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The day I turned 18 I presented unhappily at the recruitment centre, my draft papers in my hand. By that afternoon I was at an army base, and after a mere two weeks training, I was with a regiment just behind the frontline of the patriotic special military operation.
It's quiet here, which is something to be grateful for. The main action is many kilometres away, leaving us to do the boring supply lines work and the mop-up operations on the occasions when the lines move.
I've got used to barracks life, the noise, the jokes, the terrible food, the cold. You can get used to anything. I've become friends with Mikhail Denisovich Morozov, a tall 25-year-old regular soldier. He's been here for 10 months, a lot louder and more garrulous than me, and therefore much more popular. Being taken under his wing on my first day was lucky for me.
Thursday just passed, the unit had been involved in a skirmish in a small village about a kilometre from here and had no choice but to liquidate it. As the newest and youngest, I saw none of this, confined to mess duties. On the Saturday, with everything now sorted and the bodies buried or burned, the commander stopped me just as I was heading back to the mess for my shift.
"Aleksandr Ivanovich, have you seen battle yet?"
No, I told him.
"Then we'll ease you in. You and Mikhail Denisovich," and with that Mikhail appeared from nowhere, grinning, "will go to the village and check for stragglers. There may still be some in the ruins."
He fixed me with his eyes.
"There is no need to bring back any prisoners."
With that, he was gone. I went to my bunk to put on my fatigues. Mikhail, already fully uniformed, followed me.
"It'll be a nothing more than a nice walk, Aleksandr. But we might be lucky, there could be some girls hiding in the fields. We could have some fun."
I smiled weakly.
"Ah, don't be like that, Aleks, you're such a prude!" He punched me in the arm lightly.
The UAZ was waiting outside for us. Mikhail got in the driver's side and pulled out as I was getting in on the other side, laughing as I almost fell out on to the road.
We arrived at the village in ten minutes. All of the buildings had some form of damage, some just bullet holes in the facades, some burnt out shells barely recognisable as the homes they once must have been. Mikhail pulled up outside what previously was a grocery — there was no produce left, the unit had liberated that earlier — got out and drew his rifle. I did the same.
I'd never done a mop-up operation, so copied what Mikhail did, or went where he pointed me. Each building was empty, anything of value liberated by the unit, the interiors destroyed by hand where they hadn't be destroyed by grenade or fire.
The last house we entered was the same as the previous dozen or so. We went from room to room, checking under beds and in cupboards. Mikhail had shouldered his rifle and drawn his handgun, and I did the same. There was nothing in this place and I prepared to move on.
Mikhail stopped me, putting his finger to his lips. We stood silently and he cocked his head, listening. I could hear nothing.
No, not quite nothing. Breathing. Very very quiet, ragged breathing. We both looked around, feet firmly kept in place, trying to find the source. There was a beaten up trunk lying on its side next to a table. Mikhail pointed to it, then put his finger over his lips again. He gestured for me to go around to the right, and he tiptoed to the left. Once we were either side of the trunk, he counted down 3 - 2 - 1 on his fingers and we flung the trunk over backwards.
Out tumbled two boys, one about six or seven, one about three or four. They stood up and raised their hands in the air, the younger one suddenly dissolving into tears.
"Please, sir, please, spare us," said the older boy in a childish mixture of Russian and Ukrainian.
Mikhail looked at me and grinned. "No girls, but this'll do, hey, Aleks?"
I looked back at him, the confusion obvious on my face, and he laughed.
"Are you armed?" he barked at the boys in Ukrainian. The boys both took a step backwards, bumping into the heavy dining table behind them.
"No sir," said the older boy. The younger shook his head, the tears still streaming down his face.
"Prove it. Take off your shirts."
The younger boy looked at the older — his brother, I thought, they both have the same nose and eyes. The older boy nodded. "Do as he says, Fedir," he said, unbuttoning his own shirt. The younger boy, Fedir, pulled up his t-shirt and struggled to get it over his head. With a glance at Mikhail, and a longer glance at Mikhail's gun that was still pointed at him, the older boy stopped with one button remaining on his shirt and helped Fedir pull the t-shirt over his head. He dropped it on the ground, then undid the final button on his shirt, removed it and dropped it on top of the t-shirt.
"Now your trousers," demanded Mikhail.
Again Fedir looked at his brother. "I don't want to, Petro," he said through his sobs. The older boy looked at him with a mixture of pity and impatience. "We have to do what they say, Fedir. Take off your trousers please."
Petro unzipped the fly of his jeans and hopped from foot to foot as he pulled them off his legs. Fedir did nothing, still staring at his brother. The older boy gave a sigh, glanced once again at Mikhail's gun, then gently pulled down the elasticated waist of the younger's trousers. He stepped out of his jeans around his ankles, and softly lifted Fedir out of his. He took both pairs and dropped them on top of the boys' shirts.
"Hands back in the air and slowly turn all the way around," ordered Mikhail.
The boys did as they were told, turning in a circle in just their little briefs.
Mikhail put his free hand into the front of his trousers, then looked at me and winked.
"You might have something I want in your pants. Take them off."
The boys looked at each other, then back at Mikhail's gun. Petro's eyes slid from the gun to Mikhail's other hand, down the front of his trousers and softly rubbing and pulling at the contents. The boy made eye contact with me, jutting out his jaw and staring. I looked away, and Petro removed his pants, then turned and pulled at Fedir's underwear.
The younger boy grabbed the top of the waistband and held on, but couldn't prevent Petro's stronger hand pulling them right down. The older boy took his brother's underwear and his own and dropped them on top of their other clothes.
Mikhail looked them up and down, his eyes first on Fedir's tiny dick with its long foreskin and the tight balls behind it, then at Petro's, twice the size but still small, his balls hanging looser.
"Turn around again, slowly."
The boys both began their turns, and at the point they were both facing away, Mikhail ordered them to stop.
"See anything you like, Aleksandr Ivanovich?" he said with a leer.
I shook my head.
"I think I like the older one. Do you want the younger?"
I said nothing.
"Eh, fine. I'll have the older one and make the younger one watch."
He holstered his gun and moved towards the boys. He roughly grabbed Fedir and span him round until he was sideways on, able to see both Mikhail and his brother. Then he took hold of Petro's head and pushed him face-forward over the table. He reached down, grasped the boy's hips and hoisted him so he was hanging over the table with his legs dangling.
I continued to just stare, not knowing what to do.
Mikhail looked at me over his shoulder and laughed. "Aleks, come here, grab the boy and make sure he watches."
I had no way of saying no, so I moved over to Fedir, stood behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. As I was doing so, Mikhail pushed his fatigue trousers down to his knees, then awkwardly pulled his underpants over his hard cock and down to join them.
I'd seen Mikhail in the showers, of course, and his cock there was nothing special. But he was clearly a "grower" rather than a "show-er". He put me to shame. His dick wasn't massively long, perhaps 15 centimetres, but it was amazingly wide. I wondered if it would be possible to get his fingers all the way round it when he wanked. Then it dawned on me that this was really bad news for Petro.
Mikhail's cock was fairly gushing precum, long strings of it leaking out and dripping to the floor. He took a step closer to the boy, who was now crying even louder than his younger brother, seemingly fully aware of what was about to happen.
Mikhail took his right index finger, rubbed it around his cock head, then took the slick digit and shoved it all the way into the boy's hole. Petro screamed. Fedir put his hands over his eyes and I automatically pushed them back down by his side.
Mikhail took his finger out, spat on it and pushed it hard in again, turning it round within the boy. Out again, more spit, and back in. Each push into Petro's bum caused a fresh scream, and I saw Mikhail's cock jump and surge at the sound, a new spout of precum spurting each time.
Then Mikhail removed his finger for the last time and put his cock against Petro's red and angry-looking hole. I tried not to wince. The boy's anus was small, tiny compared to Mikhail's beer can of a dick. I really didn't see how he'd get anywhere.
But Mikhail had determination on his side. He just kept relentlessly pushing forward, leaning in so his entire weight was behind him. The boy continued to scream, then suddenly stopped… Mikhail was in.
His dick was only just in, the glans only just through the boy's sphincter, and he slacked off for a second before shoving even harder than he done before. The hole gave, and he was suddenly in almost all the way to the hilt. There was silence from Petro, and I reckoned he had passed out from the pain.
It didn't seem to bother Mikhail, who was now getting into his stride, pulling back almost all of the way gently, then shoving himself back in with brutal force, once, twice, three times. Fedir began to scream and I put my hand over his mouth.
Mikhail turned to me and the boy with his leering grin, winked at me as he thrust his cock deep into the boy two more times, then reached out and grabbed Fedir's dick and balls.
He squeezed them and pulled at them roughly as he continued the slow-out, brutal-in fucking of the older brother. Then the leer disappeared from his face, replaced with a look of concentration. He was about to cum, I realised. He pushed into Petro two times more while crushing the genitals of Fedir at the same time. Then his orgasm broke. I could see his dick repeatedly spasming inside Petro's bum, five, six, seven times. Cum pushed past his dick and slowly dripped down the boy's thighs. He let go of Fedir's balls, pulled his dick out with a sucking, squelching sound, then ran his hand down it, pushing out the last of the cum.
"There we go. For the Motherland!" he said with a laugh. Then he saw my shocked face and laughed even harder. "Poor Aleksandr Ivanovich! Still such a boy. Barely older than these two future soldiers."
He pulled his pants and then his trousers up. I took my hand away from Fedir's mouth. The little boy didn't resume screaming but his bitter crying restarted. Heaving sobs and fat tears.
"Do you want seconds of this boy?" Mikhail asked me. I shook my head slightly. "Or firsts of the little one?" I shook my head again.
He drew his revolver from its holster.
"If you didn't like that, you're not going to like this, Aleks. Go back to the UAZ. I'll be with you in half a minute."
I took my hand off Fedir's shoulder as Mikhail put the muzzle of his gun against the back of Petro's passed-out head. I turned my back and tried not to appear to be running.
As I stepped out of the ruined house, I heard a shot. Then Fedir screamed, another shot, and there was silence.
Mikhail followed me and got into the UAZ. Smoke and the slight flicker of flames were visible through the broken front window of the house. "Just in case NATO ever get here, hey?" Mikhail said and laughed again. He started the engine, reversed the vehicle and pointed it back towards the unit.
"There, your virginity is gone, Aleksandr Ivanovich. Now you know war. Next time, you'll join in."