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Autumn 1917
Vadivostok, Russia.
Private Rozanov staggers through the forest, it’s cold, freezing even. His hand is pressed to his left shoulder. He groans as he pushes ever forward, he needs a place to hide until he recovers. He’s dizzy, unable to focus, he can’t remember the last time he ate. He managed to cling on to his cloak over his shoulders. He’s got his woolen jacket underneath and a thin cotton shirt underneath it all. His boots are big and clunky but not entirely uncomfortable.
A cave.
That’ll do. He lunges into the small cave made of rock, there’s just enough room to stand and lie down but not much else. It’s warmer in there, enough to stop the chill on Ilya’s exposed nose.
Ilya’s pack is gone, his squad took it when they abandoned him for dead. You’re no longer useful when you’re shot. It’s a difficult time right now, Russia has been part of the allies for years, fighting against the powers of Germany. Then the leaders got guilty. The revolution happened. Now here lies Ilya, shot in his homeland and allied forces closing in.
He doesn’t have any supplies, no food nor first aid. There’s nothing he can do. It’s not in his nature to give up, but now, all he can do is pad leaves into his wound and pray.
Soldier Hollander adjusts his pack on his shoulders while jogging to catch up with his team, after years of fighting on the same side as the Russians, he now finds himself in Russia trying to make sure they stay on the side of good. Not that any good can really come of a war. It feels like years ago when Shane was a teenager in Montreal trying to make it as a cooper in his small town. The next thing he knew, he’s in the trenches being shipped from country to country as people die, cities burn. Shane has to keep going. Keep fighting. For the sake of peace.
Boots trudge over tree roots, branches are shoved out of the way. In the distance Shane hears someone cry out. His first instinct is to tighten the grip on his gun. He turns away from his team, for only a few seconds but it’s enough. His team vanishes into the trees. Shane looks around, listening for the boots but the forest is eerily quiet. He walks in the direction he thinks he saw his team but is actually heading in the opposite direction.
He wanders through the forest, looking for any clues of his team. He spots a handprint on a tree. Painted in blood. He examines it before following the trail, he finds a clearing and jumps down a few feet, landing hard with a huff.
There’s a cave opening jutting out, it’s made from large rocks. Shane walks closer, his face is cold and he’s only going to get colder as the sun sets so it makes perfect sense to hide in there.
He holds his gun out, a Lee-Enfield Mark III is his division's weapon of choice. He peeks in and is met by the barrel of an unfamiliar gun pointed at him.
Shane points his gun. “I am Soldier Hollander of the Canadian Expeditionary Force, division 24, please state your name, rank and country of origin.”
«Ебать!» (Fuck!)
“Sir, what language is that?” Shane asks, still holding his gun up.
The other man grumbles. “You call us Imperial Russian Soldiers.”
“You do speak English?”
“Little bit.” The man’s gun shakes like he’s struggling to hold it up. “Canada?”
Shane lowers his gun a little. “Yes, we were sent here to make sure you still fight the Germans.”
“German?” Ilya groans, a cold sweat appearing on his forehead. “We fight them.”
“Yes.” Shane nods.
Ilya lets out a loud groan, his grip gives out and his gun clatters to the ground. He leans back against the side of the cave and clutches his shoulder. It doesn’t even matter if this Canadian soldier kills him, he’s merely speeding up the process.
“Can I come in?” Shane asks, it will surely take too long to find other sources of shelter.
Ilya laughs, laughs! A sound he hasn’t dared to make in years. But here is this man, this soldier asking to enter like this is Ilya’s house. Like they aren’t in the midst of a war that may never end. He beckons to the man.
Shane crawls in, taking his large pack off and putting it aside. He looks at the man properly for the first time as his eyes adjust to the light inside the cave. The man has curly golden hair, a thick beard and bright blue eyes. He’s young, maybe as young as Shane but the war has ravaged his beautiful face. His uniform is close to Shane’s, woolen jacket, thick books but a cloak rests over his shoulders. Shane’s uniform has red maple leaves stitched to the sleeves and his hat. The other man has a flag that Shane knows as a Soviet one. “Hi.”
“Hello.” The man replies, “Name?”
“I told you, Hollander.”
Ilya shakes his head. “Nyet.” He points at Shane’s heart. “Name?”
“Shane..” Shane says quietly. “You?”
“Ilya Rozanov.”
Shane nods with a small smile. They take a moment to look at each other, Shane does notice when Ilya looks him up and down with a hungry gaze. He wonders if maybe.. No, of course not. They simply have been without the touch of a woman in many moons.
In different eyes, Shane looks at Ilya again. The man is shaking, pale and his forehead is drenched in sweat. “You’re injured.” It’s not a question. He scooches over and reaches out but Ilya pulls away. “If you’re injured, I can help. Let me.”
Ilya looks into Shane’s eyes, he starts to understand that Shane means no harm. He nods.
Shane unclips the cloak and slowly pushes it away from Ilya’s shoulders, it’s not lost on him how Ilya sucks in a breath and bites his lower lip. Shane keeps going, removing Ilya’s jacket and pushing it down his arms. Ilya grimaces and leans his head back. His wound has been lazily packed with mud and leaves, it does not look good. Shane pulls away and sighs. Okay.
He opens his pack and reaches down to grab his medical kit, thank god Shane’s team thought he was the best one to handle the medical emergencies. His kit is extensive but it might not be enough. “I know you won’t understand everything I say but I feel better saying something while I do this okay?”
Ilya tilts his head to the side but whispers. “Okay.”
Shane takes a loose cloth from the bag and starts wiping the debris away from the wound, he’s careful at first but he’s going to need to cause pain soon. Once the wound is clear, he takes out an iodine ampoule from his supply. He snaps the glass and starts rubbing the iodine around and inside the wound, Ilya gasps and pulls away, balling up his fists. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry but it’s going to get worse.”
Shane pulls out a large pair of tweezers and scissors from the kit. Ilya’s shirt is beyond saving now, it’s completely drenched in blood and covered in holes. Shane cuts the shirt off Ilya, piece by piece. He bites his bottom lip, trying not to look at Ilya’s lean body. While he’s clearly starving, his abs are still showing. There’s a trail of hair leading down.. Down. Under the waistband of his pants.. It’s too late when Shane realises he’s looking. He blushes and shakes his head, trying to focus. Ilya needs him to concentrate right now.
Ilya smiles knowingly. He tilts his head, trying not to look at the tweezers. “Hollander?”
“Yeah?” Shane says, pouring some pure alcohol on the tweezers.
“Why help? Russia and Canada, rivals.” He says, resting his head back against the rock.
Shane freezes. “I can’t let you die, I can’t see anyone else die. No more.”
Ilya nods, Shane isn’t sure how much Ilya understood or if anything at all. But Shane decides he’s going to have to do this and do it soon, he hikes his leg over Ilya’s and sits on his lap. “This is going to hurt.” He gestures to the wound with the tweezers and then tries to mimic pain.
Ilya takes a deep breath and nods.
Shane leans over, using his body to keep Ilya as still as possible during the extraction. He pushes the skin away from the wound as much as possible and begins searching for the bullet with the tweezers. Ilya tries not to scream but his body is convulsing, unintentionally pulling away from Shane. He grabs Shane’s shoulder with his free arm and holds on tight. He breaks the skin on his bottom lip, blood drips down his chin.
“I’m sorry.” Shane says, but he doesn’t stop. He refuses to stop, Ilya’s life is in danger and Shane cannot have another man die on his watch. He keeps digging until he feels something metal. The bullet!
Ilya screams out when Shane removes the bullet. “Got it!” Shane shows Ilya the bloody bullet with a triumphant smile.
“Ouch.” Ilya grumbles.
“Well now you’ll feel better, don’t worry, I’ll wrap you up.” Shane tosses the bullet to the side, it makes a loud clink in their small space.
“Care?” Ilya asks weakly, still recovering from the burning pain.
“Of course I care.” Shane rubs more iodine into the wound before pulling out his impressive selection of gaze and bandages. “My team thought I would be good at first aid, so I gathered up as many supplies as I could.”
Ilya nods.
Shane presses the gauze against Ilya’s wound before wrapping the cotton bandages around his neck and shoulders to keep pressure on the wound. Ilya is a trouper, he barely moves while Shane wraps him up. Shane is fully focused on his task, he’s not watching Ilya’s heart eyes on him.
“Thank you.” Ilya whispers.
Shane looks up at Ilya and gives a soft smile. “My pleasure.” Shane knows of one more thing that might help. He’s nervous to administer but there’s not many options here. He brings out the morphine syrettes he has in a small sack in one of the side pockets, he’s only ever used one once. He slides the needle into Ilya’s injured arm and squeezes the tube at the end. The morphine should be absorbed soon and Ilya’s pain will fade.
Ilya’s hand is still on Shane’s shoulder, his grip has loosened now. He runs his hand down Shane’s arm until he reaches Shane’s hand. They sit looking at each other, Shane still sitting on Ilya’s lap. “Secret.” Ilya whispers.
“Secret?” Shane asks.
Ilya reaches up with his free hand and touches the side of Shane’s face, his thumb runs over Shane’s lip. Shane tenses up. No man has ever touched him this way, with such tenderness in each stroke. “Ummm.”
“Same secret?” Ilya asks, unable to explain further.
Without thinking, Shane nods. “I.. I think so.”
Ilya puts his hand behind Shane’s neck and brings him closer, he presses a light kiss to Shane’s lips. It’s not exactly romantic, they taste like blood and cigarettes, their lips are chapped. And yet, Shane has never felt this feeling before. He runs his hand through Ilya’s curls, rocking back and forth on his lap as they kiss, their tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Then Ilya leans back, too tired to carry on. Shane sits there, surprised and unsure. He doesn’t know what to do or say. “Food.”
“F.. Food?” Ilya repeats.
Shane moves off Ilya’s lap and starts pulling things out of his pack, he was so distracted by the wound and … feelings. He forgot that Ilya is starving. He opens a pressurized jar of jam and puts a big glob of it on the end of a spoon. He needs to feed Ilya, he’s too weak. He presses the spoon to Ilya’s lips. “Eat.” He says gently.
Ilya licks the jam at his lips, slow and long licks of the spoon. Shane can’t take his eyes away. “That’s it.” He whispers.
Ilya licks until the jam is gone, Shane very quickly refills the spoon and brings it back to his lips. “More.”
That Ilya seems to understand, he licks the next spoon clean as well. Shane nods and sets the jar aside now. “I have tea as well.”
Before leaving camp this morning, he puts some tea into his thermos. It should be somewhat warm still. He takes the thermos out and feeds Ilya a cupful of lukewarm tea, he then drinks some for himself. He can handle more food so he cracks open some canned beef and starts devouring it. He wishes so desperately he could eat his mother’s homecooked food.
Ilya leans back and closes his eyes with a smile on his face, the medication is clearly kicking in.
Shane leans back as well, keeping his eyes on Ilya, making sure he’s still breathing through the night.
At a point in the night, Shane moves closer to Ilya. He peeks under the bandage and adds some more iodine under there. Ilya’s eyes flicker open for a moment and meet Shane’s, he purses his lips hopefully. Shane laughs nervously but he presses his hand to Ilya’s cheek and leans forward to kiss his lips once more. He brings Ilya closer until his head is resting on Shane’s shoulder, his hand rubs Ilya’s head gently.
It’s hard to fight the call of sleep with Ilya’s head resting heavily on his shoulder.
“Hollander!”
Shane’s eyes open at the call of his name, it sounds like Pike. They came back for him. The sun is up now, it’s streaming in across both his and Ilya’s faces. “Oh god!” He lifts Ilya’s head off his shoulder and starts packing up his bag.
“You go?” Ilya asks, yawning.
“Yes, my team came back for me.” Shane doesn’t notice the pain on Ilya’s face when he says that.
Once his pack is all done up he leaves the jar of jam for Ilya and a spare bandage. “I have to go.” He says.
“One last time.” Ilya says, reaching out a hand for him.
Shane looks towards the exit of the cave anxiously before looking back at Ilya.
“Hollander! Where are you?”
Shane crawls towards Ilya and presses a long lingering kiss to Ilya’s lips, he grips Ilya desperately, not wanting the moment to end.
“Shane!”
Shane pulls away and presses his forehead to Ilya’s. “Bye..” He whispers.
“Bye.” Ilya responds, tears brewing in his eyes.
“I’ll see you again one day, I know it.” Shane says, pressing another kiss to Ilya’s cheek, neck and lips. “Bye.” He picks up his bag and throws it over his shoulder, making a quick exit from the cave.
“Pike!”
World War I ended in 1918 after more than four years of devastating fighting across Europe.
In the spring of 1918, Germany launched a major offensive on the western front but their soldiers were exhausted and fresh American forces joined the Allies to push back in. By Autumn, Germany’s military situation collapsed and their allies surrendered.
On November 11, 1918, Germany signed an armistice with the Allies in a railway carriage in Compiègne, France, bringing the fighting to a halt at 11 a.m.
Formal peace came the following year with the Treaty of Versailles in 1919, which imposed heavy territorial losses, military restrictions, and financial reparations on Germany.
The war redrew the map of Europe, led to the collapse of the German, Austro-Hungarian, Ottoman, and Russian empires.
Unfortunately, the political instability would ultimately lead to World War II only two decades later.
Remembrance day comes around once again. Everyone in the crowd wears a poppy on their clothes, remembering all those who perished in the war. Right at the front are the veterans, men with medals and poppies adorning their clothes. An old man stands with his cane, his hair is white with age and his hands shaking. Yet he stands tall.
The sun rises above the horizon, bringing golden light all across the war monument. The prime minister places a wreath at the bottom of the monument. The old man watches, tears brewing in his eyes as the bagpipes start up. The music builds and he can feel it in his heart.
Sergeant Hollander has trouble remembering things these days but he will never forget what happened near the end of the first world war. The cool air, the cave made of boulders in the Russian wilderness. That man.
Tears fall down his cheeks, he’s too weak to wipe them away. That man, that soldier.
He will never forget him.
That kiss, the way their lips touched, their breath hitching. The one time Shane ever felt like himself. That beautiful man. If only Shane could see him again, if he could know what happened to him.
Unfortunately, it’s likely that Ilya Rozanov died alone in that cave when Shane left him that morning. He just wants to know. He spent years looking for that name, for any information. All he ever found was one sentence he had to translate from Russian.
Ilya Rozanov - DOB 15/06/1896 Russian Imperial Army (MIA 1917)
Years, years of searching for this man Shane only knew for a day.
He closes his eyes and imagines him as he would be now, old and grey, but all he can ever see is the young man with a bandage on his shoulder. Those golden curls exactly as they were.
The bagpipes finish and a moment of silence begin all across the country of Canada.
The squeaking of wheels breaks the silence, an old wheelchair, likely an old one from a retirement home. Shane opens his eyes to glare at the person breaking the silence. It’s an old man with limp white hair, he’s wearing different medals but he has a matching poppy to Shane. There’s something about him that Shane recognizes. Those eyes, those piercing blue eyes. What the hell is he doing here?
The elderly man raises his head a little and winks.
“Rozanov?”