Vice Commander Smolov takes a few steps closer, wobbling as he struggles to drag his legs across the snowdrifts. He looks fatigued, but he still got to the scene earlier than the few subordinates who are way behind and still scrambling for pace. Not that the lads can’t run. I guess they just don’t really want to deal with whatever problem it is.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind? What the hell are you doing, assaulting a fellow soldier like that?” Smolov points his pistol at me.

“He tried to kill me,” I say.

“Sure doesn’t look like it.”

“I was defending myself, Sir. I had a pocket knife, and he had a damn shashka, Sir. You can send the boys to retrieve it. The assassin threw his weapon down back there.”

“H—he’s . . . lying . . .” Maksim huffs as he scrambles to get up.

This is not looking pretty at all. I should’ve gotten rid of Maksim or let him run off in embarrassment. Maksim is Dzyuba’s henchman, and there’s no way they’re going to admit that their men did something nasty. They’re the in-group, and I’m the outcast. There won’t be any fair trial.

I need to stop playing my cards like a toddler inside a glass cage.

“The last time this section of the fort was this packed, Colonel Golovin was riding one of those Mongolian horses.” Colonel Golovin was a legendary horse rider who, ironically, got kicked to death by a horse a hundred years ago.

Why is the major here? Nobody’s ever here. Are they holding a banquet outside or something?

“Quit babbling and stop moving, smartass.” Smolov juggles something in the palm of his hand before throwing it in the snow. He shines the lamp away from me and onto the object. A screw. The same screw that popped off the pipe I was climbing on earlier. “Familiar?” The major clicks his tongue.

Of course. I was screwed by a screw.

Smolov says, “Captain Maksimov. You have a scabbard on you, so you’re both liars. One of you was spying behind the grain depot. Then . . . this. I want to know exactly what happened.”

The major then gestures to his lackeys. They approach me with their rifles pointing forward, with a promptness so comically contrasting to their procrastination earlier.

“The usual?” I ask.

“Get on the ground.” Smolov replies.

“The usual it is.” I lay face down on the ground, hands behind my back. Two soldiers restrain me and push me forward. My body starts cooling down, signifying that I’ve turned off the mode. Only now do I feel the glacial breeze against my bare back. Of course. Maksim sliced my jacket in half.

I take a peek and notice Maksim being curbed the same way. That gives me hope. Smolov has never publicly sided with Dzyuba, and it doesn’t look like he’s started doing that now.

Time to play my last card, then.

When I walk past Smolov, he snorts then grunts. “Whatever you two are hiding, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

I snort back. “If you want to know that much, why don’t you ask Dzyuba why there’s suddenly a secret vault inside this secluded military base?”

***

There are only four people in Dzyuba’s office: the commander, the major, Maksim Maksimov, and me. He and I are crammed in close to each other around the commander’s desk. Our hands are cuffed behind our backs—we’re being treated like prisoners. Guilty until declared innocent, that’s how things usually work around here.

“Artem,” Smolov begins. “Would you mind explaining to me what this huge evacuation vault is doing in our abandoned warehouse?” he asks, tapping his finger on Dzyuba’s work desk.

Nobody was willing to initiate the conversation. It seems that Major Smolov was waiting for Dzyuba to break the silence and show his authority, but the commander only knits his hands together, rests his chin above them and gazes upon us. By contrast, the major keeps pacing around the room.

Dzyuba exchanges glances with Maksimov, who gives him a look of denial. They resemble two MGB agents looking to blame each other so that they don’t get demoted after failing a mission.

After a seemingly deliberate pause, Dzyuba says, “We don’t know. It was dropped from an airstrike. Captain Maksimov and I went for many expeditions, but couldn’t find anything inside. We think there might have been a person inside it, and suspect he’s somewhere within our ranks.”

“And why was such a serious matter kept a secret from me?” The major asks.

“Because you were leading in the frontline. I didn’t want to distract you. If there was indeed a person inside and he’s hiding somewhere, my patrol team would’ve found him. Maybe he’s already been buried under three feet of snow. That is, if he exists. We need to keep our fighting morale, Smolov. This isn’t an emergency worth making everyone worry over.”

“Then why was Maksimov seen fighting with this young man?” Smolov points at my face. “I am not arguing over what happened between the two of them. But I’m certain the two of them being together is not coincidental.”

Ah, here comes the good part of this little who-to-blame game. Dzyuba’s going to deny ever sending Maksim after me, then I’ll suddenly become a frustrated and irrational soldier who betrays his comrades and tries to murder Maksim when he sees me flee.

No fair trials.

However, there isn’t any blame-shifting in Dzyuba’s reply. “We suspect him,” he calmly intones.

“Of what?”

“Of harboring a spy.”

Dzyuba directs his razor-sharp gaze at me. This man knows something, he definitely does. He doesn’t have any evidence, I’m sure of it. I’ve made sure there’s not a trace of me bringing Alice back to my room. He can’t prove anything. I just need to play dumb.

I say, “With all due respect, Commander, Sir, but that is an accusation and a completely different matter. I wish to focus on the matter at hand.”

“I haven’t said you can talk yet, Vronsky.” Smolov commands.

“I’m terribly sorry, Sir.” I lightly bow. You’re fucking stupid, Vronsky. Not only did I piss him off, I made it sound like I confirmed the situation.

“Vronsky. You’re saying that Maksimov was trying to assassinate you?” Smolov asks.

I have to tread the waters very lightly. It’s always a feeling of dipping your toes into a swirling body of water when you have to explain a major incident to a superior. If I don’t pick my words carefully, they can twist them into a confession.

“He tried to kill me, Sir, but failed. Then he attempted to flee. I was going to pin him to the ground, hoping to catch my knife blade in his jacket. It was because of the heat of the moment that my swing didn’t go the way I planned. I am terribly sorry for such a commotion.”

“He intended to kill,” Maksimov growls. “I was sure I would die if I stopped.”

“I see,” Smolov strokes his beard, then turns his attention back to me. “But you intended to kill him after you assumed he was going for your life, correct?”

“He was trying to kill me,” I answer. “Perhaps because I knew about this whole vault thing.”

Maksimov shakes his head ferociously. “I did not! I was merely following him. I’m sure he was up to no good.”

“Maksimov.” Smolov walks over to the door, leans his back on the wall, shifting his position a smidge. “So you admitted to following Vronsky. Did you undertake this action yourself, or did your superior send you?”

Maksimov hesitates as he looks up at his commander. There seems to be something dwelling inside the assassin as I look into his eyes, a deep but chaotic gray, a disharmonized array of brazen partiality not often found in a cold-blooded murderer.

Dzyuba doesn’t answer his pleas. Not with words, at least.

That look does not last long, for Maksimov immediately turns to Smolov. When he does, his face is once again devoid of any emotions.

“Vice Commander, Sir. Commander Dzyuba is in no way affiliated—”

“I sent Captain Maksimov to keep an eye on him,” Dzyuba cuts in. Maksimov turns to Dzyuba, eyebrows crinkling in confusion. Dzyuba ignores him, and continues nevertheless, “I know my men. I am sure simply scouting was his intention. It was very possible that Vronsky had the wrong impression. Maksimov should have been more discreet. However, as I have said, we have evidence to suspect Second Lieutenant Vronsky of harboring unauthorized personnel.”

Dzyuba unknots his hands, grabs a document from his workstation and grazes through the pages.

“I just checked your profile, Vronsky. It’s empty, which is something of a peculiar outlier in my books. No criminal history. No recorded wounds. No missions given, except one in Solnechny. A person with almost no recorded experience has the best kill rate among all low-ranking officers? Even imbeciles would’ve doubted that. You are an enigma, an obscurity, and I cannot believe your words.”

These scums are so ungrateful. I only killed so many for you because if I didn’t, you would’ve lost long ago.

“Are you saying that I’m a spy because I happened to not have fought a lot and I still fight a little better than others?” I ask.

“A little?” Smolov cackles. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a long time, boy. The speed and accuracy in between his sniper shots; even the most skilled sharpshooters would struggle to do that. Either you’re extremely well-trained, or you have to have some trick up your sleeve.”

“I wanted to talk it through for a while, son.” Dzyuba drops the document onto the table. “I want to hear from you.”

What a load of shit. Didn’t he just summon me to his office this morning? Why didn’t he say anything about this then?

Is he trying to shift the attention from himself? We were supposed to be discussing that huge elephant in the room, but now it’s turned into some sort of conspiracy about me?

I reply, “I just happened to find out about that vault, and that’s why you wanted me dead.”

“You were helping someone in that vault, and that’s why I command you to hand him to me!” Dzyuba says.

“I’m not letting you off the hook regarding that vault, Artem. We’re going to talk about it.” Smolov then turns to me, shaking his head. “As for you, Vronsky. A half-truth is not the truth. I expected you to be better than that.”

They’re trying to fish a confession out of me. But I can’t say I’m sheltering a woman in my shed. They’re going to take her away, and I won’t let that happen.

Nobody’s going to lay a hand on her. Not on my watch.

“You must be a perceptive young man, so you would know that we would find out eventually, eh, kid?” Smolov snickers. “I am a bearded man, and bearded men can never be fooled. Are you part of a special squad, kid? Or are you a war machine?”

War machine, the superhumans rumored to actually exist. It’s been a while since I’ve heard anybody talk about it. Just a few years ago, it was the talk of the town, the myth, the legend. The deformities raised inside the most secretive of lands, limbs replaced with armed prosthetics, heat sensors geared inside eyeballs, cold, viridescent reptilian blood drained of all emotions. The fairy tales every ordinary trooper wants to believe, the role model every trooper wants to become.

And they’re saying I’m one of them.

Why are you asking me if I’m not human? Look at Dzyuba! I saw his fangs and his green veins. He’s not human himself.

“I’m not a war machine, Sir. But I am indeed not just any other soldier,” I say. Even if I am to admit I’m one, the name war machine is just flatly incorrect. Calling us machines implies that those people are at least in part mechanical, whereas the ones they call war machines are made of blood and flesh like everybody else.

“You should’ve said so from the start!” Dzyuba scolds, “Then all the trouble wouldn’t have come to this! Honesty is the best policy, that’s what I always tell my soldiers. A dishonest man is no better than a dead man, and you’re one slimy weasel, Vronsky. I’m sure you’re prepared to pay the price.” His glance pierces through me. He’s so going to give me hell.

Look what I’ve gotten myself into. I never should’ve agreed to help her find that stupid ring. That ring can go fuck itself, for all I care.

Why did I even feel the need to make a stupid deal with that woman? I don’t need her to tell me where the hell she came from. She’s obviously from that damn vault. I doubt she would tell me more than that. Even if she did, it’s none of my fucking concern. What the hell is wrong with me? The one time I let my personal feelings interrupt my business, all sorts of annoyance finds its way into my life.

No time to moan. I have to find a way to get myself out of this mess. I’ve been doing fine with half-truths so far, so maybe I can reveal just a bit more to convince them of my sincerity.

“The other eleven were sent only as decoys. I am the person who performs the task.”

“How do I know I can trust you?” Dzyuba asks.

“The others are all dead. I have no reason to haze you,” I reply.

As if expecting this, Smolov raises his voice. “What was your mission?”

Fuck, Vronsky, act sincere. I try to darken my expression. I cast my gaze downwards, scratch my cheek against my shoulder so furiously it must look like I’m trying to rip it off.

“This . . . sounds crazy, but you have to trust me. This is the only way Pavlyuchenko will spare our lives! The—only—way!”

Dzyuba scrunches his nose and bites his lower lip. As the commander is about to say something, Smolov interrupts. “Let the kid talk,” he says. “You’ve silenced enough people.”

The commander doesn’t respond in words, but he keeps rubbing his hands together.

“Don’t be so agitated, Sir. I’m not Pavlyuchenko’s man. I serve Smolnikov, and I will prove it if necessary. And if you need to know, our Leader is still alive.”

“Smolnikov is alive?” Smolov’s mouth hangs open.

“I’m very certain he is, although he’s not in an excellent state of health.” I clench my fists, a show of determination. “And we can also live. Don’t you feel strange when the enemy is suddenly in a hurry to flatten out this place, although the outcome of the battle was set in stone? But they will leave this place immediately, sparing lives for both us and the Leader, under one condition only.”

“What is this gibberish?” Dzyuba grits his teeth. He leans closer; his pupils stretch out. “Do I look like the sort of person who believes in fairy tales?”

“Just tell us the most insane story you have,” Smolov jumps in. "We’ve been fighting for half a lifetime. We have seen more than you can ever imagine.”

Tightly pursing my lips, I gaze at the two of them until their patience hits rock-bottom. What if they think I’m spewing bullshit and shoot me right here? Women don’t exist to them. I’m not sure they even heard of the term before.

In the end, I decide that I cannot keep this secret any longer.

I exhale. “I came here to capture a woman.”