PREVIOUS NOTES:
Hallo everyone! This is my first Russia/Prussia fic (my mooost favourite OTP along with the Germancest) *~fireworks and military tunes~*. First of all I would want you all to know this is my translation of my original fic "Unsere Mauern brechen, unsere Herzen Nicht" (which is in Spanish). So please be gentle and patient because English is not my mother tongue (So even if I try my best, I know there will be some odd structures and mistakes). If someone is willing to give me a hand to correct this chapter or help me with future ones, I will be VERY glad to continue uploading this story here. By the way, the prose becomes quicker later on. This is just the beginning ;) UPDATED NOTE: From Chapter 2 on, the fic is being beta-tested by Lemons in my Life, so expect no more errors ^^
For this single fic I have read about a hundred history books (true story ^^;) because I'm that kind of person who wants to do her things as best as she can. This doesn't mean this fic is too heavily focused on history; I just wanted to place the story in a right context. So please have in mind the storyline covers the years between 1945 and 1953 (some flashback scenes as the Siege of Leningrad happens before that date and the epilogue includes one scene of "some years later"). So yeah, here you'll find the first years of the Cold War in Russia and mainly in East Germany.
Oh! Just a couple of things I would like to add... This story begins like a "typical" RusPru fic. I mean, they are die-hard enemies at the beginning, but well... things evolve, you know. On the other hand, they are humans, NOT countries. Be ready for possible deaths. And for yaoi. LOTS of yaoi.
I hope you like it! Please comment if you do, and I'll reply every comment with a bright and a happy smile :)
OTHER HETALIA CHARACTERS WHO APPEAR OR ARE MENTIONED: Austria, Poland, Hungary, Denmark, Nyo!Norway, Nyo!Finland, Germany, Belarus, Ukraine, UK, USA.
WARNING (don't panic. It's not that hard, even if it looks like it. It's a ROMANTIC DRAMA above all): YAOI, lemon, violence, torture, BDSM, a scene that could be interpreted as a non-con, explicit language, angst, fluff at its due time, possible deaths.
DISCLAIMER: The characters don't belong to me, but to Hidekaz Himaruya. Nonetheless I've registered the story changing names and some situations. The opinions of the characters on politics and other sensitive views are not necessarily shared by the author.
Chapter 1. KÖNIGSBERG
1
It had been several days since the Russian did not deign to appear in his cozy dwelling. If it were not for his inventiveness to mortify him had become more and more clever, refined and twisted, he would even have missed its insidious presence. He was not quite sure if they bring food to him once a day, so in the absence of the slightest glimmer of light, he had given up keeping track of the time he had spent among those narrow four walls.
The extreme darkness in which he was plunged was even worse than the mild torture that lunatic with incoherently kind voice had inflicted upon him. His voice was indeed the only thing that he clearly perceived in that blackness, plagued with those sibilant sounds that shared cell with him. Despite the disturbing sweetness of the words of his jailer, he preferred solitude to those cruelties with which the Russian punished him for hours and sometimes, he was almost certain, days.
"Did you know you can go blind if you stay in the dark long enough?"
That was one of the first things he said. He could not see him, but he would have bet his own little remnants of dignity that the Russian had a smirk on his face. His tone betrayed him.
At first, all the Russian did was to stand there, close to him; the prisoner could feel his presence, heard his slow breathing, feel his body heat in the cold of his cell, and he caught himself thinking that he should fear him. However, he ended feeling desperately comforted when he returned, even though he knew what the Russian was capable of. He knew he could have devastating bursts of rage from his own experience. As in the very and fateful day in Königsberg, where he had the misfortune to meet him.
Over time, the Soviet began to ask him questions in German to which he never responded. What is your full name? What was your rank in the army? ... How many Russians had he killed? Had he participated in any slaughter of innocent civilians? (This seemed hypocritical coming from someone who had taken part in the destruction of thousands of civilians in East Prussia, but he conveniently kept his opinion for himself). Had he participated in the siege of Leningrad? The Russian pronounced this latter one with an anger he did not bother to hide. It was one of the few questions that Gilbert dared to answer. Nein. And as soon as the monosyllable came out from his lips cracked with thirst, he regretted having done so. It was the first time the Russian touched him (the second one actually, taking into account when they first met, that terrible and now distant 9th of April). His captor punched him in the jaw so hard he threw him backwards to the ground and made him to believe that he had dislocated the bones of his face. The power of that huge Bolshevik was colossal, according to their size, and of course, he was not willing to experience it again. And even if he had wanted to answer, he could not have. It was pretty obvious he did not know a word of Russian. The Prussian would never have learned the language of a dirty Untermensch.
In one occasion he brought a gas lamp and forced him to look directly to the flames without even touching a single hair of his head ("I want to see your inhuman eyes, német"). It was only one order. It took only a few words for him to obey as a well-trained puppy until he burned his pupils, which were highly sensitive to direct light. He was hating himself for about four more Russian visits. The bastard was good. He knew exactly what he was doing. And each time the Prussian found harder to pretend indifference to his own fate and to hide the growing anguish that was eating his mind. He could not have him there forever, locked in the damn dark until he went mad, could he? Was it perhaps his final plan?
But suddenly his sadistic jailer had stopped attending his mandatory appointments. He knew right away that it was not him the one who was approaching his cell because he could recognise well the sound of his footsteps by then. 'The giant with feet of clay'. He would have laughed, but it was not really a good idea. Not only because his jailers could hurt him, but also because it was very likely his laughter became hysterical and ended up losing his mind.
So the Russian had forgotten him. Now it was a total stranger who opened the door and threw the food over him with some bad manners. When it was a piece of dry bread he did not care too much, but sometimes it was a wooden bowl filled with tasteless soup, and then he cursed the Mother Russia and all their offsprings for their hospitality. It was the same with water. In the end he had to remove the rags that covered his body and had to squeeze the last drop of water or soup that had soaked them in order to drink. If only the bowl were made from ceramic, he would have quickly ended his suffering. But no, they did not even concede him this last consolation.
If he were to see that russkiy again, he would beg him to kill him.
He did not do it.
2
"Did you miss me, my white little puppy?"
The Soviet's silhouette delineated, backlit, in the threshold of the cell's door due to the light that streamed from the outside. Instinctively, Gilbert covered his eyes with one arm to shun the luminosity that irritated his eyes, accustomed to the darkness, but also to avoid the Russian.
Of course he had not forgotten him. Of course not.
He flinched and prayed for the newcomer did not notice his shaking.
"Da nyet", he muttered, with his arm still protecting his face, and yet the other man heard his answer clearly.
The shock that produced the laughter from the Russian when he heard his reply, almost took his breath away. He never would have guessed that this relentless guy knew how to laugh and his tremor even lessened down a bit.
"Good. I see you've learned something useful in my absence".
Ivan took a few steps toward his prisoner and stopped right next to him. Feeling the giant looming over him, Gilbert covered his head with both arms this time and shouted with the little strength he still harbored after the intense food shortage that had lasted almost for four months:
"Bitte, tut mir nicht weh! Bitte nicht!"
He knew that the only two times he had spoken in German to him, he ended lying on the floor and trying to protect his integrity and his teeth, so he was prepared to receive the corresponding beating. But his anticipation was in vain, because the blows never came. The Russian simply grab him by an arm and lift him from the ground as if he was a little boy.
"This is a fucking pigsty", he said, wrinkling his nose as he dragged the other man at the door with an astonishingly easy move. "And I get bored of watching you in the darkness. I miss the nuances ... of your reactions.
Gilbert was silent again. The best thing is not to respond. The sensible thing is to go along—, he repeated endlessly for himself, making a superhuman effort not to fall to the ground like a useless burden.
"You're going to take a bath and then maybe we can play something together if I'm still in the mood", informed the Soviet with a smile full of sweetness. "I've just had an endless train ride from Berlin and I'm so bored I would be able to kill you in one blow for fun, but it would be stupid of me to get rid so soon of my newest toy.
The damn Bolshevik had a more than acceptable level of German, so he could not pretend not to understand what he was saying.
"Da — ", replied the Prussian, shuddering when they came at last out of the cell.
"I'm going to show you another useful thing in Russian. I assure you that you will use this expression more than any other. Есть! Repeat it, come on".
"Jest", Gilbert whispered trying to emulate the pronunciation.
"Not bad for a German", he said shrugging. "It means 'Yes, sir'. So now you know. Your new favourite word when you address me.
"есть".
"Smart bunny. I'm very proud of you". Ivan patted on his back so hard that his prisoner fell to the ground limply and only when he kicked him in the back with one of his thick snow boots, he got up and continued on their way hobbling, choking back tears of humiliation, anger, pain and frustration.
For now he would go with the flow. Mostly because he was about to fall apart and he would not give him the satisfaction of losing consciousness and falling at his feet. But as soon as he had the slightest chance of recovery ... then he'd face the consequences.
He did not even know where they were. Somewhere in Russia, that was clear, but that damned country was almost as big as his own ego. According to his calculations it should already be summer, and yet, the cold in those hallways where the Russian was dragging him were inconceivably unbearable. Especially for the meager scraps of cloth which they had dressed him with.
The Russian stopped at some door and without bothering to knock, he shouted a few words in his language and a woman came out of the room immediately. They exchanged a few words in a rapid and peremptory Russian and the woman made a respectful and martial gesture. Perhaps knowing Russian was not that bad after all. At least now he would know what were they intending to do with him. Those reds could have a headless army, without his best officers, without a proper chain of command, but they had still defeated them. By overwhelming numerical superiority, yes, and thanks also to General Winter, but that did not lessen the pain of failure, rather the opposite. The Soviet female comrade took him by his arm without even looking at him and urged him to walk by her side with a dry, sharp tug. Gilbert glanced at the man who had entrusted him to the woman and who stayed behind, alone now and with a slightly amused look.
"The Comrade Arlovskaya will treat you well, német", he assured with a mocking and dismissive hand gesture while they were moving away. "Don't worry! Russian women are not like German women, believe me".
Of course not, you filthy communist. He would never forget those girls and those midwives from the outskirts of East Prussia, their eyes open wide in a grimace of frozen horror, their brains scattered on the ground, her skirts up to their waist.
At least for the moment they didn't seem to have imminent plans to end his agony.
The Prussian watched his new warden and assessed his options for escape. The conclusion reached in just a few seconds was that it was unworkable. He barely had the strength to stand, and the woman was strong and almost as tall as him. She wore the green uniform of a Soviet intermediate rank he did not know. Her hair was golden blonde and she had it neatly tied back and covered with a cap with the familiar red star, the hammer and the sickle. If it were not for the badges, this woman could have easily passed for a German beauty with delicate features, yet inflexible. Of course in Germany there had been women in uniform too. Some among the SS, but even among their ranks were uncommon.
His gaze got lost in the top of her uniform and clearly felt himself blushing when he distinguished the curves of that busty and sullen Russian lady through the warm fabric of her jacket.
Oh, come on, you spent some months like a caged animal and this is the first thing that comes into your head?
She was, in fact, too beautiful by Russian standards. Did his captor select her on purpose?
"Kamerad Arlovskaya", he said trying to curry favor with her, "wo Sie bringen mich hin, bitte?"
Her only answer was to walk faster, grimacing in disgust, and take themselves outside in just a few seconds, where a blazing sun shone above, making him to retreat and to moan in pain.
"Warte! Wait! I can not expose myself to the sun and after —"
She pulled his arm so hard that even the fabric tore around his shoulder. He complained of pain unnecessarily, but of course the Russian woman couldn't speak German and was not going to take pity on him. He could feel the woman's aversion to him with an almost palpable sharpness.
Apparently they were in a sort of military camp. They stood next to what looked like a barracks and a few buckets next to a water trough for horses, and finally realized what she intended to do with him. He would have bet his own dispossessed Iron Cross that they would not have bothered to heat the water for him. A small courtesy to a negligible "Nazi Dog" whom they had in their possession? It was useless to repeat to them that he was not a Nazi, and never had been; they kept calling him that. The woman blurted out something in Russian and gestured insistently towards the buckets and then pointed to him and his clothes. His light blue icy eyes barely stopped on him more than necessary. She disliked him. He was aware of it. And he do not blame her. At that time he did not even stand himself.
"Do you want me to take a shower and lather me here, Fräulein? In front of everyone? With the horses' water?"
She eagerly pointed out his clothes again. Around them there were a few uniformed men who had stopped what they were doing and suppressed laughter, while others directly guffawed at that German prisoner who was already shivering under the barely warm Muscovite sun. Everything in that country was too fucking cold. The Prussian pursed his lips angrily and thought that there were lots of worse things.
Seeing he was taking too much time, comrade Arlovskaya lost her temper and slapped him wearily, like someone who did that kind of thing every day, and then tear off the upper garment and approach to him one of the buckets with her foot. One of the Russians cheered and whistled, and laughter multiplied around him. If only it had been months ago, he would have nothing to be ashamed of, but having lost some of the muscle mass he had been so proud of, now the bones of his hips and ribs protruded and stood terribly under his skin. He bent down to take the soap and to end it as soon as possible, but the woman stopped him and chuckled, shaking her head. Then she pointed unmistakably to his pants and he even detected a slight hint of amusement in the expressionless eyes of the Soviet woman. Meanwhile the Prussian cursed the superlative whiteness of his skin, as his blushing, which was beginning to manifest itself, it would be clearly visible for miles around.
Well, it would take more than that to break his will.
He got rid of the pants pretending dignity and stole a glance around, expecting to see the Russian somewhere, witnessing his public humiliation. For some reason, the possibility he was watching him affected him more than the mocking exclamations that were spreading through the camp before his helpless nudity.
The woman approached him with a bucket, raised it over his head, and with a half-smile, looking him up and down carefully, she confided him in a very marked German accent:
"Naked men are so pitiful. And without your uniform you're nobody, da?"
Right after that, apathetically, she dumped the ice water over his head.
3
"Oberleutnant Gilbert Beilschmidt! Be assured that if we weren't in this desperate situation, and if you weren't a pretty competent military officer, I'd held a council of war in your honour at this very moment!
The Prussian did not even know why he was there, facing a guy he despised so much and whose only merit was to have been the greatest exponent of the Party in East Prussia. A sort of small-scale Hitler with almost total power to tyrannize the farthest and most vulnerable province of the Reich. He, of course, as a member of the Wehrmacht did not directly owed obedience to him, but looking for more unnecessary problems in the middle of that chaotic maelström unleashed since past January would not have been very smart on his part.
"Don't think that because they have granted you the Iron Cross first class you can get away with it. What do you think you are? A hero?"
A hero no. A soldier, thought the lieutenant. Saving lives of innocent civilians is what a good soldier have to do, nazi scum of office.
Of course he was smart enough to bite his tongue at the proper times. Although the truth was that sometimes he could not help giving vent to his feelings, and he feared that this was going to be one of those times.
"Come on, come on! Speak! You are pissing me off!"
Gilbert pursed his lips and mentally counted to three.
"With all due respect, Gauleiter Koch, I did what I had to do according to the military code of honor.
"You disobey a direct order from the Führer!"
The countermanded order in question had actually come from the very Erich Koch, who did not want to evacuate more than 170,000 Berliners who had sheltered in East Prussia to escape the incessant bombings in the capital. Goebbels wanted to get those civilians back, but the Gauleiter of Prussia managed to get away with it, at least partly, and 55,000 women and children could flee Königsberg before the visit from the Red Army.
"Resisting to the end?", inquired the Prussian ironically, raising an eyebrow. "I have not violated that order. I'm planning to stay here until the collapse of the castle and to die in battle".
"Are you saying we are going to lose this war, Oberleutnant Beilschmidt?"
"I'm saying that I will comply with my orders."
During the past few months that hypocritical politician had not stopped urging the citizens to resist until the end. 'Victory is ours! Königsberg will be the tomb of the Bolsheviks!', he shouted everywhere. While he, of course, put his family safe and fled the city on 28th January for shelter in a bunker nearby Pillau. Koch ignored, consciously or not, the Lieutenant's veiled criticism towards him and stared at him with a grimace.
"Do you think taking all those civilians out of the city was your duty? We need to the last man to defend our city from those damn Asian beasts".
"I didn't take them out of the city, sir".
"You help them to flee. Or you didn't do anything to avoid it. I, as commander of the Volkssturm can not accept the risk that you have caused with your ... with your pathetic commiseration".
"These men, women and children were only mouths to feed and would only be a hindrance to our troops".
Not to mention that they would be an easy and ready-made bait for the revenge of the Soviets. That was obvious, but it doesn't matter to this coward who had taken his Mercedes to Pillau to flee as soon as he had the slightest chance.
"I'd rip all your stripes and call the Feldgendarmerie to put you into custody. And if I don't do it, it's because I don't want to waste my valuable time giving explanations to your superiors. But I'll have a word with General Lasch.
"Well, sir, can I be dismissed? I have a fortress to defend".
"You're dismissed, yes. Get out from my sight! And I hope I don't have to see you again if not killing Russian rats. Heil Hitler!"
Gilbert saluted and hesitated before answering 'Sieg Heil' in a whisper and disappearing from his office in a hurry.
After talking to that little man with the mustache, he felt dirty and exhausted. Probably now the guy would catch his plane and would flee the besieged city. From the 23rd of January there were no more trains to Berlin, although most party members had managed to flee, leaving behind the certain conviction that was waiting there for the Russians. The Prussian citizens, however, had to flee down the road and in the middle of frost as they could, dragging their suitcases and their children behind them. Some refugees climbed aboard the Opel Blitz from the Wehrmacht, which would drive them to the only port that had escaped the occupation and boarding a providential boat to save them from the barbarism. So did Gilbert with his own fiancée, who at his insistence and his pleas to leave the city, she finally agreed to it.
"We'll meet again when this nightmare ends, meine schöne Braut".
The cheerful and desolate smile of hers burned in his memory and a terrible premonition made his heart beat even faster.
"Gilly, mein liebling. Survive, please", she said before giving him an intense but chaste kiss on the lips. Then she went up the scale of the huge ocean liner that was about to sail. The name of the ship was Wilhelm Gustloff.
Gilbert caressed with his trembling fingers the butt of his Luger and tried not to succumb again to the anguish which caused him to remember the name of that boat. He had nothing left to fight for. In fact, he didn't know why he was still there, still standing, offering his life for a Reich that had become a gigantic madhouse that had swept all humanity and hope of salvation.
He would fall with Königsberg. He could have chosen the easy way out, the cyanide, everyone in the doomed city were talking about it. But he had a duty to perform. He would make sure that seven of the eight bullets from his Luger were destined for seven Soviets. Until then, he won't stay sober for a second for what remained of his life.
The 26th of January, 1945 Königsberg was hit first by the Russian artillery fire. Half a year before the British RAF had already contributed to destroy the medieval Teutonic pride, reducing the old town to rubble. Now it was time for the Soviets. They surrounded the entire city at that exceptionally cold winter with temperatures that reached 20 under zero and, suddenly, against all odds, the Russians stopped their attack, perhaps attributing to the Germans more effective defenses for those who they truly had. The German army continued to strengthen the fortifications, but it was just a way of delaying the inevitable.
During those two months of agonizing wait, Gilbert was able to encourage his men even though morale was now irrecoverable. After the work of fortification, he allowed them to drink all the beer that was left of Ponarth, south of Königsberg. Hearing laughter in such an environment of defeatism was sometimes as comforting as infuriating. Bullets and Beer. They will welcome the Russians with these. At least it would be over sooner or later. An end with horror was preferable to an endless horror, and thinking about it, it was better than pretending a hysterical and drunk joy among his Old Comrades.
The final assault lasted three days.
On 9th of April, thousand Prussians deposed the weapons and raised their arms cherishing the volatile hope that the Russians would respect their lives. Many were executed on the spot, many others killed themselves with their own guns, while in some parts of the city in ruins, entire groups were taken captive.
The first time he saw Ivan, he looked like a kind of lucifer with an extreme light blond hair and dead eyes, all paleness, yet he radiated an icy rage that almost hurt physically. Given that unreal vision, Gilbert was even paralyzed for a moment, during which the bursts of machine-gun fire, the screams of the dying and the shrieks of nurses vanished for him, and only came to his ears some unintelligible orders that terrifying Russian was addressing to him with his braid ranks covered in blood.
When he regained his own perception, he realized that the Soviet was aiming with his Nagant directly to his head and that he was only a few feet away from him. Gilbert felt then the painful violet of his eyes, full of hate upon him, and in a reflex action he introduced the barrel of his own Luger into his mouth.
His vision got blurred and almost lose consciousness when the Russian hit him in the head with the butt of his Nagant. He tried to focus his eyes and realized that after the blow they had taken his gun away and there was no longer escape. Nazi propaganda echoed in his head: 'Victory or Siberia, Victoria or ... !'. Anything but that. He had seen with his own eyes the concentration camp of Stutthof, and if the infamous Gulags were half hellish than that, he clearly preferred they blew his brains away, right there right then.
He wanted to stand again but the blow had stunned him. He heard the Soviet arguing with the other men in Russian, and judging by his peremptory and authoritative tone, he must be the leader.
They are deciding if they are going to kill me or not, he thought with a strange serenity of mind. Well, make them to put an end to all this nonsense, dear God.
After a while the exchange of views finished and he watched from the corner of the eye that the man stopped right in front of him.
"Rise, Nazi shit".
His voice sounded, unlike the one he had employed a moment ago, like a soft soothing melody. Uneasily delicate. Gilbert made no movement, but muttered something that his enemy did not catch. Then the man dropped to one knee on the ground beside him and grabbed him by the hair to lift his face.
"I didn't understand you, nazi shit, could you repeat it again for me?"
The Prussian shook his head and hurt himself because of the force with which the Soviet kept him immobilized.
"On your knees. Now!"
Gilbert put his faltering hands on the floor and knelt making an effort. A few drops of blood fell on the back of his hands, and he thought a bit surprised that the blood must be his own, from the earlier hit of the revolver. The man with dead eyes had stood up again when he saw the German has obeyed him.
"Look at me!"
At least he was speaking in his language. Maybe they could come to terms. With this last thought he was about to drop hysterically from laughter, but fortunately he caught himself in time.
So he obeyed again, and kneeling as he was in the ground, he lifted his head and fixed his defiant gaze on him, boldly, his blood color eyes gleaming with the courage with which he had decided to face his executioner. Ivan, meanwhile, stared him back from above for a while, so long that some of his men got impatient. Gilbert noticed that something changed in the cold eyes of the Russian and smiled to himself.
"You've got some beautiful eyes, nazi scum", Ivan commented suddenly, startling him with the unexpectedness of his tone and his message. They have the color of my army, my flag and that blood that is running down your left cheek right now.
The laughter of the Soviets, and especially, that condescending response and kindly smile of their boss was more than the Prussian could bear, so he finally confessed what he had so rashly said shortly before and the Russian had not heard:
"Ich habe Sie gesagt, ich bin kein Nazi Kommunitischen Abschaum!"
If he hadn't covered his head with his arms and hadn't been huddled himself up, he would have lost his teeth. Unfortunately, he could not help getting some bleeding and some broken bones. Truth is that when the Russian stopped kicking him with his boots on the head, arms and back after a few endless seconds, his own men felt uncomfortable with such display of wrath from their general. Ribs hurt so much the Prussian could barely breathe and, convulsing in pain, he spat a trail of blood on the floor.
"Forward march, little Prussian soldier! We'll see if you are still so brave in a few days", he smiled fiercely and added: "And by the way, don't ever bark to me in your language, da?"
He made a dismissive gesture with his hand and rushed his men to take him as a prisoner.
4
After the humiliation inflicted over him in the outdoor camp, he tried to comfort himself thinking again that there were much worse things than laughter at his own nakedness. At least it seemed that the fucking Russian had not been looming over him with a mocking glint in his cruel amethyst-ice eyes. His brow furrowed, angry with himself for thinking of his enemy eyes in quite flattering terms.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The Soviet female comrade were escorting him back into the main building and had led him to a secluded office where he assumed he would be waiting for him. She knocked on the door with his knuckles and from within she was granted permission to open the door. She left him with a smile and disappeared clattering noisily down the hallway.
The Russian was sitting behind a desk, making short work of a meat dish with roast potatoes and vegetables and he did not even looked up when he came in and stood by silently in the middle of the room. He went about his business while leaving through some papers and occasionally took a bite out of a piece of meat.
Gilbert became moist-eyed when he saw all that delicious, fragrant and appetizing food which would not be for him and was even more aware of his weakness for not having eaten decently in months. His knees trembled, and knew he could not hold on longer, and though there was an empty chair at the table of the Russian, he would not have dared to sit without his express permission. So he waited, and waited ... until his captor finally cleared his throat and looked up at him. The Prussian tried to stay indifferent.
"You're shaking" warned Ivan after one of those deep, intense looks that seemed to have the power to pierce right through him. "Why? Are you cold or do you fear me?"
"I have been showered with iced water, sir".
"I know. It's for you to get used to it".
Gilbert shivered to the tip of his hair when he heard the casual, natural tone that the Russian had used.
"Y-yes, sir".
"But why are you still wearing those rags? This morning I gave to Comrade Arlovskaya some clothes for you".
"I don't wanna wear anything Russian", he said with reckless arrogance.
He expected, somewhat childishly, to bother him with his rebellion, one of the few things he could afford in that situation, but the Russian seemed to be in a good mood that morning and just gave him a cold smile. He realised that next to the food bowl was a bottle of vodka with only a couple of sips left. Apparently, the vodka made him more friendly.
"Is that why she slapped you in the face?"
To the dismay of Gilbert, Ivan pointed to his own cheek looking bored, and then he realized she must marked him with the palm of her hand.
"I told her not to touch your face. Not your face", remarked the Russian as to himself. "I'll have a word with her later".
"The fault is all mine, sir. Let it go. This is nothing".
Ivan was surprised.
"Are you defending her? One of your enemies? You are truly strange, Gilbert Beilschmidt".
When he heard his full name for the first time from his lips, his heart raced in his chest and he cursed internally. He was sure those incredible eyes would notice any change in his mood and the very thought terrified him. That he controlled up even his feelings.
"I'm just respectful to women", he replied shakily.
"Yes, I've checked a while ago you like women ... a lot", remarked the Soviet with a smile. "The little Prussian soldier grows and becomes very firm at the sight of one of our beautiful comrades", he said making an obscene and eloquent gesture with his fingers.
Gilbert felt himself blushing wildly and looked down to shun eye contact with him.
"That's not true. It was very cold and ... and ... it was impossible ... ".
So yes, he had been spying upon him. How would the demon had lost an opportunity to have fun at his expense?
"It's a shame. But I assure you that you'll never touch a woman in what's left of your life", he announced simply and smiled again with that maddening sweetness.
"Are you going to kill me?"
"You are my toy, little bunny. When I get tired of you, then, and only then, I might kill you. But for the moment you are ... huh ... very entertaining for me.
"Please, sir … "
"You can call me Grazhdanín Braginski. Please what?"
"If you have finished … eating, Grazhdanín Braginski, please, uh ... could you ...?
"Are you hungry, little bunny?"
Gilbert nodded. He was so hungry that he had sent his pride away. He would have done anything for eating his leftovers.
"Haven't they been feeding you well during my absence? Oh, poor thing. But it's true, you ain't looking well.
Then he straightened up in his chair and dragged the plate across the table at him until it reached the edge.
"Everything for you. But you'll have to eat standing up. I like watching you".
He did not think twice and he began eating with his bare hands so anxiously he was about to choke.
The Russian laughed. "Calm down or you'll vomit". He had not taken his eyes off from him for a single second.
" ... Thanks".
"Spasibo".
"What?"
"Another Russian word for your own use and enjoyment. Spasibo. It means 'thank you'".
"Jest".
"It's amazing how smart you are, little bunny. We may be able to teach you how to shake your paw and stuff.
Ivan Braginski rose from his chair and walked around the table to get closer to his prisoner. This man, if it was not enough, was surprisingly high, so the effect of intimidation doubled exponentially when he approached to his chosen victims.
"Turn back", he ordered in an authoritative tone.
Gilbert obeyed without much thought. For the moment, following his commands was not that bad. He had even been fed.
"Very well. Now take off that dirty shirt."
"Yes, Grazhdanín Braginski". Now he felt a bit more insecure than before, but he did as told and exposed his naked torso for the second time that morning.
Ivan turned to check his back for half a minute in complete silence; a silence that was broken by Gilbert himself, as he jumped suddenly when he noticed the Russian's fingers on his bare skin.
"I love your back" he said in a whisper as he ran his warm fingers over him. "It's like a blank canvas, immaculate and virgin, waiting for someone to engrave his artwork on it", he laughed with malice. "You excite my imagination like no-one else, white puppy."
The Prussian did not respond to that and stood motionless while the fingers of the Russian were now feeling his ribs mockingly, his bones too painfully marked under his skin.
"Are you trembling again? Are you going to re-use the excuse of the cold?"
"It's cold, damn ...", Gilbert said in a small voice.
"Of course, welcome to Moscow's summer", Ivan finally pulled away and pointed at a cabinet in the corner of his office. "There you'll find some Russian clothes that you're going to wear. Disobey me, and the slap of the comrade Arlovskaya will be like a flapping of a butterfly compared to what I could make to you.
While he was dressing those warm clothes that the Soviet had offered him, he dared to try his luck once again and asked:
"Am I going to go back to that cell again? Because if it's so, you can kick me or hit me again, or whatever you think it's cool for you. But I'm not going back to that hole."
Ivan laughed.
"You're certainly weird, Prussian. You obey easily, but then you get a courage that could ruin you. You're not going back to that cell."
His sigh of relief was suddenly stopped when he heard the last two sentences that the Russian said with evident delight:
"You're going to a better place. Tomorrow we are off to Siberia."
SOME FINAL NOTES AND TRANSLATIONS:
-The siege of Leningrad was one of the worst and painful catastrophes in Russia in the Second world War (Or as the Russians call the conflict, "the Great Patriotic War"). The Germans blockaded the city for 900 days, since the 9th of September 1941 to 18th of January 1944. Sadly the cannibalism cases which took place within the walls of the city are well and widely known. There were more than a million of citizen casualties.
-Untermensch: Under men o subhuman. Amply used by the nazi propaganda, referred not only to Jewish people, but also to the slavic race, which they considered inferior. They thought after they conquest Russia, all their surviving inhabitants should be enslaved and ruled by the germanic "superior race".
-Német: "German" in Russian. Unlike the words which define the origin of someone derived usually from the name of his own country, in the specific case of Germans, Russians use this word derived from a slavic word who means "dumb". I've read somewhere this is because Germans usually didn't know a single word in Russian and therefore look like "dumbs" (ahem).
-Giant with feet of clay: Nowadays, (Wiki quotation here) "it's a phrase that refers to someone who appears strong or invincible, but who actually has a hidden weak point that could cause their demise". Originally it comes from the Bible, but it was also an expression who applied the Germans to Russia even before the Second World War. They said that Russia was a formidable enemy, but in the end they had a bad organization and few real possibilities to succeed in her war campaigns.
-Russkiy: Russian. Some consider this is a pejorative adjective, some not. As usual, it depends on the speaker.
-Da nyet: This is one of those cases that make Russians so special. They don't have only yes or no. I'm cool with that. Why would I have to choose between two only choices. Life is more complicated than that. Ok, seriously, this is a Russian answer which is used to show an agreement, but only to a certain degree. It's a "no" but more nuanced than a strict NYET.
-Bitte, tut mir nicht weh! Bitte nicht!: In German, "Please, don't hurt me, please!"
-есть!: "Yes, sir", in Russian. It's pronounced "Jest". A nice Russian anonymous reader told me about another Russian word which means basically the same: Так точно. But I'm quoting some information about those two precise phrases from a forum:
[There are some nuances which can cause misunderstanding.
"Есть!" implies that a soldier has got an order from the commander. It sounds like "Aye aye sir!" or "Aye aye captain!".
"Так точно!" means that a soldier agrees with a commander (or other soldiers), literally it sounds like "Exactly so, sir!" but usually it's translated as "Yes, sir!". "Так точно" doesn't mean that a soldier has got a command, it's just a military version of "Yes" or "I agree".]
-Wo bringen Sie mich hin, bitte?: In German, "Where are you taking me, please?"
-Oberleutnant: Military rank in germanic armies translated into English as "senior lieutenant".
-Gauleiter: The party leader of a regional branch of the NSDAP or Nazi party.
-Volkssturm: People's militia in the last months of the Third Reich. They were German men between 16 and 60 years who were forced to serve in the Army when the War was practically over. They were generally and logically massacred. They actually recruited children up to 9 years and old men up to 70 years!
-Meine schöne Braut:"My beautiful fiancée" in German.
-Wilhelm Gustloff: That was the name of an ocean liner that was reconverted into an evacuation ship for the civilians from the Eastern Germany. It was torpedoed by a Soviet submarine and it sank with more than 10,000 people aboard. More than 9,000 people died in the freezing waters of the Baltic. It was the worst marine catastrophe in history.
-Ich habe Sie gesagt, ich bin kein Nazi, Kommunitischen Abschaum!: "I've already told you. I'm not a Nazi, you filthy communist!"
-Grazhdanín: Citizen. One of the ways in the Soviet Union to address someone who is not worthy enough to be called as a Tovarich or comrade.
I hope you're not scared with this first chapter. :) Truth is this is just the presentation. Later on I'm more focused on the characters and their relationships. And believe me, I can be very cruel to these two gentlemen. *sadistic and innocent smile, Ivan's style*