The Pumpkin Twins
“The Pumpkin Twins”
by Locutus2366
edited by Todger65 and 'Morgan The Magnificent'
Story Writing Contest 2023-II-Twins: https://allthefallen.moe/forum/index.php?threads/story-writing-contest-2023-ii-twins.53060/
(Story Code: M28g10g10, blowjob, consensual, twins, orphans, mild wartime violence)
Note from the author: This story takes place in the war-ravaged country of Ukraine. Ukrainian spoken (normal text)
English spoken (bold italic text)
Part 1 – Not Again
“No!” Wilson complained. “I just had a rotation at the 'Burn Pits' last week at the main encampment. Just ask Major Chornovil...”
Smiling with mild amusement, Lieutenant Starkovich speaks loudly, but clearly, “That was then, but this is now soldier.”
Wilson cringes. “No, you don't have to translate that, Senior Sergeant Danko. I've heard that one before. Aaah, let me guess. That was there, and this is here! Or some bullshit close to that, right...”
Sergeant Danko is the one and only shitty English translator in their unit. Chuckling softly, “Yes, Private Smith. You are most correct. Many of the other members of your squad are busy with other important tasks. It falls to you to complete this vital mission.”
Wilson looks over at the other members of his squad and smiles as they wave back at him. One of them, his buddy Ivas, even blows him a kiss. “Okay, Sergeant... Get to the rat killing! What does the good lieutenant want?” he asks pensively, glancing to the side in the direction of the lieutenant.
Wilson Smith, a twenty-eight-year-old from Nashville, Tennessee, stands quietly as the junior officer tries to persuade him of the importance of some upcoming mission. Wilson knows the drill. He spent four fun-filled years in the US Marines. He even received a meritorious promotion to 'Captain' for his efforts in the final evacuation or debacle of Afghanistan. Two weeks after his promotion, Wilson resigned his commission.
But here, as a volunteer in the Ukrainian army, he's only a private. It would be pretty hard to command men when you can't speak the language. He's here to help these people repel a foreign invader who doesn't care a thing about civilian casualties. The more dead civilians, the more free land will be available when they win the war. Well, not on Wilson's watch. He lost both his parents when the war broke out. They were visiting family in a little village near the eastern border when the Russians basically wiped it off the map. Men, women, and children were butchered by the hundreds, including those closest to him.
Every confirmed kill means another Russian family will have to grieve the loss of a love one. Just as he has in this senseless war. Maybe one day they will wake up to the horrors their leader has inflicted on a peaceful neighboring country. But that won't likely be the case. It all goes back to money and power. The normal, everyday people in Russia think about the same things we all think about and desire. A home, a decent job, and the ability to take care of their family.
It really doesn't matter to Wilson; he's here to help, and help he will until he feels like he's done enough. He waits for the lieutenant to lay out his mission plan to the sergeant. They take a few minutes to talk it out before the sergeant looks back at Wilson. He almost laughs when he passes on the lieutenant request.
He says, “It's either a night recon patrol or the fire pits. Both are equally important, but he will let you decide which you prefer.”
Wilson isn't a bit surprised by this request. The good lieutenant loves to play this game with him. This is the lieutenant's way of asking nicely. He knows that Wilson is the best he's got at night recon missions. He usually saves this nonsense for the times he's got an important request from headquarters something he needs done right.
Wilson smiles at the lieutenant and the sergeant. “I'll take the burn pits this time. Which ones do I start with?” he asks nonchalantly.
The lieutenant gives him a curt nod and gives the sergeant a few more terse instructions to relay to Wilson. Turning on his heels, he heads back towards the command tent.
The sergeant smiles at the retreating form of the lieutenant and says, “He wants you to leave around 0100 hours. The other three squad members will meet you at our eastern observation post.” he chuckles. “He said the burn pits could wait for another day. This mission is better suited to your abilities.”
Wilson laughs at the sergeant. “I thought I had a choice.”
Laughing out loud, “You did, but the Lieutenant decided you made the wrong choice. He needs you to find out what's in front of us. The enemy has been too quiet, and that has the leadership concerned. He needs to know if they are retreating like they appear or secretly doing some type of buildup. He wants you in charge of this recon patrol. The others that volunteered too can speak some broken English, so you should be okay.”
Wilson ponders if he should ask the next question, “Okay, so how many of the other volunteers out rank me?”
The sergeant continues to smile at Wilson. “As part of the regular Ukrainian army, they all out rank you. But tonight you will be a temporary sergeant under my command.”
Chuckling without mirth, “So does this mean I get a raise in pay for the next 24 hours?”
Sergeant Danko brings his hand up to his chin and scratches the itchy stubble. “Yeah, I guess so. I will raise your base pay from zero to zero plus zero. Will that be adequate?”
Wilson grins back at the cagey old veteran soldier. “That will be more than adequate, Sergeant Danko...” he says, coming to attention and snapping off a crisp salute for the sergeant.
The sergeant's smile brightens. Spreading from ear to ear, he returns Wilson's salute, “Dismissed acting Sergeant Smith.”
Wilson plants one foot behind him, and does a perfect military about-face, and strolls off towards his squad's tent. Once inside, he hurries over to his cot and pulls out his equipment locker from beneath his bed. He opens the lid and begins to lay out his combat gear. Helmet, Kevlar vest, night vision goggles, first aid kit, three assorted MRE's, an assortment of his favorite snacks, compass, matches, flashlight, rain gear, backpack, shovel, ax, tarp, e-blanket, water purification filter, a small American flag, and his four high-capacity ammo clips. The rest he will have to go to the armory to get.
He throws his ammo clips in his utility bag and heads over to the armory for his weapons and ammunition. The armorer has already been alerted to his upcoming recon mission. He hands Wilson his M4A1 rifle with a 'silencer', (4) M67 frag grenades, (2) M18 smoke grenades, (2) flash bang grenades, and (165) rounds of 5.56 mm rifle ammunition. For his backup weapon, he's given a MK26 9mm pistol with one stacked clip and 12 rounds. Putting everything carefully in his utility bag, he goes over to a nearby table to double-check that everything is safe to handle but combat-ready. He loads his four extended-capacity clips and his one standard-issue clip.
Wilson picks up each item, giving it one more quick inspection, and places it with care into his utility bag. When he finishes, he sees a small identification tag hanging from the handle of his bag. He missed it before, so he bends down and picks up the tag. The tag has been marked with four chevrons stacked on top of each other.
He smiles at the playful jab from his squad-mates. They've obviously heard that Wilson has been given command of the recon patrol tonight. Even though that is all quite temporary, they are enjoying giving him a subtle hard time. All in good fun. Turning, he stands to wave good-bye to the armorer.
He's standing at attention and saluting Wilson. In broken, heavily accented English, he mumbles, “Good luck, Sergeant.” and smiles broadly.
Using his limited Ukrainian vocabulary, Wilson says. “Me, thank you help.” and returns his salute.
He's not sure he likes this new attention, but he can't worry about that now. He needs to prep his gear and check his weapons. Even though he received his weapons from a qualified armorer, it is his responsibility to clean and service the weapons again to make sure they are both combat-ready.
Wilson strides across the camp until he enters his squad's tent. Near the back, under a bright work light, is the table used for weapon servicing. It has all the tools, lubricants, and cleaning solvents that are needed to keep their weapons in good working order. Leaving his utility bag on his bed. He takes his rifle and semiautomatic pistol to the table for cleaning. It takes him a little over an hour to clean and reassemble both weapons.
Finished, he returns to his cot and starts to organize and pack his gear for tonight's recon patrol. A recon patrol with four people is a bit on the light side, but there are just not enough soldiers to defend their position and support the other units scattered up and down their offensive front. Their combined forces are continuing to push the Russians back towards their western border. The turning point came when the United States started to provide advanced aircraft and heavy armor... i.e., tanks.
The Russians have been retreating ever since. Hopefully this war will end soon and the needless destruction of a peaceful neighbor will be over. But until then, the Russian scourge continues to do what it does best: burn and pillage the countryside.
It takes him another hour or so to get everything just right. His backpack and Kevlar vest are ready, as are his weapons. With all the i's dotted and t's crossed, he is ready for something to eat and then some rest.
He walks over to the mess tent and finds a few of his squad already there, eating. The menu tonight is way better than usual. The always-present pot of steaming hot Borscht and bread is there 24/7. But in addition, they have made a Chicken Kiev, with lumpy mashed potatoes and peas, along with a lovely layered apple cake. Of course, these dishes all have Ukrainian names, but Wilson has trouble remembering simple words. Learning the even more complicated words for food dishes is beyond him. All he knows is that this is one of the better and rarer nights of decent food.
Walking into the massive tent, everyone in the entire 'Mess' has heard of his temporary upgrade to acting sergeant. As he turns with his tray of food, they all enjoy saluting him as he goes by. Smiling at them all, he nods his head this way and that, acknowledging as many as he can. It's all good-natured fun. The constant stress of day-in, and day-out threats to life needs a little laughter mixed in, once in awhile.
He finally makes it to his assigned table, where all his supposed friends stand up and give him a salute as well. Laughing at his discomfort, they tell him, “Good luck... Don't get lost... Stay safe... “ and a few others he doesn't know the meaning of. At long last, he sits down, and everyone returns to their food and the normal conversations about wanting to be home with their families.
Wilson eats quickly, and before anyone can start in on him again, he ducks out a side door with his tray in hand. He strides around to the cook's door and drops off his empty tray. Back in his tent, he lays everything beneath his cot. Flopping down on the canvas surface, he's ready to get a few winks. To help him mellow out, he puts in his blue-tooth earphones and starts to listen to some music. The noise will muffle out the comings and goings of his squad-mates. His alarm will wake him at midnight.
The music slowly relaxes him until he drifts off to sleep. Wilson gets about four hours of sleep before the alarm wakes him up. The lights have been turned down low, and everyone not on guard duty is in their cots, either asleep or trying. He makes his way out of the tent to the latrine. It takes him a couple of minutes to finish his business and return to the tent.
He donned his night mission fatigues and combat boots. Then, with the care of a trained soldier, he puts on his lightweight body armor and the rest of his gear. All except the back pack and his rifle. Wilson looks around at his resting squad-mates and hopes to see them sometime tomorrow, but if he doesn't, he wishes them well.
Shouldering his backpack, he carries his rifle outside the tent and heads towards the eastern checkpoint. It's about a 500 meter walk up a small hill to the lookout post. He stops about 50 meters short of this guarded position. Keying his communication unit, he requests permission to proceed.
The sergeant in charge answers quickly, “Permission granted... acting Sergeant Smith.”
“Shit, I wonder if everyone in the world is going to tease me about that stupid promotion?” he thinks to himself as he starts to walk the rest of the way up the hill.
At the top is a fenced perimeter and an observation tower erected behind a big oak tree. The tree helps to camouflage the tower.
Sergeant Danko walks up and salutes him like all the rest. Then he extends his hand for Wilson to shake. Then he says, “Sorry, I couldn't help myself. The others aren't here yet.”
Wilson points at the tower, and asks, “Is it okay to go have a look around?”
Danko is all business now and answers curtly. “Yes. They are expecting you.” He chuckles quietly, but doesn't refer to him as a sergeant.
Wilson, all business too, climbs up the aluminum ladder to the top and into the small tarp-covered observation enclosure. There are four active observers watching the surrounding countryside. Their night-vision scopes are constantly scanning the terrain to the east of their position.
No one acknowledges his presents except the two relief observers and one sentry. One hour on, a half-hour rest. They smile at him but leave him to his business. Fun and games are over now. He's here to take a good look around and plan out his initial recon route. In total, this little hill and tower are about 250 meters above the surrounding landscape.
Without a word, Wilson selects a pair of night-vision binoculars and starts to look at the best routes to move in an easterly direction away from their current position. There are several possible routes to choose from. Including several small waterways and three different tree lines that lead in the right direction. He decides on the tree line on the far right because it extends well into the distance. It tracks in a southeasterly direction, but he can always adjust as he gets further away from their compound. Recon patrols are not very black-and-white. They're intended to gather information beyond the line of sight. Without satellite capabilities, the Ukrainian forces have to go old-school. Which means nice long walks in the countryside, hoping you see the enemy before they see you. He talks with the extra observer on sentry duty and tells him they will be going through the wire in about fifteen minutes.
Returning the binoculars to their storage location, Wilson moves to the ladder and descends to find the rest of his patrol-mates waiting for him. He knows each of them well. Igor, Georgiy, and Yuri, all corporals, are about the only other Ukrainians, besides the Senior Sergeant Danko who can understand him reasonably well.
They all come to attention and snap off a crisp salute and then a quick smile of acceptance. He returns their smile and salutes them back. Then they hand him his backpack and rifle. Wilson quickly shoulders his back pack and accepts his rifle from Igor. Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, he walks up to each of the veteran soldiers. They're standing in a loose line, ready for him to check their gear.
Moving along the line, he does a quick inspection of their equipment. They are all like him a savoy veteran. Each has their equipment at the ready. Finished, he stands in front of them. They go over the communication call signs and hand signals they will use during their patrol.
Then Wilson standing in front of them, asks. “Okay, does anyone have any questions?”
Hearing no response, he continues, “Right then,” he pauses, pointing over his shoulder at the tower. “I've decided to use the concealment of a treeline that works its way to the southeast of our position. The trees will provide good cover for about four thousand meters before we will need to stop for a quick reconnoiter. Single file through the perimeter, and then standard diamond formation from there. Any questions?” he asks for a final time.
Hearing none, they move up to the enclosure gate, and the two sentries standing guard. Wilson, keying his communication unit, requests permission from the 'Command' to carry out his orders.
Lieutenant Starkovich answers a moment later, “Proceed on mission, Sergeant Smith, and good luck.”
Wilson smiles at the words he's heard before, but not when he was in command. They have a different ring and meaning now. He's responsible for these men and the outcome of their assigned mission.
His answer back is short and to the point, “Will do, sir.”
With that, the sentries open the outer gate and signals Perimeter Control to deactivate grid 1. The sentry nearest the opening reminds Wilson and the others, “Remember the grid patterns for each zone. Only the zone you're in will be deactivated, so be careful and watch for the infrared markers.” he warns. He calls into the com unit, “Is Zone 1 down, over?”
A few seconds later, his communication unit confirms, “Perimeter Control. Zone 1 is down. Send the patrol out.”
The sentry replies, “Roger... out!” as he turns to look up at Wilson. “Alright! Good luck.”
With that, Wilson and the others move through the gate in a single file. Wilson, in the lead, moves straight ahead approximately 50 meters when he sees the first infrared marker.
The hillside leaving the observation post is littered with small shrubs and a few trees. The ground is covered in the typical lush green overgrown grass mixed with a variety of weeds. The fall weather has been cool, but nothing winter-like yet. It takes Wilson and the other three about thirty minutes to work their way out of the perimeter defenses. Those defenses are a deadly mix of various types of anti-personnel mines and apparatuses that are specifically designed to stop both ground troops and light armor.
After they've exited the defenses, Wilson pivots, and using an infrared light signals, they are clear. The observers can see them beyond the defenses, but protocols are protocols. His com unit chirps for the final time. He and others switch to their field channel. Still in single file, Wilson leads them towards the tree line and the route he has chosen.
Wilson finds a lightly used game trail that runs just on the inside of the overhanging canopy. The trees are well into their colorful autumn change, and the path is already covered in fallen leaves. Other than game tracks from what look like deer and possibly a fox, there are no other signs of usage. This is exactly what Wilson wants to see as they move along at a comfortable clip.
The small patrol is soon out of sight of the observation tower and starting to move into the area where they need to be more diligent and careful as they proceed. They have no way of knowing when they might encounter the enemy or other defensive measures set up by the retreating Russians. Wilson motions for them to stop and brings them in close to discuss his plan for a quick reconnoiter of the area. Igor and Georgiy both have small surveillance drones. He has them pull out their gear and, from beneath the cover of the trees, make a sweep from the north to the northeast and another from the northeast to the east of their position.
They stay hidden for the next half hour while Igor and Georgiy use the drones to sweep the area. Other than a few abandoned and destroyed farm buildings, there is nothing of interest. The treeline has now joined a small creek that is going in roughly the direction they want to go. They need to move forward until they can safely survey further to the east and south.
Wilson changes their line of advance from a single file to a diamond pattern. There are two men on either side of the treeline. One inboard towards the fallow fields, and the other towards the stream bed and the overgrown fields on the other side of the stream. Both banks of the stream bed are often lined with small thickets of underbrush and small trees. These provide excellent cover as they move forward.
They continue their guarded advance for approximately another ten klicks when Wilson, moving through a dense thicket of brush, stops. Less than a hundred meters upstream is an enemy patrol. Eight heavily armed troops on either side of the stream are moving toward them.
The rest of his squad is unable to see him, so he keys his communication unit and, in a commanding voice, says, “Halt. Cover.”
Almost soundless, his men move quickly to take cover behind trees or on the ground. But there are simply too many to fight, and they are too close to their positions to pull back. Without a thought for his own safety, he keys his communication unit again. “Fall back when I commence firing. Regroup and get recon to the south and east of our position. Up-link data to command and return to base. That's an order.”
Wilson hears three subtle clicks on the communication unit. His squad members might not be happy with his order, but they understand why he's doing this. Complete the mission and return as many soldiers as possible to base. He gives his family one final passing thought and looks around for some way to survive this firefight. Then he sees what he's looking for... A single point where he can strafe both columns without exposing himself to their fire.
Dropping to the ground, he crawls down the grassy embankment and hops over the small stream of water. He flops behind the small cluster of rocks he'll use for cover. Wilson will probably only have time to empty a couple of clips before he needs to toss a couple of grenades among the survivors and make a run for it. The stream is his best bet, and going upstream away from his men may work in all the confusion. The logical path is usually to go down stream, but they might not check up stream until he has time to make his get-a-way.
In the time it has taken him to get ready, the two columns are almost abreast of him. Clicking his M4A1 to semi-auto, he smiles at the stupidity of the single-file columns this patrol leader has chosen. He's about to lose most of his men in an ambush.
Wilson takes aim at the rearmost soldier in the left-hand column. With a muffled thunk, the soldier drops to the side. The next in line follows the first and crumbles in a heap. Then all hell breaks out. Several of the soldiers from the other column have noticed their comrades falling. Without pause, Wilson flips to full auto and strafes the remaining six soldiers in the left-hand column. Ejecting his partial clip, he slams in another. Bringing his rifle to bear on the right-hand column, he drops the hammer on that group as well. Death has come among them with a quiet suddenness.
As soon as his attack starts, it stops. His parting gift to his Russian friends is two M67 grenades, one for each column. As soon as the sound of the exploding grenades fades away, Wilson takes to the water on a dead run. He is already through the remainder of their formation before they have time to take note of his passage. He continues to leave the sound of chaos behind him as he drives his body onward at a dead sprint. About 400 meters further up the stream bed, he finds a small tributary coming in from the right. It's a good-sized, overgrown irrigation ditch.
Wilson decides this is as good as anywhere to go, so into the ditch he goes. Crouching over, he moves along the bottom of the slow-moving, water-filled ditch. He's not leaving any tracks, but the silt he is stirring up will give away his position just as well. He needs to find a better place to hide and let the silt settle back down to the bottom. He pops up every once in a while to take a look around. The noise from behind him has faded into the distance. But it won't be long before they are searching high and low for the assassin who just ambushed sixteen of their number.
His men will be long gone before they head in that direction. The Russians won't go very far westward, fearing another attack from a larger Ukrainian force. Another klick further along the irrigation ditch, and he spots a burned-out farm house and outbuildings. The place has been attacked or bombed. The original, old-world, two-story rock home still has three partial side walls standing. But the roof has collapsed along with the second floor. Everything is nothing but a charred mound of debris on the main floor. The outbuildings have fared even worse. There is not much left of the walls or roof. Everything is now piled on top of the farm machinery stored inside. All in all, this farm won't be habitable any time soon. Everything is overgrown with weeds and brambles. From its general appearance, no one has lived here in a very long time.
There's not much cover in the ruined farm house. The roof and 2nd floor rubble are nothing but a pile of destruction. There is nowhere to get completely out of sight. Just a convenient place to get cornered and end up dead.
Wilson continues to slowly move up the irrigation ditch until he can see the east side of the house. Then he sees it a small, irregular hole that could lead into the cellar beneath the old stone farm house. It's just big enough for him to crawl through. He glances to his left and sees a small bridge across the ditch. Not really a bridge, but a couple of thick wooden planks laid across the dirt banks. Right beside the bridge is a low, hanging, smallish tree. Like a willow, the branches are dragging the ground. This will be a good place to come out of the water and still be out of sight.
He has just slithered out under the small tree when he hears a muffled curse in Russian. Looking back towards the irrigation ditch and the way he came, there are six armed soldiers. One of them has slipped on the muddy bank and has slid into the water. Cursing, he struggles to climb back out, while the others laugh at his clumsiness.
Wilson gulps audibly. This isn't good. He's screwed whether or not he stays under the tree or gets back into the ditch. His only chance is the hole leading into the cellar. They are laughing at their comrade and not looking his way.
As quietly as possible, he breaks cover and rushes toward the small opening into the dilapidated farm house. Diving in head first, he curls up into a ball and rolls as he hits the floor. He's made some noise, but not much. He quickly surveys the destruction in the cellar. Not as bad as the upper part of the house, but there is still plenty of broken household stuff littering the floor. Moving to his left, he gets behind a couple of shelving units that have toppled over.
Listening closely, he hears the Russian troops getting closer to the house and to the hole. Still laughing at their friend, one of them spots the opening. He calls out to his buddies, and they all gather around the opening in a loose semicircle. The one that fell into the irrigation ditch gets down on his hands and knees to take a quick gander into the cellar. They are still giving him a load of shit for falling in. Their coarse laughter continues behind him when he finally calls out, “Net!” and then pauses, “Nikto...”
He backs away from the opening when I hear someone else say, “Granata!”
Wilson has heard that word before. They're about to toss an insurance grenade into the cellar to make sure nothing is coming out of there alive... present or not. Moving quickly, he heads towards a partial, heavy brick wall near the back of the cellar. He storms around the corner and skids to a stop. There in front of him are two dirty little girls. The one nearest to him has a small kitchen paring knife raised to protect them.
He only has time to mumble the Ukrainian word for 'friend' before he hears the metallic thud of a grenade hitting the floor behind him. His mind quickly assesses the threat. He laughs, “At least its an old F1 and not one of those damn RGD-5's.” Already moving, he throws himself over the girls when the darkness takes him.
Part 2 – The Twins
Wilson tries to crawl out of the darkness several times. But each time he loses his battle with unconsciousness, he's left to ponder the voices. Sometimes they're soft whispers. Others are louder and more excited. One thing for sure is that he's going nuts. He needs to wake up from this really weird dream. He couldn't possibly be hearing the voices of two little girls. Giving in to the darkness yet again, he blacks out.
Finally, on his fourth try, Wilson lies there taking note of the pain. Pain is good sorta. That means you are alive and feeling. All is well except that this pain is coming from several different sources. His head feels like someone ran over it with a New York City bus. Then there's the stinging sensation in his shoulder and deeper throbbing pain coming from the back of his leg. Then, right on queue, the voices are back. They are talking softly again in Ukrainian. Yep, two of them the same little girl voices that have been filling his dreaming mind with all that annoying chatter they're back.
He lays there for a few seconds longer, hoping he will go back to sleep and forget about their annoyance, but that doesn't happen. Instead, he feels something cold and moist being laid across his forehead. The next thing he feels is a tiny hand resting on the side of his face. Almost a caress, it works its way down along his jaw line before it's gone. He's about to try and open his eyes when his last memory comes rushing back into his mind.
Wilson suddenly sees them again. It was only for an instant before the grenade must have exploded and he lost consciousness. After a few moments, he realizes he's lying on his back. His head is resting on something incredibly soft and warm. His mind suddenly smiles. It's a lap... His head is in someone's lap. But who? Then it hits him the little girls. It has to be one of them holding his head and putting a cold compress on his forehead.
Without moving, Wilson continues to listen to the two little girls. They are talking about something; unfortunately, he can only catch a word here and there. Their conversation seems to be about a tall man... probably him. But the thing that has him mystified is the sound of them eating something. Whatever it is, it's crunchy. He can hear them gnawing on whatever it is, and then some noisy chewing. Inter mixed is a cracking sound followed by them spitting something out.
Careful not to alarm them, he cracks open his eyes and looks up at a very dirty, blonde-haired angel. His focus is not on the other little girl's voice near his feet, but on the one hoovering above him. There, clutched in her grubby little hand, is an irregular-shaped chunk of something bright orange. It looks like a piece of a common field pumpkin. Talking and chewing, she eventually brings the chunk of pumpkin up to her mouth and gnaws off another tough bite. With her other hand, she reaches down by her leg and brings up a couple of pale cream-colored pumpkin seeds, tossing them into her mouth as well. Cracking the shell, she eats the kernel inside and spits the shell out to the side.
When he smiles up at her, she freezes and squawks out, “Rusiana! He awake...”
Almost instantly, he feels the blade of a paring knife find the side of his throat. Then, in a gruff little girl tone, Rusiana asks, “Who you?”
Holding very still, Wilson answers slowly, “I Ukrainian soldier. Friend...”
Rusiana looks at the other girl and says, “Yaryna, he not Ukrainian. Soldier maybe.”
Rusiana tightens the blade against his throat and asks again, “You not Ukrainian, who you?”
Wilson says carefully, “I American. I fight Russians. Fight for Ukraine.”
Rusiana's knife blade eases ever so slightly. “Why you here?”
“Russians chase me. Try hide here.” Wilson replies.
The knife blade is suddenly gone. “Yes, try kill. But you save us, why?”
Wilson lifts his head to look at Rusiana, “I bring Russian soldiers. It okay, they hurt me, not okay, hurt you.”
Rusiana puts down her knife and picks up a piece of raw pumpkin, like her sister. Shaking it at him, she asks, “What you name American?”
Smiling at her, Wilson realizes that she's just as beautiful as her sister; they're identical twins. “Me name Wilson. How long asleep?”
Yaryna speaks up for the first time. “It midday. You hurt.” she says, pointing at my shoulder and leg.
Her reminder brings the pain shooting back. The shoulder is nothing, but his leg has been hit with a piece of shrapnel from the old fragmentation grenade. They're all lucky that the partial wall was there or likely one or more of them would be dead.
He sits up slowly and nearly passes out again. His head is spinning; he's definitely suffering from a concussion caused by the explosion. He looks around for his backpack and sees it stuffed in the corner, a couple of feet away. Unable to move much, he lays his head back down on Yaryna's lap. She smiles down at him and bends down to kiss his forehead. She mutters something in Ukrainian that he doesn't understand.
“Sorry, no speak good Ukrainian.” he tells her.
She gives Wilson a coy smile and says, “Yaryna, happy Well Sun here.”
“Rusiana, please get?” he asks, pointing to his backpack.
The little girl springs up and rushes over to retrieve his pack. Handing it to Wilson, she sits down next to Yaryna. Wilson quickly unfastens the straps and fishes through his equipment until he finds his emergency medical kit. Feeling a little dizzy, he lays his head back down on Yaryna's lap. He looks up at her smiling face and smiles back at her. A second later Rusiana face appears along with her sister. She's the tough one with the knife.
Still frowning, she says something to her sister that Wilson can't understand. Giggling Yaryna answers with a simple 'yes'. Giggling herself, Rusiana finally breaks out in a bright smile as well. Wilson closes his eyes and waits for the dizziness to pass. As he gathers himself, he listens to their whispered conversation. The words are being spoken too rapidly, and his brain too addled to focus on anything right now. He lays there in Yaryna's warm lap, content to just listen to their quiet sounds. All of a sudden, he realizes that he has no experience with children. He was an only child, and except for a few visits to family with younger cousins, he has never been around children.
He opens his eyes again and drinks in the vision of the two young beauties deep in conversation with each other. They seem to be discussing something important, but it's beyond him what they're saying.
After a few more minutes, they seem to have come to some type of decision. Returning their focus to him, they both smile when they see Wilson watching them. He tries to sit up without much success until they help him. Another wave of dizziness sweeps over him, but he waits until it lessens. He reaches up under the protective flap to release his tactical vest. Pulling down sharply, all the clips holding the vest together release as one. Rusiana catches the back panel, and Yaryna carefully holds the front panel upright until Wilson can scoot the heavy front panel away from the girls. There are still two grenades and three ammo clips attached to that half of his tactical vest.
Rusiana takes her half and puts it gently over the other half of the vest. Without the vest, Wilson feels much lighter and turns his head to look at the flesh wound on his upper left arm. He unbuttons his black night ops shirt to expose the tender wound beneath. It's scabbed over nicely. All it will need is some antibiotic cream and a large bandage to keep it from getting infected. He quickly opens the medical kit and gets out the two items he needs. Yaryna is there, helping by opening the tube of antibiotic cream and squeezing out a generous bead of the gooey ointment. She opens the bandage and, with a gentle touch, covers the shallow wound.
One down and one to go. The next one is going to hurt like hell. The grenade fragment is still inside his leg. Not too deep, but deep enough that one of them will have to go digging for it. He's betting it will be Rusiana... But first, he needs to get his pants off. Then it hits him; he needs to take a piss real bad, and he sure as hell can't get up and walk around.
Wilson, laying back heavily against Yaryna, unbuttons his pants and unzips the fly. The girl's not sure what to do, just watch with wide-eyed fascination as this strange man is disrobing in front of them. Stopping, Wilson starts to point to his crotch with growing urgency and says, “Bathroom. Need go bathroom.”
Rusiana catches on first and tells her sister that Wilson needs to pee into something. They both giggle when they realize what Wilson needs. Rusiana rushes over to one of the cellar shelves and retrieves a wide-mouth, half-liter glass jar. Handing the jar to Wilson, she walks over to sit beside Yaryna. They both turn their heads away as Wilson fishes his manhood out of his boxer shorts. Doing his best, he gets the flaccid length into the mouth of the jar and lets loose. Groaning with relief, Wilson drains his overfull bladder into the jar. The dark amber-colored urine smells terrible. He's dehydrated and hasn't eaten anything for hours. But first things first, he needs to get his leg wound treated as quickly as possible. Eating and drinking can wait.
Finishing up with a gentle shake of the devil, he tips the jar upward, trying not to spill any of the smelly contents. Wilson quickly tucks his flimsy shaft back into his underwear, just as Rusiana moves to kneel by his side.
She frowns at him and wrinkles her nose at the smell. “You smell bad.” she says simply.
Wilson chuckles. “Yes, Wilson smell bad. Sorry... “
Holding the warm jar of odorous urine at arms length, Rusiana walks over to a floor drain near the north wall of the cellar. There, sticking out of the wall, is a broken pipe with a clear stream of water flowing out of it. It must be connected to a small natural spring somewhere outside the old farm house. She dumps the urine down the floor drain and then rinses it out in the clear water. Finished, she brings it back and sets it beside Wilson. She also brings over a plastic liter bottle filled with water. She removes the cap and hands it to Wilson.
To Wilson's parched lips and throat, it tastes absolutely wonderful. He quickly guzzles about half the bottle before coming up for air. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand and gives the bottle of water back to Rusiana.
“Thank you, Rusiana.” he says with a smile.
She blushes and drops her eyes. Then, looking up to make eye contact, she smiles at Wilson before walking over to sit by her sister. Wilson looks from one twin to the other as he takes his weight off Yaryna using his right arm. Now comes the hard part. He needs one of them to get the metal fragment out of his leg with a set of hemostat forceps, a scalpel, and, to close the wound, a sterile staple gun.
Wilson points to his shoes and pants and says, “Take off, please.”
Rusiana, the doer... moves down to his feet and takes off his combat boots. Then pulling on each pant leg gets him out of his pants. By the time she finishes, his leg is throbbing painfully. He moves off Yaryna's lap and rolls onto his side so the girls can see his leg wound. He looks back, and it's started to bleed again, which is good. That means the wound is still open enough to get the fragment out without widening the entry wound. He points to the hole in his leg, then picks up the medical kit and gathers the things they'll need. Wilson decides to leave the scalpel in the kit. He takes out the forceps, the stapler, some alcohol swabs, and a sterile pack of 4 x 4 gauze.
Both girls are looking at everything with a glazed look in their eyes. He points to the wound and says, “Bullet in hole.” He then picks up the forceps and, laying a small piece of glass on his palm, closes his hand. Keeping his hand closed, he shows them how to put the point inside the wound and feel for the bullet. Using the forceps, he picks up the piece of glass and pulls it out. He finishes by showing them how to squeeze the wound shut and staple the skin together.
After his demonstration, Rusiana looks like she's going to be sick, but Yaryna has a resolute frown on her face. Wilson smiles at Yaryna and rolls onto his stomach so she can have access to the wound. The last thing he does is give Rusiana his flashlight. And turning it 'on', he points the bright beam of light at his leg.
Yaryna gathers up the forceps, the gauze, and the stapler and puts them on his back. Using her fingers, she picks up the forceps. She gives Wilson a fierce look of determination and leans down to inspect the wound. He points to the gauze and pretends to wipe away the blood, obscuring the wound. She smiles weakly and picks up one of the sterile white gauze. She wipes the blood away and looks at the jagged tear in Wilson's flesh. Bold as brass, she opens an alcohol swab and wipes the wound area as gently as possible. Picking up the forceps, she pushes the point into the open wound.
Groaning painfully, Wilson almost passes out. Somehow, he recovers enough to raise his head and smile back at the terrified little girl. “Wilson, okay.” he says through his clinched teeth.
Yaryna pushes the forceps in about 3.5 centimeters when she touches the back end of the fragment. Wilson groans again, then mumbles. “Yes, Yaryna, bullet there.”
He watches as best he can while she opens the forceps, spreading the damaged flesh, and pushes deeper into his leg. He almost blacks out again when she closes the jaws of the forceps around the metal fragment. Pulling straight outward, Yaryna pulls the fragment out of his leg. The bleeding has increased, but it's not critical. She wipes the blood off and then applies pressure for a few minutes. Then, after a quick wipe, she pinches the flesh together between her thumb and index finger. Three staples later, the wound is sealed. Getting into the flow of things, Yaryna wipes the area around the wound with another alcohol swab. She finds the antibiotic cream and another big bandage. A few minutes later, they are working his pants back on. His shirt soon follows, and finally, Wilson's head finds itself resting comfortably in Yaryna's lap again. Rusiana is sitting beside her sister with a glum look on her face. Speaking softly, she asks her sister something in a whisper. A few seconds later, Wilson has a new lap to rest his head on. Closing his eyes, Wilson is soon fast asleep.
A few hours, days, or weeks later, he awakens to the sound of the twins talking to each other. There is not much light, only a faint glow from a single candle tucked in the corner. They have erected some type of temporary shelter or tent inside the cellar. There are stones anchoring the edges down so that no light can escape and give away their position.
His head is still in Rusiana's lap. Trying not to startle her, he raises his hand up to gently stroke her cheek with the back of his hand. She blushes again and leans into his touch. Lifting his head slightly, he sees Yaryna resting nearby on an old, homemade quilt.
Whispering softly, “How long Wilson sleep?”
Rusiana holds up four fingers and says, “Four hours. Dark now.” She leans down to kiss his forehead. “Is Wilson okay?” she asks. She pauses for a few seconds, and a tear slips from her eye to streak a clean spot on her cheek. “Rusiana not help Wilson. Not brave like Yaryna.” she sniffles.
Wilson chuckles and reaches up to wipe her tears away. “Rusiana brave too. Protect Yaryna from bad Wilson. Hurt Wilson to protect Yaryna.”
Rusiana's smile returns with a brilliant suddenness. “Wilson, not bad. Wilson, good man.”
Before she can say more, Wilson needs some more information, if possible. “Rusiana, you hear war noise. When Wilson asleep?”
She thinks for a few seconds. “Yes, far away.” then points to the south and southeast. War noise last six or seven hours. Then stop.”
Wilson smiles at the good news. That means his guys got through with the intelligence and they called in an air strike. The Ukrainian battle line will have to move forward another forty or fifty kilometers at least. The encampment that Wilson came from won't have moved yet. They have maybe two more days before it will jump over them and be somewhere to the east. He needs to get the girls and his butt back there before it moves, and he has to explain where the hell he's been for the last few days. But for now, he needs to rest and make sure the girls are safely away from here.
He has forgotten Rusiana in all his mental musing. “Sorry Rusiana. Wilson thinking.” He stops to look at Yaryna. “We sleep now? Yes...” he asks.
Rusiana points at her mouth and say, “Eat first.” She then points at Yaryna. Smiling at him, she asks pleasantly, “Wake Yaryna. Time eat. Sleep after. Okay?”
She starts to scoot from beneath his head, but pauses a moment to let Wilson lift it on his own. Thankfully, the dizziness does not return. He sits up, and the wound in his leg gives him a painful reminder to move slowly. Feeling reasonably okay, he reaches out for the liter bottle of water and the medical kit again. He soon locates day 1 of his three-day antibiotic treatment for the prevention of wound infections. Popping all three capsules into his mouth, he chases them down with another massive drink of water. The liter bottle is empty.
Moving slowly, he moves over on all fours to give Yaryna a gentle shake. Her eyes spring open when she sees the face of Wilson just above her. Smiling up at the big man, she reaches up to cup his face. “Wilson better. Yes?”
He returns her bright smile and answers, “Yes, Wilson better.” He looks back to where Rusiana has disappeared and says, “Rusiana, said eat now. Sleep soon.”
Yaryna glances towards the opening into the tent enclosure. They can hear Rusiana humming softly just beyond. Wilson gives Yaryna a thoughtful gaze. “What Rusiana do?”
Yaryna giggles softly and throws back the dirty quilt covering her. She sits up bringing her face very close to his. She leans in to kiss his cheek. “Rusiana cut vegetables for supper.”
Wilson, getting uncomfortable being this close to Yaryna, eases his sore leg around to sit up again on her quilt. She doesn't seem to notice his reluctance to be near her. Being careful not to touch his sore leg, she crawls into his lap and leans her head into the crook of his shoulder. Almost without thinking, Wilson wraps his arm around her shoulder and holds her close.
Yaryna's contented sigh is like nothing he's ever heard before. He's always been a loner. Yes, girls have shown interest in him, but he always considered them an avoidable complication. Like any other red-blooded American man, he loves to mess around and have the occasional lengthy fling. But anything permanent has never been one of his goals. Especially these last few years with the deaths of his parents. When you are getting shot at, you don't have much time for dating. Or anything else except ducking for cover and trying to make it through another day. Then it hits him right between the eyes. Like a kill shot, he looks down at the child he's cuddling to his chest and suddenly realizes that the twins represent a totally unavoidable complication. His musing stops with an abrupt jolt back to his new reality.
Yaryna's hand is now resting on a new and quickly growing problem. But before Wilson can do anything, Rusiana comes through the tent flaps and stops dead still. Looking at where Yaryna's hand is resting, she sets the cutting board with the fresh vegetables on a nearby box and starts off on a Ukrainian tirade. She is reading her sister the unabridged copy of the Riot Act.
Yaryna lifts her chin and, with an impish grin, says a few words slow enough for him to understand, “Rusiana... Wilson, big man.”
Rusiana stops for a few moments and looks from her sister to Wilson, then asks. “Big?”
Yaryna, enjoying Wilson's continued discomfort, pulls back on the material covering his hard-on. The massive bulge sticks out like a sore thumb, or rather. a severely swollen cock. Rusiana's eyes pop appreciatively before she lifts them to find her sister smiling at this unexpected discovery.
Rusiana gives her a brief smile, but rips into her again. Finally, with a heavy sigh, Yaryna removes her hand from Wilson's crotch. Crossing her arms in defiance, she remains seated in his lap.
Rusiana gives Wilson an apologetic smile, “Sorry, Wilson. Yaryna likes you.”
Wilson, who's coming up for air mentally, says. “Okay, Wilson like Yaryna and Rusiana too. But no touch.”
Yaryna frowns up at Wilson, then begins to argue with her sister again. They go at each other for another few minutes before Wilson's had enough... “Stop!” he shouts.
They both freeze in place. Frowning at both of them, he fumes for a few seconds, “No fight... Sisters.” he pauses to choose his words carefully. He doesn't want to scold them further. But they need to be quiet. They are still not safe here, and fighting between themselves is counterproductive. So Wilson chooses to ignore what just happened. Instead, he goes back to the basics: get something to eat, get some sleep, and tomorrow morning, get the hell out of here.
“Wilson hungry. Need sleep.” he pauses for an instant. “Need quiet, enemy close. Time eat, not fight.” he tells them calmly.
Both are nearly in tears because they've upset Wilson. Without a word, Yaryna gets up from Wilson's lap and goes over to hug her sister. Wilson can hear their whispered apologies to each other. Plus, at the very end, head-to-head, he hears a couple of little girl giggles. The only word he can understand is 'big' again. Followed by a few more quiet giggles.
Happy that the issue is behind them, he reaches for his backpack and his stash of snacks. He decides to save his MRE's until tomorrow morning. One of his cousins keeps him well supplied with American snacks. He always gets a 'Care' package at the end of the month. While Yaryna and Rusiana walk up with their part of the meal, Wilson fishes out two packs of peanut-butter cheese crackers, four cheddar cheese sticks, and three single-serving bags of peanut M&M's.
As Wilson turns with his share of the food, the girls have spread an old red and white tablecloth on one of the quilts. They are both sitting cross legged beside the cutting board of fresh vegetables. Rusiana has sliced up some carrots, summer squash, thin-skinned cucumber, turnips and of course, their favorite, diced chunks of bright orange pumpkin.
He keeps one of the packs of peanut-butter cheese crackers and one of the cheese sticks. The rest he gives to the girls. They look at the unanticipated bounty with a hungry glare. Wilson quickly opens the packages for them... except for the M&M's that he saves for dessert.
Once the food has been laid out, he reaches out for a carrot slice and brings it up for a bite. Chewing thoughtfully, he tells them, “Thank you for food. Please eat.”
The twins instantly head for the crackers and cheese sticks. Wilson takes his time eating the raw vegetables and enjoys watching the girls. They jabber away, but he only catches a word or two. Most of what he gets is: good, like, food, thank you, etc. He likes everything but the pumpkin. The ladies see that he's not eating the pumpkin and leave him more of the other veggies. All in all, a very pleasant meal.
Finally done, they stare at the three bags of M&M's. Wilson opens one of the bags and pours out the multicolored, oval-shaped pieces of candy. The girls are mesmerized by the sight before them. He quickly counts a total of twelve delectable-tasting treats. Picking up a small red-colored M&M, he plops it into his mouth. He savors the chocolate and peanut flavors mingling into the wondrous taste that makes this such a popular treat. The others, he divides up into two piles of five each. To make things even, he eats the eleventh one himself. He makes sure that the size and color mix are approximately the same. He also puts the other two packs down on the tablecloth; one beside each of the piles.
Lifting his head, he sits back on the quilt and smiles at the twins. Pointing at their dessert treat, he tells them, “Sweets for pretty girls, Yaryna and Rusiana.”
They both blush a deep shade of red and drop their eyes at his complement. Finally looking up Yaryna nods her head at Rusiana, who says, “Thank you, Wilson. He pretty man too.” She looks at her sister, then addresses the elephant in the tent.
Frowning, her brow wrinkling in thought, she asks. “When Wilson leave?”
Wilson was hoping to talk with them after they ate, but it would appear they want to discuss the future now. Clearing his throat, “Tomorrow, Wilson leave tomorrow.”
The twin's eyes instantly fill with tears, and the waterworks are about to start, but then they both see the bright smile on Wilson's face. He holds out his arms to them and gestures for them to come close. They are up and moving in a flash of willowy little girl arms and legs. Rushing into his arms, he gathers them into his lap, sore leg and all.
Whispering so both can hear him. “Wilson not go alone. Yaryna and Rusiana go too. Go with Wilson.”
Nuzzling his neck, they start to cry out all their loneliness and fears. Holding them tightly, he whispers words of encouragement, “Wilson here. Girls safe with Wilson. Wilson not leave Yaryna and Rusiana.”
After a little while and a bucket of tears, they lift their heads from his shoulders and kiss him on the cheek, then on the lips. Their smiles have returned with a vengeance. Full of questions, they begin to bombard Wilson with a continuous flow of words. He just smiles and holds them tightly. Finally, they remember that he can't understand much Ukrainian, so they slow to a stop. They give him a few more kisses and thank him over and over again.
Wilson lets go of them, and they sit back on his legs. His left thigh is twinging painfully, but it's not too bad. “Finish treat. Tomorrow long day.”
Each of them gives him a final peck on the lips and leave his lap to return to their M&M's. To say the candy was a hit would be an understatement. From the very first chocolate-covered peanut to the last, the twins enjoy their dessert with a plethora of ooh's and aah's.
While the girls enjoy the last of their M&M's, Wilson crawls to the opening in the tent and stands painfully. Needing to take a good piss, he limps over to the floor drain and relieves himself. Tucking himself back in his boxer shorts, he finds the small brass tang and zips his fly. He limps over to the pipe and the clear spring water. Bending down slightly, Wilson takes another long drink of the ice-cold water. Feeling better by the moment, he turns around to see twins watching his every movement. They both give him an impish grin and duck back inside the tent, giggling happily. He's not quite sure what to make of their flirtatiousness. They seem more mature than he would have thought for such young girls. Shit, he doesn't even know how old they are, or their last name, or why they are here alone. Damn! What has he signed up for with these two?
Wilson walks slowly to the closed flaps on the tent and peers inside. The girls have cleaned up from supper and placed his backpack and rifle in the far corner. They seem to be waiting for him to come inside. But before he does, the soldier in him stands up straight and takes another look around the cellar. He notes all the possible cover locations and the only point of egress.
Stepping inside, he stoops over and moves slowly towards the corner. He needs to quickly sort his gear and settle in for the night. Wilson puts his combat boots back on and tells the girls to go to sleep with their shoes on. He doesn't expect trouble, but you never know. They are crouched over by the rear wall, watching him get things ready for tomorrow. First is the rifle. Everything appears to be okay. Checking the clip, it only takes a second to chamber a round and put the safety on. His pistol next, and finally he packs up the pack except for the MRE's they'll have for breakfast and a ball cap. His helmet and com unit are missing in action.
When Wilson's preparation is finished, he props the backpack up in the corner. Leaning his rifle against the back wall, he puts his backup pistol back in his leg holster. Covering the gun with his pants leg, it's time for him to pay some attention to the twins. They are both looking a little glum and aren't sure what he's doing exactly.
“Sorry, Wilson ready now.” He points to the area right in front of his backpack and says, “We sleep here, okay?”
They spring into action and gather the quilts. Together, the three of them spread out one of the quilts in front of Wilson's pack. Wilson sits down first and leans back against the pack. The girls settle in by his sides, and with their help, they cuddle beneath two more of the dirty quilts. He leans down to kiss the top of one head and then the other. But the girls want a little more attention. Reaching up, they take turns bringing his lips down to theirs. He tries his best to resist their feminine charms, but those bright blue eyes and infectious smiles are simply too much for Wilson. Helpless, he's unable to control the devil between his legs. His cock, with a mind of its own, swells to an uncomfortable hardness. The girls, however, are not about to cross Wilson a second time. A few more cuddles and kisses bring an end to a busy day.
Part 3 - The Way Home
Yaryna and Rusiana eventually settle against him. Turning on their sides, they both have an arm and leg draped affectionately across Wilson. Laying there against his backpack, he enjoys this small snippet of peace and quiet. The twins are soon asleep. Listening to the tranquility of their shallow breathing, he joins them in sleep. Exhausted, they sleep soundly until right before dawn, when Wilson wakes up with a start. He's forgotten where he is until Rusiana groans noisily at being disturbed. Smiling to himself, he relaxes and lays his head back against his pack. He really doesn't want to disturb the twins, but they need to get moving.
As gently as possible, he gives them a shake. Both are quite annoyed with him, and they grumble audibly in protest. Still half asleep, they gradually wake up enough to realize it's morning. Rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, they both give Wilson a bright smile and a bone-crushing hug. He returns their hug with a growl of pure contentment. Giggling, they crawl on top of him, demanding a few good morning kisses. He finally surrenders to their early morning precociousness and gets in a few nibbling kisses of his own. Laughing and giggling softly, the twins are definitely enjoying themselves... as is Wilson. But today's long walk needs to start soon. Much to the girls' chagrin, he calls a halt for breakfast.
Wilson quick heats the MRE's and gives the two spaghetti in red meat sauce to the twins. He takes the chicken marsala for himself. For MREs they are not bad. The twins down theirs in a matter of seconds and decide they need a taste of his as well. Wilson, smiling at the girls, is amazed at how full of life they are. They are so curious and active that they are almost in constant motion.
Finished, he looks around and asks them, “We leave soon. Get ready.”
Their smiles turn to a set of deep, furrowed frowns. “Yes, Wilson.” Then, without another word, they start to fold and roll up the quilts. Using some thin rope, they tie them at either end. Easy to carry, they can be slipped over a shoulder or slung across the back. Rusiana picks up a small canvas tote and goes outside the tent to a small alcove in the other corner of the cellar. Following her out, Wilson walks behind her into the alcove, or in this case, a root cellar. There are multiple bins with a few vegetables still inside. She gathers up the remainder of the carrots, the last two summer squashes, and three wrinkled cucumbers. Near the back is a stack of six or seven pumpkins. One of them has been opened, and about half of it is missing. Probably what they had for supper last night. Instead of taking some of the pumpkin, she quickly gathers up the slimy pile of seeds and puts them into a small plastic bag.
She turns to see me watching. She smiles and gives the bag a shake. “Home! Take home with Rusiana and Yaryna.” She pauses and gives him an impish grin. Then she says, “Take new home.”
Seeing his confused look, Rusiana pats the bag and pretends to pull out a single pumpkin seed. Then, using her index finger, she gestures to her palm like she's making a hole. Her imaginary pumpkin seed follows into the hole. Next, she scoops some pretend dirt into the hole. She finishes with a gentle pat on her palm.
Wilson smiles at Rusiana, “Yes, take new home. Wilson, Rusiana, and Yaryna new home.”
Rusiana likes what she hears and rushes into his arms for a quick hug. “Thank you Wilson. Rusiana happy Wilson, come find twins.”
They return to the tent to find Yaryna ready and waiting. She smiles at them both. “Rusiana, get seed?”
Rusiana answers simply, “Yes. Seeds for new home.” then holds up the plastic bag. She puts it in the tote, and they turn expectantly towards Wilson.
Almost in tandem, “Wilson, go new home now?”
Wilson beams a dazzling smile at them both. “Yes! With Yaryna and Rusiana.”
One final rushed hug from the girls, and they head towards the small opening into the cellar. Wilson spends about a minute perusing the limited view from inside the cellar. Like a sniper, he doesn't expose himself until he's ready to crawl through.
He gazes down at the anxious twins and says, “Stay here. I look outside first.”
They both nod their heads and move to stand with their backs against the wall. Wilson leaves his backpack but takes his rifle and field glasses. He hears a sigh of relief from Yaryna when she sees that he's left his backpack.
Crawling through the opening with his rifle in hand, he stays prone on his stomach. Using a soldier's belly crawl, he moves along the side wall until he gets to the shadows along the north-facing wall. Standing quickly, he flicks the safety off his rifle and gives the immediate area a good look. Lifting his field glasses, he stays in the shadows and scans about 270 degrees of flat terrain. Staying in the shadows, he moves to the northwest corner and scans the remainder of the landscape. Seeing nothing, he moves back to the northeast corner and whispers for the girls to join him.
They come out crouching low, carrying their blankets and his bulky backpack. They join him in the shadows, where he shoulders his backpack. He squats down, ignoring the dull ache coming from his thigh.
“Now listen. Stay behind Wilson. Be quiet.” he instructs cautiously.
They nod their heads again. He stands, and gives them one final brief hug, and leads them around the corner and down to the irrigation ditch. It provides them immediate cover and is the first leg of retracing his steps. They start out slow, but his leg is doing better than he thought. Not pushing it too fast, he makes sure the girls are able to keep up.
Then he hears Yaryna's whisper, “Zelena Trava.”
Wilson has maybe heard the word 'Zelena', but not the other. He looks back at the smiling little girl. She has a handful of green grass. To emphasize her lesson, she repeats, “Zelena Trava.”
Shaking his head, he turns back around and continues to survey the landscape around them, along with the ground, looking for booby traps. Walking a few more steps, he hears her quiet grumble, “Wilson, listen.”
Smiling to himself, he takes another few steps and grumbles out a reply, “Zelena Trava.”
So his education starts as they walk along. The twins are discussing what's next settle on, “Zelenyy lyst.” from Rusiana.
Another quick glance shows her holding a small green leaf from the bush we just passed. Wilson decides to play along with the game and repeats. “Zelenyy lyst.”
The tedious walk soon turns into a language lesson for Wilson. They stop for a short rest when the irrigation ditch meets up with the small stream. Wilson points to the line of trees about two klicks away and points towards the west. The girls are excited and point upstream. Wilson hasn't a clue why but decides to follow the twins.
About 200 meters further upstream is a shallow sandy fording spot. They wade through the cold water and start off down the other side, towards the tree line. Wilson decides to stay with the stream-bed and not cut across the open ground directly. His leg is starting to throb a bit, but it has not slowed them down. They continue downstream until they get to the tree line.
Wilson, grimacing, picks up the pace as he tries to hurry past the sight of the ambush. The joy this place would have given him just a few days ago is gone. The death of so many is no longer something to celebrate. There are spent shell casings everywhere, a shallow blackened hole from the grenade, and plenty of dark red pools of dried blood. The twins immediately notice his unusual haste and slow to a stop.
Rusiana looks around them and asks, “This place Wilson fight Russians?”
Wilson, hanging his head says, “Yes, Rusiana this place Wilson fights. Wilson fights Russians save others. Other Ukrainian soldiers.”
Rusiana, standing tall, surveys Wilson with glowing pride, “Good Wilson kill bad soldiers.”
Wilson, shaking his head, “No, not good kill. Necessary save others. Kill others never good...”
The girls wrap their arms around his waist and give him a tight hug. Taking their hands, he leads them downstream and away from the carnage. A few hundred meters further, he lets them take another brief rest, and off they go.
About mid-afternoon, he notices that he's slowing down and that his leg is hurting. In fact, he is starting to limp. They've covered about 60% of the way back to the compound, but his leg is not going to let them make it today. As he moves more slowly, he starts to look for a good camping spot. He finally sees a small grove of pine trees off to the south side of the tree line. He walks up and sees that the middle of the grove is free of trees. It will give them a place to pitch his small, open-ended pup tent.
He sends the girls off to collect some small branches he can make into tent stakes. While they are bustling about, he leans against a tree and, using the field glasses, takes another good look around. There's nothing out there but a whole lot of feral farmland. Ukraine, known as the 'breadbasket of Europe', is no longer able to feed itself, let alone Europe.
The girls soon return with the small branches. A few minutes later, the tent is up and ready for them to move into. Wilson's rain poncho laid out on the ground, with one of the quilts on top, makes for a nice bed for the night. They all share the raw vegetables for supper. Rusiana adds the cucumber and squash seeds to her plastic bag. Her new garden might only have a few vegetables, but they will be from home.
Once the darkness closes in, they hear a few flutters of wings as the local birds filter in to roost for the night. They lay there and talked a little about tomorrow. Each of them is somewhat frustrated by the language barrier that separates them. Wilson makes sure everyone drinks plenty of water from one of the two liter jugs in his backpack. He also takes his antibiotics. Laying down his leg feels much better. The twins soon cuddle in close to Wilson. Their long day of walking doesn't seem to have affected them at all. In fact, they seem as frisky as ever.
The twins, growing impatient, want to spend some quality time just touching and feeling the large man sandwiched between them. He's tired and would like to go to sleep, but the twins appear to have other plans. He should probably stop this, but he doesn't want to scold them again. There are lots of cultural differences between America and Ukraine. And the war has done nothing but exacerbate this difference. With so many children and parents being orphaned or separated, they are trying to handle a real humanitarian mess. Wilson isn't sure what they want, but he knows they need him. They have gone through hell and will probably need all the affection he can give. Even to the point of being inappropriate with these two young ladies.
He lays there, wondering what they will do next. It doesn't take the twins long to figure out that he's being cooperative and allowing them some unexpected freedom to work their wiles on him. First, they crawl up on his chest to let Wilson wrap them in his arms. Holding them tight, they shower his face with a deluge of little girl kisses. Lots of bright smiles and sly giggles go with them. He snarls and tries to bite them. But they simply giggle and easily avoid his pathetic attempts.
After a few minutes, Rusiana stops and lays her head on his chest. Yaryna is only a few seconds behind doing the same.
Rusiana raises her head to look into Wilson's chocolate-colored eyes. Dark blue and brown, locked together. So much remains unspoken, but she's determined to discuss something very important.
Starting out simple, she asks, “Wilson, like Yaryna and Rusiana?”
Wilson nods his head and says, “Yes, like beautiful twin girls.”
Smiling, they both let out a soft sigh, “Good.” says Rusiana. “Girls want stay, Wilson. Take care, Wilson. Like bull need cows. Wilson needs Yaryna and Rusiana. Twins care for Wilson's needs.”
Wilson stiffens beneath the twins, but Yaryna speaks up. “Wilson not afraid. Yaryna and Rusiana care father. Girls care for Wilson. Do good job.”
Then Wilson remembers all the quiet talk about 'big' and tries to talk them out of this. “Wilson, 'big' man, remember. Hurt girls. Bull hurt little cows.” he pleads.
They both smile. At least he understands what they want. Rusiana speaks up, “Pain yes, but not hurt. Take Wilson in, butt. Not here. Not now. Rusiana and Yaryna not get naked, too cold.” she explains emphatically.
Yaryna giggles at Wilson's deepening frown. He's about to protest further when she asks simply, “Please, let girls feel and taste Wilson.” She smiles and reaches down with her hand to cradle his growing member beneath her hand.
“Please, Rusiana and Yaryna, make Wilson feel good.” She asks, starting to move her hand up and down the outside of his pants.
Wilson's first reaction is hell no, but if he refuses, they won't be happy. They already know about all the sex stuff anyway, so it's not like he's forcing them into anything they don't want to do. He needs to tread lightly here and not hurt them mentally or physically. If the twins have been servicing their dad, then there has to be some different cultural morals that he's not aware of. It is best to let them be for now until he knows more.
Both girls, watching his mental musing, finally smile when he lifts his eyes to meet theirs. “Okay, but quietly.”
Wilson positions his backpack behind his shoulders and clasps his hands behind his head. The twins are overjoyed with the possibility of pleasing this new man in their lives. Like a couple of kids on Christmas morning, they are both trying to unbutton his pants at the same time. Chuckling at their lack of success, they give him a quick, dirty look and return to their problem. Finally, Rusiana gets the button unfastened, and Yaryna unzips his fly. Then the fun starts.
He shifts all his weight so his butt rests heavily on the inside of his pants. Their grunts and groans are such sweet music to his ears. Until Rusiana comes up and twists his ear.
“Wilson not help. Move butt.” she warns and twists his ear again. Another quiet chuckle escapes his lips as he lifts his buttocks slightly. Like magic, they pull his pants down to his knees.
He set his butt back down against the quilt when Rusiana growled out, “No! Wilson bad. Move butt.” she commands.
Almost laughing out loud, he lifts his ass again. Seconds later, his boxers join his pants down near his knees. The silence following is almost deafening. Each twin is frozen in place at the sight of Wilson's slowly growing cock. Neither has made a move to reach out and touch the eight inches of fleshy menace. Finally, it lays on his lower abdomen and twitches expectantly. Hopping like some legless frog, it flops from side to side.
Yaryna recovers first and gazes up at him. The longing behind those dark blue eyes is filled with desire. “Wilson, 'big' man.” she says, holding up her hands to give him an appropriately awed measurement.
But it's Rusiana that reaches out to poke the hardened length. Feeling the hardness, she wraps her hand around the shaft, but her fingers aren't long enough to make it around completely. Lifting it upward, she looks at the circumcised head. Pulling back on the silky smooth skin, it doesn't move or uncover like the one their dad probably had. She moves a little closer and gives the shaft an experimental stroke. The loose skin covers the head for an instant before her hand pulls the skin back down the hardened shaft.
She smiles at Yaryna, who moves over to lend a hand. Yaryna's small hand joins her sister's, and they both giggle happily as they start to jack Wilson off. A few good strokes, and the first glistening droplet of pre-cum seeps from the small slit in the purplish-colored head. Rusiana spots it and leans down to give it a closer inspection. Her head only inches away, she closes in and gives the clear glob an appraising lick. Tasting the gooey goodness, she returns to lap up the slowly growing blob. Smacking her lips, she says something to Yaryna. Something about 'being sweet'.
The twins are busy pumping Wilson's cock. Moving the loose skin up and down the shaft, another clear gob slowly emerges, to be lapped up by Yaryna this time. Still jabbering between themselves, Wilson's low groan of pleasure brings them back to reality. Clearly enjoying himself, the girls start to pick up the speed of their double-fisted, hand job.
Yaryna, clearly the bolder of the two, leans in to give the gigantic head a tender kiss of welcome. A few seconds later, she opens her mouth and crams the large, spongy head into her mouth. Gagging with her mouth full of cock, she ignores the discomfort and starts to suck on the large glans. Still helping her sister jack him off, Wilson feels the unmistakable growing need to release himself. Another few moans of heated pleasure let both girls know he's nearing a very satisfying orgasmic conclusion.
Rusiana, tapping her sister on the shoulder, wants a turn at sucking his dick. Yaryna grumbles loudly as she lifts her mouth off Wilson's glans to make room for her sister to take over. The twins have definitely sucked a cock before. Rusiana resumes perfectly for her sister. Soon he feels another tiny hand wrap itself around his ball sack and squeeze the large oval-shaped glands. Milking them, Rusiana groans with anticipation as Wilson starts to lift his hips and drive himself deeper into her mouth.
The opening to her throat is way too narrow to allow the head to penetrate further inside. But that doesn't stop Wilson from battering the opening. Bit by bit, his constant pounding is slowly opening her throat. Nearing his climax, he feels the head slip into her throat. Pulling out of her, he pushes back inside. Slowly, he begins to face-fuck the young girl. Pulling out and pushing back inside. He finally gets about three inches deep. Her throat bulge is more than he can take, and with a heated guttural groan, begins to unload his saturated balls down her throat. Squealing in protest, Yaryna opens her mouth to get some of the treasured cum.
Wilson, pulling out of Rusiana's mouth, guides his cock inside Yaryna's mouth just as another massive eruption floods her mouth with his slimy tonsil cream. Pushing into her, he continues to ejaculate another three forceful loads into her mouth and down her throat. Finally spent, he relaxes and gives the twins a much-deserved smile of appreciation. Lying back, he watches the twins lick him clean.
After they've finished, he tells them, “Twins make Wilson feel good. He happy Rusiana and Yaryna here.” Strangely, he's not even upset with himself. He's just face-fucked two little girls and doesn't feel a smidge of regret.
Giving his limp dick a parting glance, they grab his underwear. Rusiana gives him a knowing frown and says, “Move butt.” Smiling at him, the two of them work his underwear and pants back up around his waist. They sit back on their haunches and watch him deftly zip and fasten his pants. A moment later, he quickly buckles his old-style army web belt.
Wilson suddenly has the intense need for a few more hugs and kisses. The ache in his chest is from a long, unused organ. It takes a tentative beat, then another. Getting stronger, the stone covering his heart cracks, and begins to fall away. His eyes are opening for the first time, and just like that, he sees them. His soldier's indifference slips away. Instead of two dirty little girls from a no-name farm in a no-name province in eastern Ukraine, Wilson discerns the depth of their beauty their bright and shining faces. Even beneath all the dirt, the tangled blonde hair and the decrepit threadbare clothing. He finally understands the unconditional gifts that have been offered to him. It's a simple gift one human can give another. One that is often missed or ignored like he has; they have again offered their unconditional love to him.
All he has to do is reciprocate. To offer them the one thing they need most of all. He has committed himself to them. Now he will give them the last hidden piece of his soul the part he has hidden away from the world and from those around him. He knows its time and these two are the ones; all he has to do is ask, and they'll come willingly. He wants so badly to touch the twins. To feel the warmth of their skin beneath his hands. To feast on their freely given innocence. Wilson is only beginning to understand the gifts they are offering him.
In the deepening shadows of night, he reaches out to them and says, “Wilson needs Rusiana and Yaryna.” His Ukrainian fails him as he searches for the right words, “Wilson's heart needs twins.” With coos of delight, they come willingly. Gathering them into his arms, they drape their small, lean bodies on top of his chest. Like a man dying of thirst, he wants to drink long and deep from these two capricious young ladies. Squeezing the girls and growling, he gives them a bear hug. Laughing quietly, they growl back and hug him around the neck. Then the kissing starts. Not like before, with Wilson tolerating their little kiddie kisses. He finds their lips willing and waiting. Giggling, they are all soon enjoying a heated game of touchy-feelies. Wilson can only get his hand down the back of their heavy tweed pants. There, hiding beneath all that dirty clothing, is a pair of ultra-fine preteen asses. Groping the buttocks of each girl brings a throaty groan of intensifying desire from them both.
Wilson, groaning with frustration, reluctantly lets go of the warm, lean flesh of their shapely butts. “Wilson sorry. Need, stop and sleep. Long walk tomorrow.”
The girl's groan too, but both come to rest on his chest. Breaking the silence, Rusiana quietly whispers. “Yaryna and Rusiana want Wilson. Chest hurts, empty without Wilson. How Wilson feel?”
Wilson's answer is another crushing bear hug, “Wilson's chest empty, dead long time. No feel. Wilson find Yaryna and Rusiana. They change Wilson. Make Wilson feel again. Wilson wants Yaryna and Rusiana. Chest hurts, empty without them. Wilson, keep twins.”
In the darkness of the moonless evening, Wilson can almost hear their bright smiles, “Good, twins want keep Wilson too.”
They take turns going out for a nature break. Wilson goes last, taking his night-vision gear and rifle with him. There is nothing within the 200-meter range of his IR gear. He looks back at the tent, and the girls getting things ready for the night. They've spread out the quilts and are sitting and talking quietly. He does a final sweep, and goes over by a large oak tree to take a leak. Finished, he moves back towards the tent and the twins.
With his night-vision gear, he sees them listening to him come closer. He stops and waits for Rusiana to call him out. It only takes a few seconds. “Not funny, Wilson. You big butthead.” she says, walking towards him in the dark.
Laughing at her bold reply, he rushes in to grab her. Wilson throws her over his shoulder; he carries her to the tent before setting her down. She smacks him playfully in the chest and calls him a 'stinky boy'. Rusiana and Wilson join Yaryna in the tent. After Wilson stages his gear, he lays down, using his backpack as a pillow. The girls scoot in close and cover up using two of the quilts. The three of them cuddle and kiss each other goodnight. In the warmth of each other's arms, it doesn't take them long to fall asleep.
Wilson wakes up at the crack of dawn, just like usual. It's cold out, but not too bad for a late fall morning. The first freeze has come and gone. The temperatures over the last few days have been mercifully mild. He lays quietly and listens to the sound of gentle breathing. The twins are still asleep and cuddled against him. One on each side. They have an arm, or a leg, or both draped across his legs or chest. The warmth of their small bodies seems to seep directly into his soul. For once in his adult life, he's at peace. Maybe after today, the three of them will be able to enjoy a little time together without fearing for their lives.
He groans when he tries to move. His leg has stiffened during the night. Ignoring the stab of pain in his thigh, Wilson sits up, taking the covers with him. A double moan of preteen protest is only a moment behind. Smiling at the two beauties beside him, he leans down and kisses Yaryna's lips. Her eyes are open, and the dark blue depths threaten to pull him down.
As their kiss deepens, Rusiana complains, “Yaryna need share Wilson. Rusiana wants kisses too.”
Yaryna reaches down to give his morning woody a gentle squeeze before taking her arm from around his neck. Rusiana is quick to make sure her lips are covered with his. Moaning into his mouth, she taps on the outside of his teeth to let her in. Wilson opens his mouth and lets her in. But only for a second. They have a nice, long walk ahead of them. Leaving the girls frowning at his retreating back, he walks over to his favorite oak tree to relieve himself.
On his way back, he hears the twins behind a group of low bushes taking care of their business. He reaches down to get his backpack, and pulls out the last of his food. His most treasured prize... is a twelve-ounce bag of 'trail mix'. The girls come back and fished out the last of the carrots. Rusiana pulls out her knife from the inside of her ankle-high boot and starts to slice the last of their food. He hears her sniffle as she starts to hand out the carrot slices.
Wilson shifts through the carrot slices and gives Rusiana the two green top slices. Maybe they can get the tops to grow and harvest some seeds. She smiles happily and digs in her backpack for her seed bag. Adding the carrot tops, she rushes to give him a big hug but continues to sniffle. Yaryna quickly joins their family hug.
Holding them tightly, he tells them, “Wilson, bring twins back home soon.” They both cry softly for a few minutes before each dries their eyes, and straightens their shoulders. They all eat a few carrot slices in silence, until Wilson breaks out the bag of 'trail mix'. Then with unrestrained glee, they start to gobble down the mix of nuts, dried raisins, cranberries, and, with relish, the candy-coated chocolate bites.
Grabbing a small handful for himself, he lets them finish off the bag while he packs up the tent. A few minutes later, they are ready to go.
Gathering them close, he gives them a final hug, “Same as yesterday. Quiet, stay behind Wilson.” They nod their heads, and off they go.
A few hundred meters along, the language lessens resumes. Blue sky... white clouds... small hill. On and on, they keep him busy. Then Wilson remembers he doesn't know the twins last name or how old they are. It takes him a few minutes to learn that their last name is Vovk, and they are both almost eleven years old. After about three hours, Wilson walks over a small rise, and there in the distance is the tall hill where his base is located. Stopping for a quick water break, he pulls out his field glasses. He is pleased to see the watch tower still in place. They may have already seen them, but in another few minutes, he will make sure they do.
He sends Rusiana and her knife over to some low willow brush to cut him a two meter length staff. With Yaryna looking on, he digs around in his backpack until he finds his small 12 X 20 inch American flag and his extra boot laces. Laying the flag out on his backpack, he quickly cuts one of the laces in two. When Rusiana walks up with his willow staff, he ties two corners of the flag to one end. Closing up the backpack, he shoves the staff down into the pack. Then he turns to the girls with his field glasses.
He points to the tall hill and tells them, “Wilson's home. Ukrainian soldiers home.” The twins both take turns looking at the hill with the watch tower on top. Rusiana hands the field glasses back to Wilson. Her look of concern is mirrored on Yaryna's pretty face.
Wilson beckons them close and points to the hill. “Wilson and twins home soon. Wilson not leave twins. Not worry. Much talk.”
Their frowns turn to bright smiles when he says, “Everything okay. Wilson loves twins.”
They rush into his arms for a quick hug and kiss. Standing, he takes them by the hand. As one, Wilson and the girls step out of the shadows beneath the tree line and walk out into the fallow field. With his American flag flying proudly, he and the twins head directly towards the tall hill and the watch tower. In plain sight, it won't be long before the watch sentries spot them coming across the field.
Two klicks away, the easternmost spotter keys his communication unit, and the shitstorm commences, “Command, this is Corporal Chaplinski in the watch tower. I have a confirmed sighting to report. Three individual. One Ukrainian soldier and two civilian children probably little girls. Over...”
Command comes back almost instantly, “Corporal Chaplinski, this is Lieutenant Starkovich. Can you identify the Ukrainian soldier? Over...”
“Yes, sir!” he says with a delighted chuckle. “It's acting Sergeant Smith, sir.”
The other end of the line is suddenly filled with a blast of unadulterated joy, “Are you absolutely sure, Corporal?”
Corporal Chaplinski's response is quick and filled with amusement, “I'm absolutely sure, Lieutenant. Sergeant Smith is flying the American flag from a stick in his backpack. He appears to have sustain an injury to his left leg. He's limping badly, but the civilian girls appear to be uninjured. How should we proceed?”
“Hold one. Colonel Shevchenko, your posthumous advancement of Lieutenant Smith may have been a bit premature. The good lieutenant is approaching the eastern watch tower with two civilian children. Apparently little girls.”
There is more riotous laughter and the Colonel's instant command. “Well, just don't stand there, Lieutenant; bring my Humvee here immediately. And send word to headquarters that Lieutenant Smith and two young girls are approaching this encampment. Please advise asap.”
Word of Wilson's survival is running through the encampment like wildfire. Everyone not on duty is running towards the watch tower to see a modern miracle. Gathering along the fence line. Many, with field glasses, search the sea of worthless grass and weeds to see three individuals walking along. One is tall and limping. He's flying an American flag from a pole sticking out of his backpack. The other two are twin blond-haired little girls. They are holding hands with that big lug, Wilson.
A few minutes later, a Humvee pulls up the main perimeter gate. It's being driven by Wilson's friend, Corporal Yuri Boyko. In the front seat is Senior Sergeant Danko, while in the back are Colonel Shevchenko and Lieutenant Starkovich. The sentry in the tower quickly asks permission to de-activate the grid in front of the camp. Receiving permission, he quickly shuts off the grid. An instant later, the gate opens, and the Humvee roars down the hill in the direction of the three weary travelers.
Wilson stops when he sees the gates open and the Humvee start down the hill. The fence around the compound is lined two deep to see Private, acting Sergeant, and recently promoted Lieutenant Wilson Smith back from his recon mission. The twins glance up at him and the growing commotion.
He smiles down at them and says, “Friends, comrades, happy see Wilson. Happy see twins too.” Still holding his hands, they wait side by side as the Humvee gets closer and closer. Skidding to a stop about fifty feet away, the driver door springs open, and Corporal Boyko, one of his men on the recon mission, launches himself out of the vehicle. Moving like the wind, he rushes up and throws his arms around Wilson.
Tears rolling down his cheeks, he grunts out, “Well, meet Lieutenant Smith. There have been some changes since you decided to take an unauthorized absence. They are leaving Wilson...” he croaks out emotionally.
Unsure who is leaving, Wilson asks, “Who's leaving?”
“The Russians. They're in full retreat. Our whole army is escorting them out. And its all because of us. You save the mission. You help save my country. Our country, my friend.” he stammers as the Colonel clears his throat.
Corporal Boyko backs away quickly and salutes the Colonel. “Sorry Sir. I forgot myself. It won't happen again, sir.”
Returning his salute, the Colonel slows, “I've read your account of the mission, Corporal Boyko. You don't owe me an apology now or ever.”
Turning, he glances at Wilson and down at the twins. Wilson, coming to attention, lets go of Rusiana's hand and snaps a crisp salute for the Colonel.
“Sorry sir! I was unavoidably detained. Private Wilson Smith, reporting for duty.” The twins, stepping forward, salute the Colonel too.
The Colonel, smiling from ear to ear, comes to attention and salutes the three of them. Wilson finishes his salute with practiced efficiency and motions toward the twins.
“Colonel, may I introduce you to Miss Rusiana Vovk and her sister Yaryna? These two girls have been instrumental in my survival and return to duty here today.”
The Colonel gazes back down at Rusiana and Yaryna, then says, “Thank you, young ladies, in helping Lieutenant Smith return to duty. I look forward to hearing the whole story. But we need to get you back to the safety of the base. I need to talk to Lieutenant Smith. You three have caused quite the stir this afternoon. Do you have family nearby that we can contact?”
Seconds after his last words, the twins move in and wrap their arms around Wilson's waist. The answer from both of them is simply, “Only Wilson...”
The Colonel, observing their reaction, asks Wilson, “Lieutenant, are you taking responsibility for these two young ladies?”
Coming back to attention, “Yes, Sir! We have talked it over, and they would like to stay with me if that's at all possible.”
Colonel Shevchenko looks from the twins back to the tall American. “If that's what you want, Lieutenant. But I must warn you, this is the only chance you get to give them up. The war has caused numerous changes in the law. This is one of those. Orphan children will automatically go into the government system unless a responsible party intervenes. So what's it to be Wilson?”
Wilson smiles at the use of his first name. “I would like them to stay with me. I will take full responsibility for them now and in the future.”
The Colonel smiles warmly and kneels down to ask the twins, “This big, ugly American man wants to take care of you both. What do you think? Do you want to stay with him?”
Yaryna speaks up, steps forward, and puts both her little hands on her hips. “Wilson is not ugly. He is a good man. We want to stay with him. He is our new family.” she concludes forcefully.
Rusiana walks up with her paring knife at the ready, “You will not take from Wilson us. He's ours. We want to stay with him. He's a good man. Please...” she finishes, while waving the small knife around in tiny menacing circles.
Colonel Shevchenko, smiling at such a tiny but fierce defender, raises his hands in surrender, “Wilson, I am happy to say that you are stuck with these two provincials.”
He comes back to attention and addresses Lieutenant Smith one final time. “Lieutenant Smith, I relieve you of duty, sir.” pausing, he looks at the girls and says, “Your responsibilities to these young ladies will prevent you from remaining on active combat duty.”
Wilson comes to attention as well and salutes the Colonel. “Thank you, sir. I will take good care of them. Oh, sir why do you keep referring to me as lieutenant? I'm a private.”
He smiles at Wilson, “Many things have changed in the last few days, Lieutenant. Including your field promotion. You have also been granted Ukrainian citizenship. You will still remain a citizen of the United States as well. Headquarters thought it would be better if the 'Hero of Eastern Dnipropetrovsk' was a Ukrainian citizen and an officer in the Ukrainian Army.”
Wilson's jaw drops, “The hero of what?” he asks in shock.
The Colonel, enjoying himself, looks at this reluctant hero and tells him, “Sorry, Lieutenant, the media has dubbed our victory in Eastern Dnipropetrovsk, as the battle that saved Ukraine. You and your squad are the heroes that provided the intelligence that led to our victory.” He pauses to see Wilson shaking his head.
He chuckles again, “Your leadership and the fact that you single-handedly attacked a far superior force of sixteen heavily armed Russian soldiers. All to give your squad mates a chance to complete their mission has not gone unnoticed. Far from it. Whether you like it or not, you are now a Ukrainian hero.”
Wilson is still in shock stammers. “But sir, I didn't do anything heroic. I was exposed and would have died if I hadn't attacked them before they saw me. I needed to save my men. Yes, and complete my mission, but I did what any soldier would have done to save lives.”
The others, Lieutenant Starkovich and Sergeant Danko, have stepped up beside Corporal Boyko. All of them, including the Colonel, have come to attention after hearing Wilson's account.
Saluting Wilson, the Colonel explains, “A true hero is someone who doesn't plan on being one. They're someone trying to save the lives of others while putting themselves in harms way. Out of your own mouth, Lieutenant Smith. Accept the respect and honor from your fellow soldiers and countrymen. Small acts of courage often have far-reaching effects.” he says, looking down at the confused twins.
“You're correct, little ones. Wilson is a good man. I expect both of you to take good care of him.” he tells them. Smiling, they rush over to give him a quick hug.
The Colonel, smitten by their little girl charms, hugs them back. “Now let's get you three back to base. I'm sure you could use a good shower and something to eat.” The twins taking his hand lead him back to the Humvee. Wilson and the others follow along behind.
Wilson and the twins get the passenger seat, while Yuri gets in on the driver side. The other three fit in the back. The ride to the enclosure is relatively quiet, with the girl's asking him a few whispered questions about the size of his bed and when they can eat.
The ride back up the hill is a bit bumpy, but finally they roll through the gate and stop. Wilson's other friends, Igor and Georgiy, are there in the vanguard of the well-wishers. Yuri stops just inside the perimeter fence to let Wilson and the girls out. As soon as he steps outside the Humvee, everyone quiets down and comes to attention. As one, they salute him. Raising his hand, he returns their salute. Then the fun begins. The cat calls come from every direction. Every possible name: private, acting sergeant, lieutenant, and even a few heroes. They all want to see a real-life hero in person and also meet the rest of his new family. The twins are pensive and not sure how to respond to all the attention, but holding Wilson's hand seems to make everything better. Taking their time, they walk back into the camp. Stopping at the command tent, they wave good-bye to everyone and go inside.
Once inside Lieutenant Starkovich and Sergeant Danko come over immediately. Sergeant Danko goes first, “Where were you hit?”
Wilson quickly states, “Flesh wound to my left shoulder, and a grenade fragment in the back of my left thigh. Yaryna took out the fragment and closed up the wound. I've been taking the antibiotics.”
The lieutenant nods his head, “Okay let's wait a few minutes for the well-wishers to disperse and then it's over to the infirmary for you three.” He stops and looks at the girls, “I know you're probably hungry, but we need to get you checked out by the doctor first.”
They smile and answer quietly, “Okay, as long as Wilson comes too.”
He smiles at them and points across the way, “Okay, let's head over to the infirmary. I want you all checked out asap.” leading the way Lieutenant Starkovich takes them across the camp to the medical tent. The doctor and three nurses are already there and waiting. The doctor and one nurse converge on Wilson, while the other two take the young ladies behind a privacy screen.
A few seconds later, one of the nurses squeals behind the privacy screen, “Careful, she's got a knife.”
Smiling to himself, Wilson, who can only understand 'she has knife' calls out, “Rusiana, bring Wilson knife now!”
Rusiana, frowning mightily, comes storming from behind the screen and hands the knife to Wilson. “Be good. Nurse not hurt. Here help.” Still unhappy, she walks back behind the privacy screen.
The nurse hands Wilson a plastic bag for his dirty clothes and the paring knife. Smiling at him, she goes over to stand by the examination table. Undressing down to his boxer's, he limps over and lays down on the table. The doctor gives his shoulder a cursory look and tells the nurse.
“The shoulder wound is healing nicely. Clean, apply antibiotic cream, and bandage.” Moving down to the leg wound, he tells Wilson to roll onto his stomach. Grumbling beneath his breath, “Dammit, Lieutenant, you need to stay off this leg for the next few days. No unnecessary walking or standing. The wound is healing, but it's swollen and discolored from too much movement. Who took out the fragment?” He laughs good-naturedly, “Knife girl?”
Wilson groans as the doctor continues to prod the area around the wound. “No, the other one. I walked her through the process, and she did just fine.”
The doctor, smiling at the heated discussion coming from behind the privacy screen, glances down at Wilson. “I think you will have your hands full with those two.” He laughs and asks, “Are they violent?”
“Not usually; they have been living on their own for about ten months. They're more protective than violent. But I wouldn't mess with them.” Wilson shakes his head and asks back. “So what's the problem?”
Doctor Moroz laughs quietly, “The nurses are having a hard time getting them to put on an examination gown. They also don't want their hair cut. It's a rats nest and would be easier to clean and care for if we could cut it off about shoulder length.”
Wilson looks at the doctor and asks, “So am I good to go Doc?”
“Yes, remember what I said. Stay off that leg. I will also give you a fourteen-day supply of a lighter antibiotic to take. Check in with a doctor in about a week. Now can you help with the twins, please?”
Wilson gets up and feels a painful twinge in his leg. Ignoring the brief pain, he slowly follows the doctor and the nurse behind the screen. The girls are sitting there in the nude, frowning at the nurses. Ignoring their state of undress, Wilson walks up and asks, “You have clean t-shirts?” They smile and go grab three drab-olive-colored shirts from a nearby shelf. One XL and two smalls. Wilson pulls his over his head and shoves his arms through the sleeves. At the same time, the nurse hands the other two t-shirts to the twins. Still unhappy, they follow Wilson's lead and finally sit quietly on the two exam tables. Wilson walks over to stand in between the tables. Holding their hands, they let the medical team give them a quick physical.
The doctor turns from the girls and dictates to the head nurse, “Both preteen adolescent girls are in good health. Each shows signs of mild malnutrition. Other than their low body weight, they seem perfectly normal. Some rest, a daily multivitamin, and some good food will soon have them growing like a couple of willowy reeds. They are without head lice or fleas, but I would recommend cutting their hair short until a normal cleanliness protocol can be established.” He conveys the same information to Wilson.
Pausing with an afterthought, he looks from Wilson to the twins, “It's my understanding that you have taken responsibility for these two orphan girls. Is that correct?”
“Yes, that's what the three of us have decided.” Wilson replies confidently.
“Good for you, Lieutenant. I know a good solicitor in Kiev that you'll need to contact in the next few days. He will help you navigate the legalities of what you've taken on. There are some little-know Ukrainian laws that will help you provide for the twins. I will text that information to your cell and follow up with an email to your on-file account.”
Once he's turned to leave, the twins give him a brief scowl as he walks away. A few minutes later, with Wilson's encouragement, they let the nurses trim up their hair. When they're finished, the twins go with the nurses for a quick shower, while Wilson goes into the other. The hot water feels like paradise, but he has to hurry before the twins lose it with the nurses again. Waiting outside for them, he quickly gives them a quick hug. Taking a disposable hairbrush from one of the nurses. He sits Yaryna on his knee and gets to work, brushing out the kinks in her hair. Motioning to Rusiana, she trades places with Yaryna, and he combs out her hair as well. The nurses sit nearby and watch this wily veteran soldier patiently comb the hair of the twin girls.
Finished, they walk out into the infirmary to find three piles of clean clothes. Two are for the girls. Somehow they have found two sundresses (one a light green, the other an ivory white), some underwear, ankle socks, and two sets of white deck shoes. One of the other soldiers must have been saving these for his own daughters. The other set is a brand new officer's uniform with a lieutenant's insignia on the collar. They quickly dressed in silence. The camp is unusually quiet as they wait for someone to come fetch them.
Sergeant Danko, along with Corporal's Igor, Georgiy, and Yuri, come to collect them. Forming a diamond-shaped honor guard, they escort the trio towards the crowded mess tent. Walking down the center aisle, they stop in front of the officer's table. Next to the Colonel, are three additional chairs. Leaving Wilson and the twins to seat themselves, they head to their own tables. Wilson sets the girls on either side of him. Sitting down next to the girls, the Colonel stands slowly to address the majority of his command.
In Ukrainian, he starts to speak, while Sergeant Danko translates what's being said. “I thought I would take a moment to celebrate the return of Lieutenant Smith and his two new charges, Yaryna and Rusiana. I have just received word that this will be the last time we see the lieutenant. He has received orders to report to the Central Command in Kiev tonight. A helicopter is already on its way to collect him and his new family. They will be stationed there until he is released from military service.” He pauses to gaze across the sea of sad faces. “I want to thank him and the others who provided the intelligence that led to the decisive battle of Eastern Dnipropetrovsk. It is always a privilege to command men such as Lieutenant Smith. I know many of us will miss his easy-going nature and the skilled soldier. He stood shoulder to shoulder with us and fought against our enemy, not his. He never faltered or failed to carry out his orders.” he stops and reaches down to pick up his cup of water.
“On behalf of the Ukrainian people, I want to thank you for your service. I wish you the best in your future endeavors. And remember, this is your home now. You can always return to us and stay as long as you would like.” He stops and lifts the cup above his head. “To Lieutenant Wilson Smith.”
Everyone inside the tent echoes his words, “To Lieutenant Wilson Smith.” then lifting their cups, everyone drinks a quick toast.
As the Colonel sits back down, the food comes pouring out of the kitchen. Baked chicken, potatoes, and a vegetable medley. For dessert, they have baked some wonderful apple tarts. The meal flies by, with the girls talking quietly as they stuff their faces. One of the head cooks is watching over them, and every time they finish something, he brings them more. Finally full, they lean back in their chairs and watch everyone come up to say good-bye to Wilson. Many of them he knows only in passing, but as they finish their meals, they walk up to wish him and the twins well.
In the end, there are only his best friend, Ivas, and the three amigos from the recon mission. As soldiers, the bond between those who have risked their lives together runs deep. Without a word, they start across camp to Wilson's squad tent. Everyone is gone to give him some privacy while packing his belongings.
On his bed lies a back pack, a willow pole with the stars and strips still attached, a rifle, a set of night-vision goggles, and an armored vest with two grenades and two full clips. On top of his foot locker is an open combination lock. He smiles at the open lock and quickly gets out the last of his 'care package'. He hands the box to the twins. Using hand gestures, he indicates that they're to leave two of the candy and cookie packs on each bed. Using his utility bag, he secures his remaining grenades to be taken back to the armory. Unloading his rifle, he quickly takes out the remaining fourteen rounds from the nearly-spent clip and empties the chamber. Turning to Igor, Georgiy, and Yuri, he hands them four rounds each. The other two he tosses to Ivas.
Wilson smiles at his friends and says, “Thank you for fighting by my side. Without you, our mission would have failed, and there would have been no decisive battle.”
He turns from them and starts to leave a single round on each bed in the tent. Sticking a few rounds in his pocket, he gives the remainder of the ammo and the loaded clips to Ivas, “For the lottery and a few of your friends.”
Back at his foot locker, he finishes packing his personal effects. He lays out his extra uniforms and socks. His t-shirts he saves for the girl's and his boxers for himself. Completely packed, he slips the willow pole through the cot frame near the bottom. Shouldering his backpack, he picks up his rifle and utility bag. A few minutes later, he had turned in everything to the armory. Walking back to the command center, he can hear a helicopter approaching in the distance. He turns to see the sad faces that match his.
They shake hands, and with a few tight hugs, he tells them, “I plan to bring these two back home soon. I will see you when I return.”
As he finishes, the colonel's orderly comes running out to gesture for them to follow. The helicopter or helo in military vernacular, is close now, and the hair on the back of his neck is standing straight up. It is not Ukrainian; it sounds like an American UH-60 Blackhawk. The orderly takes the three of them through the inside of the tent to the landing pad on the other side. The colonel, lieutenant, and sergeant are all there to say a final good-bye. When the helo comes in for a landing, Wilson walks up and hands each of them a single round of rifle ammo. They have just enough time to say a final good-bye.
The colonel looks over his shoulder at the spinning blades on the rotor. Two burly men wearing US forest camouflage jump out and, bending down, walk over to them. One of them salutes the colonel and looks at Wilson.
With a no-nonsense authority, “Lieutenant Smith? I have been instructed to escort you and your family to the Ukrainian General Command Headquarters in Kiev. If you're ready, Sir, we need to move out.”
The orderly comes running out of the tent with two smaller backpacks with the girls possessions, including three freshly laundered quilts and some very precious seeds.
Wilson turns one final time to look at the encampment of his fellow soldiers. The colonel and the two others are at attention and give him a final salute. Returning their salute, he pivots sharply to coax the girls forward. Unhappy, they cling to Wilson as their escort guides them to the door into the helo. Two other burly men are there waiting to help the girls into the aircraft. Hopping in after them, they are directed to the three canvas seats against the front bulkhead. The two men that helped the girls inside have stored their backpacks under their seats and are now helping them fasten their buckles. Wilson does the same with his backpack and buckles up too.
Secured in their seats, the tall leader shouts forward to the pilot. “Alright, Captain, get us airborne.” An instant later, with a whirling roar, the Blackhawk takes to the air. The next few minutes pass quickly. Flying into the gathering darkness, they are soon moving along at nearly 300 kmph. Heading in a northwesterly direction, they will be in Kiev in a little over an hour.
The girls have a death grip on his arms. They don't seem frightened, just curious about the eight other men in the back of the helicopter. Staring at each other, the two groups wonder why the other is here. Wilson glances around the inside of the Blackhawk. Along either side bulkhead, he sees two sets of four weapon lockers with their backpacks and vests hung on the outside.
Smiling at the tall leader type, he asks. “Seal's?”
The leader returns his smile with a tight-lipped grin and says, “Yes.”
“How long?” Wilson's mood darkening.
“A while.” is all the answer he gets.
Wilson leans back, thinking that the six-word conversation is over when, “We don't usually pickup civilians or Ukrainian military. But our orders came right from the top to gather you three up. Are you the one that started this shitstorm a few days ago?”
“Probably... We just came out of the field today. I'm still catching up on recent events.” he tells the tall, lanky man.
“Yeah, showing up alive with these two probably changed a shitload of plans for tomorrow. We were just finishing up when our orders changed. We were the closest military transport available.”
“That doesn't make much sense. Why are we suddenly so important? Care to elaborate?” Wilson asks, hoping for a far less cryptic answer.
His oily smile makes the hair on, Wilson's neck stand up again. “Sorry. It's a surprise, Major.” he laughs and closes his eyes. Wilson looks around at the rest of the smiling faces and knows the conversation is over.
The rest of the flight is quiet except for the noisy aircraft. Rusiana and Yaryna continue to eyeball the others, but finally relax and doze off against Wilson's shoulder.
About an hour and fifteen minutes pass before the helicopter slows down and goes into whisper mode. Minutes later, the faint glow from the cockpit tells Wilson they must be approaching a larger city. Kiev is still much darker than it used to be. Electrical power is still at a premium in this war-torn country.
They come in low and quietly to land in a fenced-off park near downtown Kiev. As soon as they touch down, the doors fly open, and the same two are helping the twins out of their harnesses. Grabbing their backpacks, they head for the door. The girls swat the meaty paws away that are trying to help them and jump down. Taking his hands, the three of them start toward the waiting group. From behind, he hears, “Nice to meet you, Major Smith. Enjoy the festivities.”
The door of the helo closes quickly. As soon as Wilson and the twins clear the blades, it lifts off quietly and is soon nothing but a brief memory.
Authors Note: As usual with most of my contest entries, I have more story to tell than words available. The second part of this story will be posted after the contest is over. I hope you like it so far. Please read Part II when it becomes available and see what the future holds for Wilson and the Pumpkin Twins.