Two Sides of the Same Coin

Prone, breathing silently into my gloved hand. Patient. Sweat trickling down my brow and narrowly missing my wide eyes; focused on the backs of khaki wearing soldiers. Though we wore the same colour, same fabric, similar design, my face was a dead giveaway. I had even practiced vocal patterns and accents throughout my time in and out of the army. My face was the only thing impeding me. I wondered if that would even matter at this time of day; darkness shrouding the land in a blanket of night sky. Lovely.

As much as my brow was leaking, my hands were refusing to shake once they were gripping the handle of the knife I had strapped to my chest. Smooth were my movements, my eyes honing in on the face of Private Yanto. My once clean-shaven face had sprouted a forest of short, sharp hairs poking from my chin and below my lip that felt like Velcro when I scratched it. It had been three months since being positioned in Chemulpo. Reconnaissance, they said. But it was July then, now its mid-October and there was still no word from the higher-ups. If it had been a month ago I would’ve simply said ‘Be patient, they haven’t forgotten about you, wait for the queue’. But now I was wide eyed and focused on three Japanese soldiers chatting nearby.

I had been laying in the thicket and overgrown grass for what seemed like ages for countless nights. My group had died off and I was the only one that hadn’t been seen, because I wasn’t stupid. Nonetheless, I was lurking like a serpent in the reeds when my spine started tingling and gave me goosebumps. The two others had left the Private alone. Lovely. The sweat returned to my brow.

Did they leave him as bait? Were they aware of me? Had peace been made?

My mind clouded but my body didn’t need my mind on its side; I stood up from the grass; my black underclothes kept me hidden in the darkness.

My fingers tingled as I grabbed him from behind; covering his mouth with my left; pressing the blade against his weak Adam’s apple with the right. Speaking directly into his ear, my Japanese lessons really paying off.

“Don’t drop the lantern. Crouch with me very, very slowly and place it on the ground.”

He was smart, he did so without hesitation. Still no replies. He’s doing better than most.

“You’re going to come with me now; through the opening right there.”

I flicked my knife in the direction of a path, returning it to his throat without letting another second pass.

Once again; he did so without needing to be told a second time. Lovely.

He still wasn’t saying anything, even by the time I blindfolded him and brought him to my tent tucked under a bank. The silence had a queasy miasma, the sweat once again return to my brow.

“Lay down on your stomach, nice and slowly.” I kept the blade close to him, watching every minute movement. His face was calm and his breathing was slow; almost relaxed.

I had heard about it before, but witnessing it happen this drawn out was something to behold. The code of Bushido made the Japanese fearless in the face of death; he hadn’t been afraid of me since the moment I put that blade against his throat.

I was quick with the ropes then; bending his knees behind his back and pulling his arms till his hands were touching his boots. Of course I couldn’t forget the equally important sock-in-the-mouth. Hogtied, immobile and muted. Lovely. Tucking my knife back into the sheath on my right side against my ribs, smiling triumphantly.

I carried him over to my campsite, sudden thrashing ensued; making me drop him harshly. I reached for the knife but paused, instead kicking him in the temple and crouching to his level to whisper-yell.

"Ebet! What’s your problem? Do you want to die? I heard you Japs aren’t afraid of that, so don’t give me that shit!” I grabbed him by the hair and spoke into his face.

“Spit it out, cyka!” Another strike, this time to his ribs.

His face was in the dirt, gagging a cough back sometimes. I yanked the sock from his mouth; brandishing my over-sized blade as an unspoken threat of silence.

But he didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look at me; tucking his face in the dirt instead.

“Fine.” Sighing and carrying him into the tent; this time he was silent, motionless.

I zipped the door shut and turned him away from me as I undressed; the sweat of the countless days had been washed in the nearby river and I had just came back from cleaning these, the smell was only slightly bitter.

“Go to sleep, we have an early morning.” I punched him in the leg and turned on my side; I had stared at him possibly all night, perhaps I was afraid, perhaps I was making sure he was still breathing by daybreak. My stomach was tingling excitedly, like I was coveting the most valuable POW ever known to man. Maybe I was.

Yanto. I didn’t know his first name, but I suppose that didn’t matter. I got him.

My stomach growled in the first light of the day, pushing me to my rations I had been forced to eat cold. The mushy paste had been labeled ‘hash browns’ but tasted closer to rain-soaked cardboard.

“Wake up, cyka.” I slapped him into consciousness. Bastard slept like a log.

I got dressed promptly and packed up; leaving anything I didn’t need in an abandoned bear burrow and covered it in branches. I untied him and we were off. Lovely.

Through the bushes for 3 hours, no words spoken between us the whole time.

He stopped in front of me; my rifle poking him in the back.

“Hey, what happened?” I looked around his shoulder at the body of a crumpled Japanese man. Only his uniform could identify him now; his face at been blow clean off; leaving a meaty concave head behind.

“Oh, lovely.” I stepped around Yanto and checked the uniform for damages. None. Lovely indeed.

I was already yanking his clothes off and tucking them into my bag. Without pausing I looked back to Yanto. His eyes were glued to the face- moreso, the lack thereof. He raised his hand into a salute, refusing to avert his eyes as I seemingly disrespected his body.

“Alright, let’s keep moving.” I hurried us along through another 3 hours of silence, a growing guilt bore into my skin like a hungry tick. I let it burrow.

“Okay, well, we’ll be in Seoul in twenty-or-so minutes, so-” I grabbed him by his bound hands behind his back and pushed him to the ground; yanking his legs back into that familiar hogtie.

“Lovely.” I lifted him over my shoulder and headed off, not too long till I reached the entrance and the intimidating walls; not to mention security.

“Hello! Private Sokolov; delivering a spy to Harbin, just here to take the train.” Chinese was taught to me by my incompetent father who told me day in and day out that it would come in handy.

Thanks papa.

But in the end my Chinese wasn’t the best, my Korean even worse, Japanese being my strongest- other than my native Russian. Even though I was half French I never tried to learn it- that was meant for those pompous inbred pricks.

Of course they let me in; even offering to take the prisoner off my hands, though I insisted I had a vendetta against the man and they backed off.

“Any good places to eat?” I spoke with a smile then, nodding a thank you when they would suggest some.

Though I would get stared at- Russian carrying a Japanese- they would keep it to themselves or root me on; hatred against the Japanese had been brewing ever since the murder of Queen Min in Korea’s Gyeongbokgung Palace at the hands of Japanese spies in 1895. Not to mention the fleeing fear that had been struck down on King Gojong two months later when he feared that he would be next, rushing to Russian guards positioned in Seoul. If anything, I was only gaining respect from this.

“Lovely.” I slid into a restaurant and placed Yanto beside me; still face down; arms and legs pulled behind him. I seemed to be carrying him like luggage.

“Jjin-mandu and Bibimbap, thank you.” I said to the small, smiling woman who approached with her hands together, making her nod and head back into the kitchen. I looked down at the still body of Yanto and swallowed hard.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes tiredly, sipping on the water the woman had dropped off soon after I ordered. I pulled out my canteen and filled it; looking back down at Yanto.

He kept his eyes closed most of the time I was sure he was sleeping. I’d even go as far to say he looked at peace.

I leaned over and poked him hard in the ribs, making him open his eyes and look up at me, scowling and silent in the eye contact we held. His lips parted.

“Inbred pig.” Those were the first words he ever spoke to me. Lovely.