The men want something first

The two men tasked with stringing me up quietly jabber to one another before one of them speaks out.

“Can we fuck her first, sir?” He asks.

“Ja!” The other adds. “If she is a degenerate flintenwieber then she deserves the ****!”

“Wunderbar!” The Lieutenant says. “Das ist ein good idea, Johansson!”

A few murmurs come from the ranks.

“What about us, sir?” Another asks.

“We have work to do.”

The Lieutenant is met with more groans of dissatisfaction.

“We all want to fuck the hot girl but there is business to be handled!” He shouts out before turning to the two soldiers assigned to me.

“Skip the foreplay. Get rid of this dead rat first.” He orders them, pointing to Dmitriev. “Then get rid of the bitch and come right back! Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“We understand.”

“Good.” The Lieutenant says with a nod before turning to his men. “Take these men in! Move!”

Clarke and Hobbs look over their shoulders at me desperately as they’re led away, but with a half a dozen guns trained on them, there’s nothing they can do.

One of the soldiers stares me down with a wicked grin while the other wanders into the barn. He taps his rifle as he waits.

I think about running while the two of us are alone. This could be the best chance I have. My plans of escape are cut short when the other exits the barn and throws a shovel at my feet.

“Dig.” He orders me.

One of them shoulders their rifle and aims it at me as I lean down to pick the shovel up.

“I know what you’re thinking.” He says coldly. “Don’t do it.”

I pick the shovel up cautiously and hold it in the least intimidating way I can. The one with the rifle nods his head to signal me to walk. They move me over to a bare patch of dirt away from the barn before they stop me.

“Here.” One of them says. “Dig!”

I grip the shovel and start to chop my way into the ground.

“Faster.” One orders after a few minutes. I try to pick my pace up.

“I said faster!” He barks, smashing me with the butt of his rifle. “Schnell!”

I carry on digging, trying to keep a good enough pace to avoid further beatings, but I’m beginning to tire and it becomes harder with every scoop of dirt. The two of them hurl obscenities at me and beat me with their rifles and kick me as I struggle to dig my comrade’s grave.

“That’s deep enough.” One of them growls when I’m standing in a hole just deeper than my knees. “Out! And drop the shovel!”

He jerks his rifle in the direction of Dmitriev, and I tiredly cross the barnyard, dragging my feet. I take his hands and drag him across the yard and into his shallow grave.

“Fill it in.” One of them barks. “And hurry up!”

I take the shovel again and start knocking the pile of dirt back into the hole over Dmitriev’s body.

“One less rat.” One of them says, and spits on the grave as I fill it in.

I lay the shovel on the ground and take my cap off when I’m finished. I fold my hands, bow my head, and close my eyes for my fallen comrade.

I’m shaken out of my prayer by a rifle butt to the guts, which folds me over and drops me to my knees. I lean forwards to pick my cap up, but one of the soldiers stomps on it.

“Now.” The other says, leaning his rifle against a tree and approaching me. “You’re going to get what’s coming to you!”

I’m so tired and worn down from all the digging and the constant beatings that his strength is overwhelming when he grabs me and wrestles me to the ground.