MOTHER RUSSIA: The Kommies

The Russian Boy

Vlad Chekov looked at his watch. He wasn't expecting anyone. Though his door was knocking at around 3pm, Moscow time.

"Сука." he mummered "What is it?"

"Sir" his secretary called "The German Embassador needs your attantion."

"Tell him to go f*ck himself. It's 3pm. I'm sleeping."

The door violently opened and a tall man in a suit bursted in. "Thank you." he said "Good advice. To go f*ck myself. But now we have a different matter to discuss."

"What do you want Fritz?"

"I prefferred 'Kraut' but 'Fritz' is good too." said the man. "I have news."

"Nadezhda." the president told his secretary. "Get mr Bergen some whisky."

"No need, miss Vasileva."

"Vasiliyeva." the woman groaned leaving the room. She closed the door as the German ambassador took a sip of the whisky he didn't want.

"Vladimir, we found your son." said Klaus Bergen in a serious tone.

"What do you mean? You lost my son?"

"He was in Danzig om the day of the invasion. He was rescued by a pullmam of the Red Cross but it was turned down by the Luftwaffe. They though it was Polish."

"You want to tell me you killed Sascha Chekov-"

"He's alive."

A small scilence followed. Bergen finished his scotch and Vladimir tried to process what he just heard.

Combining the facts..."Your son survived a plane crush." the man's voice concluded.

"Where do you have him?"

"I don't know. This is all Boris told me.: Tell Chekov his son is with me."

"You experimented on him."

"Chekov, he was a cadet not a prisoner. They wouldn't send your son to--"

"Is that why I lost his traces? You had him in the camps?"

"Vladimir--"

"ПАЩЛА НА ХУЙ! СУКА!" the Russian yelled. The German watched him pull a gun from under his coat. He was so relaxed he didn't even see it. He remained calm and looked at him in the eye.

"Don't do anything stupid, Vlad."

"Klaus Bergen. You should now go f*ck yourself."

He shot.

USSR MILITARY DEVELOPMENT EXECUTIVE, MOSCOW

His thick black lashes opened as he woke up suddenly. A pair of dark-green eyes looked around, to locate himself. All he could see was white.

A voice talked to him:
"Do you know your name?"

"Sascha Chekov Vladimirovic."

"Where are you from?"

"Novosibirsk."

"Do you know how old you are."

"Nineteen."

"That's right. Good. Do you know where you are?"

"...No."

The view cleared slowly. He could see light bulbs. Men in aprons. Doctors? Scientists? He could sepperate walls, cielings and floor. All white.

"Am I dead?" he asked after thought.

"F*cking bastard is kind of an idiot." someone else said.

"Shut up, Anton." said the first man "Sascha, you are in the Soviet Union Development Centre for Military Equipment and Warcraft. Or as most commonly known: The Moscow Underground. "

Suddenly it all became crystal clear as the boy could now see objects. Machines, weapons. He could finally see 20-20. He was a pilot after all.

"My name is Boris Goncharev." said a tall man in a decorated military uniform. "But you can call me Glanvnyi Marshall. I am Chief Marshal of Artillery and this is Anton Fedorovich. Chief-Marshal of Armoured Troops."

"I'm...German." said the boy, innocently. Anton gave him a set of dog tags. 

"That's not what I read here."

Sascha took them and carefully looked at them. One was his. Dirty but steel. The other was burnt, almost whole but readable.

N. J. Uilsston.
Liverpool. UK
O-
459230

"I was wondering who he is." said Boris Goncharev "English in the Wehrmacht?"

"My half-sister..."