Poor young chap. Ian got lost while his unit was pulled out of the area. Fearing for his life, he hid himself well in the mountains. When he saw a small group of europeans in the area, he quickly came out from his cover. Little did the poor guy know it was us Russians.
My men were warm and welcoming and brought the poor lost boy to one of our field offices. We tried to be hospitable and get him to tell us all about his unit, their commands, etc., but the poor boy just wouldn't talk. Looks like we're going to have to do this the hard way.
My men strapped him and hung him in a cage. The fearful chap struggled and fought his bounds, but it was no use. After several hours of my men having "fun" with him. He still could not tell us much of anything. It appears the young man actually didn't have any useful intel.
I felt sorry for the young man as he hang there helpless, pleading to be returned to his unit. The fear and sobbing from such a strong boy almost softened me. But, we couldn't let the westerners know we were in the area.
I pulled out a machete and walked towards the young man hanging in the cage. His eyes widened and he screamed as he saw me approaching. Tears fell from his face as he pleaded and begged for his life.
"NO......no, no, no....NO!!!!" and "PLEASE,, please, please, please." were the only words he could articulate in his panic.
I rammed the tip of the machete into his midsection, just below the sternum. He let out a harrowing screech as the blade penetrated into his guts. His head jolted back and I could see the pounding in the veins on his neck.
He lowered his head as if trying to regain some composure. I shoved the blade in further, penetrating deeper into his bowels. He let out some gaspy cries as the new rush of pain echoed throughout his body.
I ripped the blade out and blood poured from the wound. He hung there, head up, gasping and quaking until he finally sagged in the straps and went limp.
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