue staring at my feet, my hands balling into fists. The reminder that they’re no longer here to tease or call me Sashenka anymore fills my heart with a cloud of suffocating smoke.
I tap my chest, resisting the urge to cry.
The more I tap, the more claustrophobic it gets. Gruesome images sneak into my subconscious.
I can almost feel the weight of my cousins’ bodies covering mine. The pop, pop, pop sounds echoing in the air. The terrified shrieking, the pungent metallic smell of blood, and, eventually, how they became heavy.
They were so heavy, they crushed me. I couldn’t breathe or speak. I couldn’t—
A pair of big boots stop in front of me, and I straighten, thankful for the distraction.
No idea why those memories are hitting me now more than before. They were dormant for some time, but they’ve come back with a vengeance lately.
“It’s time for the morning meeting,” the newcomer announces in a gruff, unwelcoming voice.
He’s Lieutenant Viktor. Captain Kirill’s right-hand man. Or more like a persistent shadow. Whenever the captain isn’t here to observe my progress, Viktor shows up, acting as unwelcoming as he looks.
I prefer the captain’s company. No, not company. It’s not like he’s here to be my friend. It’s that, if I had to choose, I’d pick his presence, supervision, and attention to detail.
Sometimes, it feels as if he knows my progress and my weaknesses and strengths more than I do.
Viktor is just harsh with no rhyme or reason, and I don’t think he’s liked me since our first meeting that night.
“Yes, sir,” I say instead of asking why the captain isn’t here.
Viktor would just glare, make me feel lower than the dirt beneath his shoes for even asking, and then he’d eventually dismiss me or flat out ignore me.
He starts down the hall, and I follow behind. The boots are no longer heavy, and they don’t weigh me down, despite the exhaustion in my muscles. That’s because I’ve gotten used to training in the morning and at night in addition to the official training.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be allowed to do that by my direct superiors, but I think Captain Kirill has found a way around that regulation, because no one has bothered me since I started this marathon-like pace.
I wait for Viktor to go into the hall before I step inside. I grab a tray of food and sit in the only available spot, which, unfortunately, happens to be on Matvey and his gang’s side.
Five pairs of eyes glare at me, but that’s the limit of what they can do in public. After that time, Captain Kirill got them punished by our captain. I have no doubt that Matvey would finish what he started and avenge his wounded pride if he got the chance. Which is why I’ve made sure to avoid being in a position like the one from back then.
I’m stronger, but not strong enough to take on the five of them. Hell, even Matvey alone would be hard to defeat.
I stuff my face with the bland food. I used to eat way less than these men, but now, I’m a beast just like them. On the bright side, this means I’m improving my stamina.
It’s all thanks to…
I crane my head to get a glimpse of the special ops table. Viktor sits at its head, and despite his gloomy nature, a general cheerful atmosphere radiates from the rest of the guys. They’re all dressed in black, so they stand out against our green uniforms.
Some faces are as harsh as Viktor’s, some are young, and others appear welcoming, serious, and, well…loyal.
I’ve heard so much about them. Most of those men followed Kirill from the United States. They’re Russian, and most are Russian-born, but many, including the captain himself, are American-born. They still hold their Russian citizenship and have the right to serve in the Russian army if they choose to.
He recruited the rest from the professionally trained infantry he thought were worthy of joining his ranks.
One of them, a younger boy, probably about my age, laughs loudly, and Matvey clicks his tongue, then whispers, “Bunch of entitled fuckers thinking they’re all that.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but I tactfully choose to focus on my food.
“They’re not even real Russians,” goon number one agrees.
“How they think some Americanized motherfuckers are worthy of Special Forces is beyond me,” says goon number two before he chokes on his food.
Good. Hope he dies.
“Ever thought it could be something like, I don’t know, skill?” I ask with a raised brow. “Besides, how are they less Russian than you, when they flawlessly speak the language?”
“You shut it, Lipovsky,” Matvey snarls at me. “You get saved by the captain once, and you’re suddenly a convert?”
I snort but say nothing. His jealousy of the special ops is showing, and anyone, his goons included, can see it.
“You have something to say, sodomite?” His tone hardens, and my temper flares.
Still, I regain my control as I say, “Oh, nothing. I was thinking maybe this animosity stems from the fact that you applied to the special ops and were rejected twice in a row.”
“You damn—” He reaches out to me, but I duck and pretend that the food has all of my focus.
One of his goons brings him back down, whispering something about how we’re being watched.
I smile at Matvey sweetly even as he turns a deep shade of red that’s likely to explode any second.
“They’re going back to their camp soon,” goon number three says, trying to change the subject. “Good riddance.”
My body goes still.
They’re…leaving?
I cast a glance at the table, and, as if knowing I’d look at them, Viktor meets my gaze with his unwelcoming one.
Neither he nor the captain told me that they were leaving.
A weird sensation tightens in my chest, and I want to tap it, but I don’t do that in public. I place my spoon on the table, suddenly losing my appetite.
It’s not that I can’t continue this pace on my own. With time, I can be strong enough to challenge Matvey and beat him.
But something’s different when the captain’s not around.
Yes, he’s harsh, unforgiving, and has a mysterious way of destabilizing me, but all of that pales in comparison to how he’s pushed me to grow into my strength.
He invested his time and teaching abilities in me—something no one but my family has ever done.
And now that he’s leaving, I have no clue what to do.
If only I could be at that black table. They’re so lucky to have him as a captain. Ours doesn’t give a fuck about us on an individual level. All he cares about is collective results. Whenever I fall behind, he looks at me as if I’m a thorn in his side.
The chatter dies down and everyone stands and salutes. I follow suit as our and the special ops captains stride inside, following the major and lieutenant general.
I can’t help being drawn to Kirill. He’s the tallest of the bunch. He also has this mystic aura that’s impossible to miss.
His purposeful strides eat up the distance even as he remains behind the other higher-ups. But for some reason, he feels like the most authoritarian figure here.
The most commanding, too.
“At ease,” our captain says once they’re all at the podium overlooking the entire hall.
A collective lowering of hands echoes in the room, followed by deafening silence.
“As you all know, the special operations unit was with us for collaborative training, but that has presently come to an end,” our captain announces in a semi-bored tone. “The known information is that the unit will be leaving our camp in two days’ time. But what isn’t public knowledge is that Captain Morozov was here on a scouting mission. He has watched each and every one of you closely, studied your files, patterns, strengths, weaknesses, and mental abilities. He’s picked the best five soldiers, who will leave with his unit. If he calls your name, step forward.” He casts a glance to his side. “Captain.”
I feel like I’m breathing through a straw. My heart beats hard and fast, in sync with every step he takes to the front.
If I’m selected to be part of the special ops, I’ll have better security than the basic military institution. Hell, being closer to the higher-ups is a surefire way to get information about the massacre of my family.
Maybe if my uncle and I can locate the people behind this, we’ll be able to get our revenge sooner and start a new life.
Maybe, just maybe, we won’t be stuck in this life forever.
Captain Kirill calls the first name, a big man who’s the best in our unit. He’s so good at hand-to-hand combat that even Matvey doesn’t go near him.
I understand the choice, but I can’t help the slight drooping in my shoulders.
The second name is called. The third and the fourth follow. All are the best members of their units.
With each name that isn’t mine, my heart falls to my feet. But I don’t lose hope. Captain Kirill wouldn’t have given me so much individual attention if he wasn’t already thinking of having me join his unit.
I bet he didn’t give the ones he already picked the same attention he gave me.
Unless…he did? Maybe that’s why he sent Viktor sometimes. Maybe he preferred to use his time for better candidates like these men.
Captain Kirill’s eyes study the crowd in an emotionless manner before they fall on me. It’s a second, or merely a fraction of one, but it’s enough to stifle my breathing.
Then he addresses the soldiers again. “Vasily Korosov.”
The man in question steps forward and my heart shrivels and dies in a slow, painful death.
“Thank you, Captain…” The lieutenant general is about to take the reins, but I’ve completely zoned out.
I failed.
Again.
No matter what lengths I’ve gone to, I haven’t been able to succeed. All I do is lose, unable to protect anyone. Not even myself.
This loss hits me stronger than I expected, because I genuinely worked harder than I ever have before. I challenged my physical, mental, and emotional limits. I went so hard on myself that I started getting cramps.
Last week, on our day off, I removed my chest bandages and went to see a doctor about it.
She said it’s because the testosterone levels in my body are too high and it’s messing up my hormonal cycle. She told me it might be better to switch from the shot to pills, but that would mean having my period back, so I refused.
And yet I’ve continued at the pace that I’ve become accustomed to and go beyond the mental cage my mind designed for me.
That hypocrite Kirill even said my shooting skills are a natural talent. He also nodded when he saw my improved physical chart.
Despite all of those reassurances, I still don’t have a place in his unit.
I want to strangle him.
He could’ve just walked away. Why did he give me hope and then chose not to follow up on it?
“One more thing,” Captain Kirill says, catching the other higher-ups by surprise. “I know I picked only five, but there’s another member who has shown the most improvement since I got here and proved in action that he has the right mentality to join the special operations team. Aleksander Lipovsky, step forward.”
The first thing I see is Matvey’s open-mouthed expression that resembles a fish out of water.
The next thing I see is the blurriness in my vision, but I hold back the tears of immense gratefulness and triumph.
I don’t know how I manage to do it, but I take a step forward and salute. I’m thankful my hand doesn’t tremble and I don’t start bawling my eyes out.
Captain Kirill meets my gaze, but there’s no approval behind his icy eyes. He’s really a cold man with a stone instead of his heart.
The lieutenant general congratulates us and blah blah blah, but I can’t stop looking at the captain.
My new captain.
I know he’s harsh and unforgiving. I know he has a tendency to make people uncomfortable in their own skin.
He’s rumored to come from a family that deals in shady business. Hell, even his enlistment in the military is shrouded in mystery and reeks of unusual circumstances.
But I’m ready to forget all of that as long as he helps me improve my strength.
I have no clue what the future holds for me, but one thing’s for sure.
I’ll become strong enough to be able to spill the blood of those who massacred my family.
