Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“Never mind! You don’t know this, but Viktor is like a mountain you occasionally have to climb or simply jump over so that he stops being a pain in the ass, especially when we have an excuse such as a day off… Jesus, you feel so small, newbie.”
I go rigid, but then I force myself to relax again. “My name is Aleksander.”
“I’m Maksim. I noticed you being all stiff and alone this past week, and we don’t do that shit in this unit.” He tilts his chin forward. “How about some fun?”
We come to halt in front of a field for…football.
The soldiers are divided into two teams of eleven players. Concentration and contempt shine on their faces as if they’re on the battlefield.
A flat-out war is taking place. Not only do they tackle and hit each other, but they basically step on one another on the artificial turf.
Maksim, showing little to no care about the brutal play, strolls into the middle of an attack and steals the ball. Then he tactfully slips from the clutches of a few angry players.
“You and you. Out.” He points at two soldiers. “Lipovsky and I will be subbing in.”
At the mention of my name, almost everyone’s attention turns to me. I might not get as much shit from these guys as I did with Matvey and his goons, but they haven’t warmed up to me either. They keep me at arm’s length and barely address me at the meal table.
In fact, Maksim is the first one who’s ever talked to me.
“It’s okay,” I say, conscious of the unpleasant energy. “I can watch.”
“Nonsense.” Still holding the ball, Maksim comes to fetch me by dragging me in a half chokehold that kind of cuts off my air, but I’ve come to know that guys generally handle each other with roughness.
In theory, I can fight the dragging, but in reality, I can’t. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to.
Despite my mother’s protests, I played football with my cousins and my brother all the time when we were growing up. It’s one of those games that holds a special place in my heart.
“Give back the ball, motherfucker!” someone shouts from the distance.
“That’s Yuri,” Maksim tells me. “The true motherfucker in this unit. Don’t sleep near him, Aleksander, or you’ll suffer a slow death. He snores like a dying pig.”
Some soldiers laugh and point at Yuri, who glares at each and every one of them.
“Ready, bitches?” Maksim stands in the middle of the field, then—no surprise here—throws the ball in our team’s direction instead of the middle.
Apparently, there’s no formation in this thing. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to play defense, midfield, or offense. Turns out, everyone plays all spots at once.
All twenty-two soldiers are wherever the ball is.
No fouls are counted, no matter how many hits are exchanged. Cards? Forget about that. Fair play? No way in hell. In fact, the referee is egging the teams on and calling them names for not scoring.
To say it’s chaos is an understatement.
This should be labeled combat football instead of the regular type.
Still, we keep losing the ball to the more aggressive players of the other team. They’re also bulkier, which makes it unnerving to even look at them, let alone try to fight them for the ball.
At one of our aimless attacks, I stay back and tell Maksim to do the same. He raises his hands and shouts, “But we’re missing all the fun!”
“Trust me,” I mouth, not taking my eye off the ball. “I’ll be right-wing, and you take the left. Whoever has the ball, the other runs forward, got it?”
“Well, all right. This plan better be worth missing the action for.”
“It will be,” I say with confidence.
As expected, a player from the other team steals possession of the ball, and he comes running in our direction.
Naturally, everyone else follows him like a herd. Maksim takes the one with the ball by surprise and steals it.
“Lipovsky!” he shouts, but I’m already running toward the goal. When he passes the ball, I’m there to catch it.
The other team runs at a frightening speed toward me. I don’t wait to have the best shot and, instead, go in blind.
A couple of bodies slam into me, and I’m about to be knocked off my feet, but then I’m not.
The ones who attacked me are my teammates, and they’re holding me up, cheering at the top of their lungs.
I scored.
Holy shit. I scored.
Maksim shakes me by the shoulders, then headlocks me. “I knew you’d fit right in, Aleksander.”
I smile for the first time since I said goodbye to Uncle Albert and Mike.
“You can call me Sasha,” I tell him.
“Call me Maks.” He grabs me by the shoulder and faces the others. “I accept sacrifices for bringing in a scorer for the team.”