Laszlo Pulitz had been forced to volunteer for the local army when he was eighteen years and one month old. The war had been dragging on for two years when Laszlo was taken.
"We recruit all who might handle a gun," the patrol leader had said. "against these Variana pigs, who have murdered, raped, and decimated our southern borders below the mountains." He had gone on to warn the village people, "You, northern people, should flee west in case we are unable to check their advance."
No one in Laszlo's village of Diblana, had fully understood why there was a war. Variana's border with Laszlo's homeland Padilla ran a vague line through the high Dansas mountains separating the two countries. Their relationship had always been peaceful. Laszlo's parents had taken him through the northern pass to village festivals in Variana more than once. It had appeared all so neighbourly, even though the languages differed.
The discovery of oil in the flatlands of Padilla had changed all that. Especially since, coincidentally, the state of Variana had acquired a new leader, whose reputation was dubious, and who had gained power through a military coup. True enough, in no time, he had declared that Variana should have some claim on Padillian oil.
Initial talks between governments, had quickly collapsed, and in August two years earlier a platoon of Variana militia had ravaged a small village near the southern pass between the two countries. Reports were so frightening that the Padilla guard were mobilised and some recruitment took place.
With the Variana assaults at the south pass, and violent incursions starting at the central pass, the stories drifting north were horrific. Listening to adults discussing the situation he had heard his mother nervously saying, "They took over one hundred villagers, nearly all the men, into a field and machine gunned them, and many of the younger women were---" Her eyes had glanced nervously in Laszlo's direction before she added, "—hurt."
So when he was bundled roughly onto that military truck, with two lads, Daliz and Balin, who were also eighteen, Laszlo barely had time to wave farewell to his mother and father, before the bend in the road blotted out his past life.
Laszlo had no wish to be a soldier. He was a gentle soul, often the butt of the other boys, since he claimed to like the natural things of life. So often, his father had taken him high into the mountains, and shown him plants that could be eaten. Sometimes they took some home for his mother to prove how nutritious they were.
On that long truck ride he had time to regret that he had not had the chance to say farewell to his girl friend, Nadia. She was two months older than Laszlo, and they had been getting closer and closer. Laszlo had kissed her fourteen times. He kept a score of things like that, and he would miss those kisses.
For the next ten weeks Laszlo found himself in the squalid, harsh conditions of a so-called training camp. Knowing how to shoot was a first priority, and that had been fine for Laszlo. His father had often had him shooting in the mountains. If they killed an animal, it was only for food, and his father had taught him to maintain that respect for wild life. He still recalled killing his first deer. "A brilliant shot," his father had declared, slapping his shoulder. But seeing the wide, empty eyes of the beautiful animal had made Laszlo weep silently.
So shooting had no problems for him, even the tough sergeant praised his ability. However, the more physical, hand to hand and self defence elements had Laszlo wishing he was dead, a feeling he would have many times in the ensuing months. Frequent failures at overcoming an opponent had the combat sergeant laying his thick cane across Laszlo's back on several occasions.
But, gradually, the severe training strengthened his body, and before the end, he was able to hold his own against bigger opponents. Always fast, he was able to outrun most of the other recruits, both over short distances, and in mile length runs. His main worry was about what lay ahead.
During the last two weeks of training, some of the battle experienced sergeants, who had fought against the Varians, warned them to harden their hearts against the sights they were going to encounter.
In those final days of training, Laszlo began hearing the word 'rape' more and more. Other recruits had heard tales, which, because they were second hand, Laszlo doubted. Tales of women prisoners taken by three men at a time, and then shot. Hard to believe, Laszlo thought. Women had to be respected his mother had always taught him.
At the end of their ten weeks they were warned that the Variana army had become an undisciplined selection of separate rampaging groups, even more deadly than the organised army.
With the other two from his village, Laszlo was allocated to a platoon in the central region. This platoon was settled in a half demolished country house, which maintained sufficient room space, to have a sleeping quarters for about forty men, storage space for weapons and food, and two or three rooms for admin staff. At either end of the crumbling building were, what appeared to have been circular towers that had been severely damaged and were roofless.
On arrival, they were taken to the admin area to meet the Commander, a tall, thin, white haired man, with cold empty eyes, who looked as sinister as his voice as he outlined what was expected of them.
"Above all else you need to be able to fight, to protect our land, and to pay those bastards like for like. You must also be unquestioning in obeying any order. Infringe that and—" He stopped, fumbled at his waist and came up with a large service revolver , which he pointed above their heads, and pulled the trigger.
The bang and the crash of a bullet hitting something behind them had all three recruits cringing. Laszlo was only just able to prevent his bowels from evacuating. The Commander giggled like some little girl, "Yes," he affirmed, "it will be as quick as that."
The cold eyes went along their line, stopping at Laszlo. "Do I make myself clear, boy?"
"Y-Yes," Laszlo stammered.
The Commander leapt to his feet, an angry expression on his face, "Yes, what?"
"Yes, sir."
"Don't you forget it." He glanced down at notes in front of him, before scanning the three of them, "Eighteen year olds rarely last long in this outfit." The grin that came with that was not pleasant. "So there's a challenge for you all to start with."
"Now," the Commander continued, pointing to Daliz, and his grin now was more lascivious, "how many females have you fucked?"
A moment's hesitation and then, "Two."
When he pointed at Balin the answer was, "One."
Laszlo's turn and he could only admit, "None."
The Commander said, "Interesting. If you live long enough, your cocks will grow massive with all the activity they'll get. We're fighting a dirty war and there's no room for mercy." He gave off a mighty guffaw, as he added, "As long as you're not looking for love."
Leaving the Commander, they were taken to the sleeping quarters, a corridor of beds, and Laszlo was given a bed that had, the soldier on his right said, "--belonged to Krovas, poor bastard had his guts blown out yesterday."
A big mountain of a man, shirts sleeves rolled up tight around huge tattooed arm muscles ambled over to Laszlo's bed, and stood leering down at him, "Think you could beat me in a fair fight?"
Laszlo looked up at the square face, and, being honest, said, "I don't think I could beat you in any kind of fight."
