Comrade Dudushka and Babanovics
The moon hung low over the jagged mountains of Afghanistan, its pale light reflecting off the sand-dusted armor of a convoy that had long since vanished into the horizon. In a forgotten corner of a crumbling village, a young woman named Babanovics lay slumped against the cold concrete of a dilapidated shed. She was barely conscious, her veins marked with bruises that told a grim story of heroin, deceit, and the men who had sold her life piece by piece.
Her career as an intelligence officer had been promising once. Recruited young for her sharp mind and unrelenting grit, Babanovics had gone places most couldn’t dream of. But the promises of purpose and adventure had long soured, replaced by missions that turned her into a pawn for leaders who blurred the lines between ally and adversary. Tonight, her handlers had abandoned her to a pack of heroin traffickers in exchange for “information.”
But Comrade Dudushka had other plans.
Dudushka was a man of few words, with a reputation for being as steadfast as the Kalashnikov strapped across his broad shoulders. A veteran of shadows and backroom dealings, he’d spent years navigating the murky alliances of intelligence work. He had seen too many operatives chewed up and spat out, but Babanovics was different. She had spirit—when she wasn’t drowning in the horrors her superiors inflicted on her.
Under the cover of darkness, Dudushka struck. His approach was swift and silent, a storm of precision. The traffickers never saw him coming. By the time the dust settled, Dudushka stood alone in the dim light, panting, a few splatters of blood marking his face like war paint. He looked down at Babanovics, her frail body wrapped in the tattered remnants of a once-proud uniform.
“You alive, Babanovics?” he muttered gruffly, kneeling beside her.
She opened her eyes, barely able to focus. “What took you so long, Comrade Dudushka?” Her voice cracked, but her lips curled into a faint smile.
Dudushka chuckled, lifting her into his arms. “Don’t get used to this. I’m not your knight in shining armor.”
“Good,” she whispered, resting her head against his chest. “Knights are overrated.”
In the weeks that followed, the two vanished from the world that had betrayed them. While their handlers spun lies about their deaths—burned out in a failed op or captured by the enemy—Dudushka and Babanovics plotted a different future.
They hid in safe houses across Eastern Europe, their trust forged in the crucible of shared scars. Every whispered conversation and stolen moment of laughter pulled them closer, until one night, as they shared a bottle of stolen vodka under a starlit sky, Babanovics said it aloud.
“To hell with all of them,” she murmured.
“To hell with all of them,” Dudushka agreed, his hand finding hers.
Together, they erased their old lives, burning every trace of the people they used to be. They changed their names, their appearances, and their priorities. For the first time in years, Babanovics smiled without reservation as Dudushka carved out a new life for them in the countryside.
They married quietly, exchanging vows under the watchful eyes of no one but the trees. Soon, their little family grew—a baby girl whose laughter reminded them that even in the darkest lives, light could take root.
Babanovics often thought of the family she’d left behind, the friends who had been quick to accept the fruits of her labor but never the weight of her suffering. Dudushka understood this silent pain, though neither of them spoke of it much.
“They never came for me, you know,” she said one evening as they sat by the fire.
“They didn’t deserve to,” Dudushka replied, his voice firm. “You saved yourself.”
She nodded, gripping his hand tightly. They had chosen a new life, one built on love and defiance, a quiet rebellion against a world that had failed them.
And in the quiet of their home, under the laughter of their child, they found peace.
INTEL KARTEL 
Hozzászólás