KGB Tales #6 - Comrads (story/pic)

          There is one thing we can never accept on my unit and that is failure.  Dmitri showed great promise when he first joined under my command.  He was young, sharp and very talented in finding things out.  

          He was able to infiltrate U.S. Army Intelligence.  He was very low-level and very low-key, but was ingenious enough to gather some of the most classified information we ever sought.  

          He was also the means of entering incorrect information into their databases.  Unfortunately, he also had to act like he was a "real" American soldier.  He was given information to enter into their database about one of our informants.  He made the mistake of accidentally entering in the real information on one of our informants.

          Luckily, he wasn't our only operative and the informant was whisked away by my unit before being captured.  We then gave him the assignment to try to implicate a defector, but he failed at that too.

          He was not surprised at all when I showed up at his apartment.  He knew he failed me twice and he knew the consequence.  I gave him an opportunity to plead his case, but he knew it was of no use.  He only requested that I use his own sword so that it would look like a suicide.  (Even in death, he was loyal enough to cover his own tracks.)

          I permitted him to write a short suicide note while I got his sword ready.  He stripped off his shirt and hung his dogtags around his neck.  I had him grip the handle of the sword so that only his prints would be found on it.  I then placed my hands upon his and shoved the blade into his upper abs, just below the sternum.

          He leaned forward, gasping in pain.  He lost his grip on the blade and used his hands to hold himself up in a seated position.  His faced reddened as he coughed and gasped.  He held himself up, trying to cause no movement of the sword, as this only added to the pain.  Blood oozed out of the wound in his back and ran down the tip of the blade and over the sheets.

           He slowly sank down onto the couch where he had been sitting.  His hands returned to the handle of the blade, grasping it as his chest and head jerked up a couple of times.  After some minor struggling, he looked at me and said, "for mother Russia."  

          With that, his chest sank down, and his head fell to the side.  His grip on the handle eased and his hands slowly slid down the blade. to his chest.

          He was a true patriot of the motherland.