The usual disclaimers apply: don't read if you are prohibited by location, are under legal age, or if you are likely to be offended by explicit descriptions of gay sex. The story is pure fiction and is not based on any actual events.
Author's note: This story is a sequel to my earlier story "The Corps" and features the same characters, including the same celebrities. Though I have tried to write "Task Force" as a stand-alone story, but you might find it easier going if you have read "The Corps" first. This chapter introduces a major new character to the storyline. The original Corps characters will reappear in chapter 2.
Gymnopedies January 2003 gym@softhome.net
The Corps - Task Force Chapter 1: Tadeusz -------------------------------------------
St. Petersburg, visionary city of Peter the Great, standing proud and regal on the delta of the river Neva, a showcase of magnificent buildings and historic treasures. Yet, like every other city in the world, St. Petersburg has other aspects which are not such a magnet for tourists and sightseers: residential areas, business and industrial sectors. Some of these areas are modern and thriving, some run down and in various stages of neglect and decay.
It was through one of the latter that the youth walked. Medium height, slim, perhaps around fifteen years old. Dark, longish hair hung untidily almost to his shoulders and flopped down over his steel-grey eyes causing him to occasionally flick his head back to clear his vision.
It was still early morning, yet the sky was clear and the sharp glint of sunlight reflecting off the dew which had gathered on tufts of grass thrusting upwards through the cracked roadway held a cheerful promise of the day to come. This cheerfulness was reflected in the boy's face. Even though there was a tightness around his eyes which indicated he had received little sleep that night and his clothing was dirty and had seen better days, there was a self-satisfied lightness in his step as he made his way between the derelict factories and empty warehouses, a large, brown paper covered parcel held tightly under his arm. Deftly he squeezed through a small hole in a chain-linked fence and, with the casual alertness of the young but streetwise, he crossed an open factory compound, headed for a rather battered looking, large red brick building.
Pushing aside a loose piece of wood from a window, he climbed through the gap and let the wood fall back into place hiding his entry and at the same time plunging the large open area in which he found himself into gloomy semi-darkness. The gloom didn't bother the boy, he was obviously in familiar surroundings, repeating a journey he had made many time before.
Half hidden behind a pile of broken wooden boxes was a doorway opening onto a flight of stone steps leading up to the next level. The youth took the steps two at a time. A smile spread across his face as he neared the end of his journey and he glanced down at the bag he was carrying. At the top of the stairway was a long, debris littered corridor with doors at irregular intervals. The boy paused before one of these doors, listening. Everything was silent. His smile broadened into a grin and very stealthily he pushed the door open just wide enough to slip through, closing it just as quietly behind him.
The room was small and bright, sunlight streaming through an uncovered window. It contained an upturned wooden packing case on which were a the unlit stub of a candle and two bottles, one empty, the other half full of water. In one corner of the room was a pile of what looked to be old, tattered blankets.
As the boy approached, there was a movement from the blankets and a soft sighing breath emerged. Putting down his parcel, he leaned across the pile and the sleeping face of another, younger boy came into view.
At the sight, the older boy paused and a new expression appeared on his face. For a long moment he just sat and gazed with obvious affection at the relaxed features of the sleeping youngster. Slowly he leaned down and placed and placed a gentle kiss on the boy's forehead. "Time to wake-up, sleepy head," he whispered.
The youngster gave a soft groan." "Not yet, Mischa," he sighed.
Smiling and shaking his head, the older boy, Mischa, pulled the blankets back from his young friend's body. The younger boy was clad only in a baggy, dirty-grey t-shirt and torn blue shorts, the smooth skin of his arms and legs looking pale in the morning sun.
Reaching into the open leg of the boy's shorts, Mischa gave a snort of delight. "I hope you've been dreaming of me, Tadeusz, with your cock all hard like that."
Tadeusz opened his eyes and smiled mischievously. "Actually I was dreaming about that boy, Valeri, who we met by the river yesterday. I bet he can give a great blow job. Ouch!" He let out a squeal of pain.
Mischa sat back on his heels laughing. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that it's not a good idea to tease someone when they have your balls in their hand?"
Tadeusz scowled and put his hand into his shorts as if to check that no damage had been done. Then, with a quick movement, he pulled his shorts down and off. Naked but for his t-shirt, he climbed to his knees and sitting back on his heels he took his hard cock between his thumb and forefinger and slowly and completely unselfconsciously began to jerk himself off. "I missed you last night," he said, eventually, his voice serious.
"Yeah, I had some business to take care of." With an obvious effort Mischa tore his gaze away from the show. Reaching for the parcel he held it out to his friend. "Happy thirteenth birthday Tadeusz."
Halting his masturbation, the youngster looked puzzled, then surprised then finally puzzled again. "It was months ago that you asked me when my birthday was. You remembered after all this time?"
Mischa nodded. "C'mon, open it," he said, holding out the parcel with both hands and giving it an encouraging shake.
"What is it?"
"It's your birthday present, stupid."
Tadeusz' eyes went wide then filled with tears.
"What's the matter?" Mischa asked, suddenly concerned.
"I can't remember ever having had a birthday present before." Tadeusz' voice trembled as he spoke.
Laying the parcel aside, Mischa took his friend in his arms and hugged him tightly.
Tadeusz' mother had been Polish, working as a prostitute on the streets of St. Petersburg. She, along with Tadeusz and his younger brother Dima had shared a tiny, damp, two roomed apartment with two other prostitutes and their three children. Tadeusz was six years old and his brother only four when their mother had contracted pneumonia. There had been no money for doctors or drugs and the two small boys had watched their mother die in front of them. With no one to take care of them, the brothers had been handed over to a state run orphanage; a place much more like a prison than a home for children. Two months later Dima had suddenly disappeared. No explanation had been given and whenever Tadeusz had asked about his brother he had been beaten. Unfortunately the beatings were not confined merely to the times he enquired as to his brothers whereabouts; in the orphanage, beatings were a standard punishment for even the most minor misdemeanour. When he was eleven, he and another boy had managed to escape by knocking over the orphanage director and stealing her keys. The two boys had soon become separated and for the next six months Tadeusz had managed a miserable existence on the city streets, surviving mostly by begging in order to get enough money for food. About ten months ago he had been found by Mischa huddled against the cold in a shop doorway. He had been half starved and probably wouldn't have lasted much longer on his own. Fourteen year old Mischa had been a veteran of street-life, having left home to escape an abusive, alcoholic father when he was only nine. He took the younger boy in hand and showed him how to survive in this bleakest and most unforgiving of worlds. Almost immediately the two boys had discovered a special bond and had quickly become much more than just close friends, spending most nights in each others arms.
"You're supposed to be happy today, don't go all sad on me," Mischa begged.
"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect it."
"Come on. I want to see you open your present." Mischa said, eagerly, once more picking up the parcel he placed it in the youngsters hands.
Slowly, Tadeusz began to tear at the paper. As the contents became clear his mouth fell open and his eyes once more filled up. Very carefully laying out the three items, side by side he just sat and stared.
"Well, do you like them?" Mischa was unable to hide his own excitement, but all Tadeusz could do was shake his head, completely overwhelmed by the gifts.
Laid out on the floor were a heavy, dark blue, hooded sweatshirt, a pair of denim jeans and best of all a pair of trainers. And the most amazing thing of all was that they were all brand new, never been worn before. None of the items were of the highest quality, but for a boy who had never in his life possessed an item of clothing that someone had not already thrown away, this was a treasure beyond belief.
"How did you manage to find the money for these?" Tadeusz managed, eventually, his head still shaking in amazement.
"I didn't. Well not exactly. I met a German businessman in the city. That's why I've been away for a few night recently. I kept him entertained at night and in return he got me the clothes."
The news didn't really take Tadeusz by surprise. It wasn't the first time that the older boy had done something like that; he'd occasionally turned a few tricks when begging had not produced enough money to buy them food. In fact, a couple of times Tadeusz had offered to do something similar himself, but Mischa had been adamantly opposed to the idea, saying it was far too dangerous.
"You let him fuck you?"
Mischa shrugged his shoulders. "Most of the time he just wanted me to blow him, but yeah a couple of times I let him fuck me. It was no big deal, his dick was even smaller than yours. Though he did have more than a few stray hairs around his cock and balls." He grinned, waiting for the response to the implied insult, but no response came, Tadeusz was still staring wide eyed at the clothes.
"Can I put them on?"
"Of course you can. That's what I got them for. I hope they fit ok."
Tadeusz reached for the eagerly for the jeans, then paused, glancing down at his still half-erect penis. "You want to play around first?"
Mischa laughed and shook his head. "Go ahead a try your new clothes on. When you're dressed I'm going to take you into the city and give you a birthday you won't forget in a hurry. Then tonight when we get back here I'm gonna get you totally naked and suck and fuck you until you beg me to stop. Oh, and before you put those jeans on it may be a good idea to put your shorts back on first; the jeans have a zip in the front and we don't want any accidents to spoil tonight's fun and games.
The clothes fit near enough. The sweatshirt was a little too big, but that didn't matter and the jeans were perhaps a little long, but once Tadeusz had his new trainers on, these kept the jeans from dragging on the ground.
Stepping back, Mischa admired his young friend's new outfit. "You look so hot. Have I ever told you that I love you?"
"Only about a hundred times a day," the thirteen year old replied, blushing. "But it still gives me a tingly feeling down here every time you say it." He put his hands onto the base of his stomach.
Mischa grinned happily. "Before we go out I've one more thing for you." reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small bag.
"Another present?" Tadeusz took the offered bag and looked inside, giving a cry of joy when he saw what it contained. "Chocolate!" From the bag he removed two small bars of chocolate.
"It's from Switzerland," Mischa explained. The German guy gave them to me as a kind of parting gift.
Tadeusz already had one of the bars unwrapped and had broken off a piece and shoved it into his mouth. "Hmmm, it's the best thing I've ever tasted. " He held out the unwrapped bar. "Here, try it."
"I've a better idea," said Mischa. "Let's share one of them now, then we can have the other one later."
"Yeah, ok," Tadeusz agreed, breaking the opened bar in half and giving a piece to his friend. He pushed the still wrapped bar into the large pocket in the front of his sweatshirt.
"Just one small thing," Mischa smiled, putting a piece of the chocolate into his own mouth. "Promise me you won't eat that other bar when I'm not around."
Tadeusz grinned. "I swear on my life that I won't eat this chocolate unless you are there to share it with me."
Mischa put his arm around his friend's shoulders and led him towards the door. "C'mon, lets go show off your new clothes to those rich city kids."
Together they headed down the stairs, two teenage boys, for the moment completely free of cares and looking forwards to having a good time. However, as they approached the foot of the stairs and the door which led out onto the main factory floor, Mischa paused, his head cocked as if listening.
"There's someone out there," the older boy observed, taking hold of Tadeusz' arm to stop him going any further. Cautiously the two boys crept through the open door and peered out from behind the pile of wooden crates.
Mischa had been right, there was someone out there; four someones to be precise. In the centre of the floor stood four men. Two of them held a very frightened looking third tightly by the arms, the fourth faced them, making a show of cleaning his fingernails with a long and very nasty looking knife.
The man with the knife was speaking, but his voice was too low for the boys to make out. Though what he said had a very dramatic effect on the restrained man, as he began to struggle violently. The man with the knife casually approached the others and slowly but very deliberately, placed the point of the nice under their prisoner's chin, at which point the prisoner very wisely stopped struggling.
Behind the pile of crates, Mischa was gravely shaking his head. "Oh, we're in such deep shit," he breathed. "That's the mob out there, the fucking Russian mafia. If they find us here we are history." He looked around desperately searching for a way out, but the only door to the building was on the other side of the men, as was the window that the boys used to get in and out. It would be totally impossible to get past the men without being seen.
Tadeusz crouched down, holding his breath, his face white with fear as he glanced back and forth between his friend and what was occurring out on the factory floor.
The prisoner was begging and pleading with the others but it didn't appear to be doing any good. The man with the knife said something and a large wet patch appeared on the front of the prisoner's trousers. With a contemptuous laugh, the knifeman lowered his weapon slightly if is about to back away, but then, with a sudden upward thrust, the sharp blade penetrated skin and flesh and passing up under the jawbone buried itself deep into the man's brain.
Mischa quickly looked down at his feet, avoiding the scene. But for Tadeusz the sight of this cold blooded murder was too much, his knees buckled and he staggered against the crates causing several loose pieces of wood to clatter noisily to the floor.
Moving with incredible reflexes, Mischa grabbed Tadeusz by the arm and dragged the stunned thirteen year old through the door and back up the stairs, not waiting to find out what the men would do. He didn't need to wait, he already knew. Unless they found a way out of there and fast, the knife would soon have two more victims. The door at the bottom of the stairs was broken, and even if it had not been so, there would have been no way of secure it. Their only hope was to get back up the stairs and find another way out.
Within seconds the boys were back in the room in which they had been living. This room had a door that actually closed and it even had a bolt, but it wouldn't be strong enough to give them more than a few seconds at the most.
"Get the window open," Mischa whispered, urgently, as he threw the bolt and began piling everything he could find behind the door.
Tadeusz showed no sign of having heard the instruction; he stood pale and trembling, watching his friend's efforts to buy them more time.
"Open the fucking window," Mischa hissed, taking a moment to give Tadeusz a push to stir him into action. This time it appeared to work and by the time the older boy had wedged a wooden crate and their blankets behind the door, Tadeusz had the window open and was leaning out.
"We'll never make it." There was a trace of panic in Tadeusz' voice as he stared down at the forty foot drop to the ground below.
Mischa glanced out and then taking a double handful of blue sweatshirt, he pulled the youngster right up close until they were eye to eye. "Listen to me. We're going to get out of this. There's a pipe running most of the way down the wall. We'll climb down that then drop the rest of the way to the ground. I'll go first, then I'll catch you when you drop. Trust me, you can do this."
Already there was the sound of footsteps clattering up the stairway. There was no more time to spare. Quickly Mischa climbed onto the window ledge and lowered himself over. "Follow me straight out," he ordered. "Don't wait for me to get all the way down."
Tadeusz watched the older boy disappear from view, then, trying to ignore the sound of footsteps outside he began to climb out. The pipe was right next to the window, but was old and rusted and didn't feel at all secure. He glanced down to see that Mischa was already near the bottom of the pipe and was preparing to make the final leap to the ground.
At that moment there was the sound of a kick against wood and the door shuddered. In a panic, Tadeusz launched himself downwards. Ignoring the rusted flecks of paint which dug cruelly into his palms and fingers and the pain of skinned knuckles against the brick wall, he almost slid down the pipe. However, reaching the bottom he found he was still a good twenty feet from the ground.
Mischa was on the ground calling for him to jump. Tadeusz hesitated for just a second, then he let go. The fall seemed to last forever, and in spite of Mischa's attempts to help him, he landed badly, and he gave a scream of pain as his ankle turned underneath him.
They were still far from safe. As Mischa tried to get the injured thirteen year to stand, a head appeared out of the window and there was a cry of rage. Just as quickly the head disappeared again back inside.
"Come on, we've got to get moving." Mischa was pulling mercilessly at Tadeusz' arm. It felt to the thirteen year old like hot daggers were being plunged into his ankle as he was half carried across the factory compound.
They were about two thirds of the way across the wide, open area and the chain link fence was is sight when they heard the roar of a car engine behind them.
Mischa gave a groan as he glanced back and saw the heavy black sedan speeding towards them. Both boys were crying at this stage, Tadeusz from the pain and Mischa from desperation and the effort of helping the other boy.
"I can't make it," Tadeusz sobbed.
"You can. We're nearly there." But even as he said the words, Mischa knew that the younger boy was right. The roar of the engine seemed almost deafening, their fear magnifying the sound a thousand fold, and the car was almost on top of them. Vainly they struggled onwards. Perhaps by some miracle they would reach the fence and relative safety.
Mischa risked one last glance over his shoulder and his heart skipped a beat. An extra surge of adrenaline poured through his exhausted young body and with a wordless cry of rage and despair he grasped Tadeusz' shirt and flung the boy as hard as he could to the side.
Tadeusz, caught by surprise, hurtled across the broken tarmac. As he hit the ground he turned and so had a full unhindered view of what happened next. The world seemed to be moving in slow motion as he witnessed a scene that would be burned into his brain and would stay with him to be replayed over and over for as long as he lived. With a stomach wrenching crunch, the car plowed through Mischa. The boy's body was thrown upwards by the impact and he bounced across the hood of the car and crashed into the windscreen. Again he was thrown upwards, his body limp, arms and legs splayed out. He hit the car roof before somersaulting through the air and crashing to the ground, where he eventually rolled to a halt. The car continued onwards and zoomed around in a wide arc to avoid collision with the fence.
All danger forgotten, uncaring about his own bruises and pain, Tadeusz forced his battered body across to where his friend lay unmoving on the cold, hard ground. Mischa's limbs lay at odd angles and there was blood down one side of his face. Gently Tadeusz lifted the other boys head, cradling it in his arms. Miraculously, Mischa's eyes opened and just for an instant it seemed he attempted to smile. Tadeusz tried to speak, there was so much he wanted to say, he wanted so much to tell the boy how much he loved him, but the words just wouldn't come, they couldn't get past the huge ball of grief and pain and loss the had settled in his chest. Then it was too late. Mischa's eyes clouded and then closed, he gave a final soft sigh, a slow trickle of bright blood ran from the corner of his mouth and then he lay still.
"Nooooo!" Tadeusz' head went back and he howled his grief to the heavens.
But the young boy wasn't given time to mourn his loss. Even through the tears which were running from his eyes he could still see the car was once more screeching towards him like a black chariot from the pits the hell.
Instantly all of Tadeusz' pain turned to anger; cold hard fury at what these men had done to Mischa. He was completely oblivious to his own danger as he watched the car speed closer. And the closer it came, the more the boy's anger built until his vision was almost obscured by a red mist and it felt like his head was about to explode from the pressure.
The car was now just yards away, there was no way the thirteen year old would be able to get out of its path. Tadeusz wanted to scream from the pain of his anger and the building pressure. Suddenly, just as the car was about to hit him, the boy felt his mind explode.
It was like a bomb going off in his head. The car was lifted from the ground, its own momentum continuing to carry it forwards. Over the top of the two boys it flew, missing Tadeusz' head by inches. As it once more crashed to the ground it continued to career forwards, smashing into one of the concrete fence posts and exploding in a ball of fire.
For a long time Tadeusz sat and watched the car burn. He still held Mischa cradled in his arms, rocking him too and fro, and he talked softly to his friend, telling him everything was going to be alright, and talking about all the things they were going to do together. A part of his brain was telling him that he was somehow responsible for what had happened to the car, but he decided that was something he would worry about later. Another part of his brain told him Mischa was dead, but that was another thing he would worry about later.
He was brought back to reality by the sound of sirens approaching. Even in this remote are of the city an exploding car couldn't go unnoticed. The police would be coming and that would mean trouble. Mischa wouldn't want him to get into trouble. He kissed his friend for the last time, on the lips, and gently lowered him to the ground. "Goodbye, Mischa. Sleep well." He said his last goodbye and as quickly as he could he painfully made his way to the hole in the fence and disappeared into the maze of derelict factories and warehouses.
For hours he wandered aimlessly. The pain his ankle had settled to a dull ache. It was getting dark. Dark and cold. He was almost surprised to find himself in the city proper and he settled down to make himself as comfortable as he could for the night in a shop doorway. Who knows, maybe even that very same shop doorway in which Mischa had found him, cold and half starved, ten months ago. As he sat, his hand brushed against the front of his sweatshirt and he noticed something in the pocket. Reaching inside, he found the bar of chocolate he'd put there that morning. He smiled to himself. "Don't worry Mischa, I won't eat it without you." Tears stung painfully behind his eyes. He promised himself he wouldn't cry, Mischa wouldn't want him to cry. But Mischa wasn't there anymore.
End of chapter 1
Next: Chapter 2 - Bad Dreams
Feedback is encouraged and always much appreciated. Please email me at gym@softhome.net or visit my website "Stories by Gymnopedies" at http://gymnopedies.tripod.com