The Soviet Comeback by Jamie Smith (best ereader for academics TXT) 📕

Denisov said nodding. “I am glad of this.”

“Veselovsky? He shot my father. I want my revenge,” said Nikita before descending into a cacophony of coughs that pulled at the stitches he could now feel in his shoulder. He became aware of bandages wrapped tightly around his head. A nurse came in and gently fed him some water, which soothed his throat, which felt like a mass of brittle sandpaper. She tutted disapprovingly at Denisov, who smiled blandly at her as she left.

“Careful, agent. Your body has endured much,” said Denisov. “To answer your question, Veselovsky eludes us. But not, I think, for long. We shall both have our revenge on the traitor.”

“My father severely wounded him. His face is ravaged.”

“Good,” said Denisov. “Then he will, I think, seek revenge on you also, which is perfect.”

“Sir?”

“Seeking him will put you in great danger.”

“What’s that like?” Nikita said with a smile, before coughs tore at him once more.

Denisov indulged him with a smile. “Then we have much to discuss. I will give you seven days; I cannot afford to provide you with any more, and then I will need you in Moscow.”

“I need only five, sir,” said Nikita defiantly. “I will have my revenge, and only then will I mourn.”

“Then you have become everything we dreamed you would,” Denisov said approvingly. “You have done very well, Nikita,” he added with the closest thing to kindness that Nikita imagined he was capable of.

Thirty minutes later, Denisov left the room and let in Milena. She approached Nikita cautiously. Nikita could see in her serious eyes that she had aged since his arrival home; she had seen too much.

“Milena,” he grunted, his voice beginning to fail him.

“You are OK?” she asked, formally.

“Nothing that a hug will not fix,” he said, smiling.

She did not move.

“Everything was OK until you came home,” she said coldly.

“I know, Milena. I am so sorry.”

“Sorry will not bring back Mama!” she shouted angrily.

“I know,” he croaked.

“I miss Mama!” she shouted again, tears streaming down her face. “I miss Mama and Papa and it’s all your fault.”

Nikita nodded numbly. “I do not deny it, little sister. I tried so hard to protect you all but I failed.”

“Yes, you did fail! I wish you had never come back!”

“Please, Milena,” he pleaded, feeling like an old man in the battered body of a twenty-two-year-old. “I love you.” he said.

“I hate you!” she said, crying full body tears now. “Our mama is dead,” she sobbed. “We will never see her again.”

He pushed himself up, tears streaming from even his broken eye, and the monitor began bleeping faster. The weight of his failure after everything almost pushed him back down. With a lot of grunting, he sat up, and such was the shock of it that Milena stopped crying instantly. Nikita grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She tried to resist but even in his weakened condition he was too strong.

“I am sorry, Milena. We are in it together now, and Papa will need you more than ever.”

“If he even lives!” she cried. “They said he might not,” she said, sobbing, and allowing herself to fall into his arms.

“Then we will need each other very much, Milena. I promise I will not let anything hurt you.” Then, forcing a smile, he added, “And have you ever heard of anything beating Father? He will wrap the sickness up in his big arms and squish it, like this,” he said, squeezing her gently in his arms.

She giggled slightly and squeezed him back. It made his shoulder scream but he didn’t show it. Elysia’s words echoed around his mind. ‘Get out of your head. There are a million things for us to worry about, but for now let’s just enjoy a few moments without worrying about the past or future, just get lost in this moment right now.’ He suddenly was aware of how much he missed her, and wondered if he would ever see her again.

He felt tiredness overcome him. “You will go to sleep now,” Milena ordered him.

Nikita smiled and felt the overwhelming fatigue take hold of him. “You will stay?” he whispered.

“I will be right here,” she replied in a small voice, squeezing his hand, then added “I love you too,” in a barely audible whisper as the darkness took Nikita once more.

It was late at night, five days later, that Nikita stood at his father’s bedside. Two days and his father hadn’t woken from the coma. The doctors said that he might never wake up. Nikita clenched his fist, feeling the stitches in his shoulder pull and relishing the feeling, the pain and sensation. Gabriel Allochka looked so peaceful, his long eyelashes fluttering softly in the air conditioning. It looked like he was merely sleeping and Nikita longed to rouse him, to get back all the years he had missed.

“Veselovsky, I am coming,” he said to himself through gritted teeth, before leaving the room and hobbling through the large complex, built largely under the glacier of the formidable island at the top of the world. The more he walked, the looser his muscles felt, but the bandage around his head remained tightly in place, as did the patch over his right eye. He walked through the building until he reached a room midway down a lengthy corridor. Silently turning the handle, he entered and saw Milena asleep in the dark room that they had made every effort to make feel comfortable for a child of her age. Books and games littered the floor and the walls were painted with clouds and rainbows.

He brushed her braids tenderly back from her face and kissed her brow. She opened her eyes sleepily. “Niki,” she said softly.

“I have to go away for a few days, Milena; I will be back soon,