by me
Rating: R
Disclaimer: AU, fake, historical-ish. Drug Against War is a song by Kein
Mehrheit Fur Die Mitleid. I don't know what the lyrics are, I was only
searching for song titles with "War" in them since I was drawing a blank
titling the damn thing myself.
Notes: Uh...I don't think I have any today. ::thinks:: Oh, I don't know if
Kari Lehtonen has a brother or not, but just pretend he does. I shouldn't
have to tell you that, I guess you can figure out that this fic requires a
lot of pretending :-p
Dedication: IHC for all the poking.
The morning dawned clear and the soldiers marched. Heatley drifted through the
ranks, gauging morale and health. Morale was fine. Health wasn't so good.
The men weren't getting enough food and their garments weren't near
sufficient for this cold. The Finns were better off in that regard and it
showed. They were more talkative and more cheery. Dany dropped back past
the group of Finns towards the Germans escorting their prisoner. At the
back of the Finnish regiment, though, Dany's sharp eyes caught one of the
members dragging his feet a little, not talking to those around him,
watching just the snow. "Ah, dammit," he murmured. He'd known Lehtonen had
a younger brother, but Dany had never spoken to the kid. With the
youngster's � he couldn't have been 17 years old � blue eyes wide with
grief, Heatley cursed himself for not breaking the news to the boy himself.
He moved into the ranks to march in step with the Finn. "What's your name,
soldier?"
At Dany's voice � after all, he was the only one to speak Finnish with a
German accent � snapped to a more traditional position, soldiers square,
eyes straight ahead.
"K-Kari, sir."
"Your brother was a brave man, Kari. His death was not in vain."
"No, sir. They will pay, sir."
His voice was soft, and Dany could imagine him more at home in a classroom
than a battlefield. Then again, Kari usually was the goalkeeper during the
often-vicious, Finns-versus-Germans football games the men played, and he
was fiercely competitive and rarely lost. Dany pitied the next free
Russian this boy came across. "You'll make your brother proud, Kari."
Blue eyes flicked to Dany's, and a slight smile graced the pale young
face. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
And Heatley noticed that Lehtonen's posture did not return to its previous
poor state as Dany moved away.
Satisfied, he continued towards his prisoner, slipping off a glove to reach
into his pocket. He had thought about the kid all night, and come to the
conclusion that he wasn't going to break by any conventional method. Dany
was going to have to earn his trust.
His guards had tried a few interrogation techniques themselves earlier this
morning, and now the young Russian's lip was split, dried blood still
visible. His left eye was a little swollen, and marred by the darkness of
bruising. Dany had a feeling he had a few more of those hidden by his
heavy jacket. He dismissed the guards back into the ranks of soldiers and
marched with the Russian himself. "They are too enthusiastic sometimes,"
he commented.
The kid didn't answer, just stared straight ahead.
"Your partner...Knyazev? Had you known him long?"
He got a quick nod this time, which was better than no reaction.
"You are not the only one to lose someone close, you know. The soldier there,
in the back, you killed his brother yesterday."
Ilya didn't answer again, but that was because he already knew that. He hadn't
missed Heatley's interaction with the Finn. He was a trained observer, and
he didn't miss much, and he was certainly intelligent enough to infer the
motives behind his observations. He wasn't often wrong.
Closing his hand around the object in his pocket, Heatley removed it slowly
and leaned close to the Russian, who continued to focus his eyes directly
in front of him. "I know, Ilya Valeriovich. I know what it is like to lose
someone so close to you. Someone you have known for years. Someone more
than a brother to you." He pressed the smooth metal into Kovalchuk's hand,
under the glove, hidden from everyone else. "At least you know that he is
dead."
Dany then turned away and back towards the front of the company, leaving the
Russian with the German guards once again. He mentally cursed himself for
his words, but for some reason, he hadn't been able to stop them. Yes, he
was trying to win the kid's trust by giving him something of Knyazev's,
but he hadn't meant to liken the Russian's loss to his own. Things weren't
supposed to be real, and that incident in Heatley's life was supposed to
be forgotten. He would do better next time.
Ilya felt his eyes prick as Igor's name pressed into the palm of his hand, but
he quickly blinked the tears away. The German must have had a motive for
returning the item. It was not common procedure for officers to give their
prisoners any measure of comfort. He was trying to win Ilya over, the
Russian finally decided. For information. Thinking about it a little more,
he decided the best option would be to go along. To pretend to believe the
fake understanding. And then, when he got close enough, he would be in
position to make the German pay for Igor's death with his own blood.
But the words he'd spoken, perfect Russian except for the accent, stayed in
Ilya's head. More than a brother. At least you know... Deep down,
the teenager knew that the tint of pain in the German's voice hadn't been
fabricated. Deep down, Ilya knew that the sympathy was genuine.
And that scared him more than the alternative. It went against everything he'd
been taught. Because if the sympathy was genuine, that meant the enemy was
human.
TBC.