Sergei Mikhailovich had worked twenty-seven years at the metallurgical plant in Novokuznetsk before his back retired him. He was forty-nine, divorced, overweight, and drank more than was advisable. The back was a problem, but one he’d had for years.

At the plant he had been a maintenance fitter before his spine deteriorated. The doctors declared him disabled, the plant agreed, and twenty-seven years of employment concluded with some paperwork and a pension.

For a while he drove trucks. He liked the driving, but companies often expected drivers to help unload cargo, which rather defeated the purpose of leaving physically demanding work. One manager explained that everybody needed to be flexible. Sergei explained that flexibility was precisely what he lacked. The interview ended there.

He tried other jobs. Security, dispatch, maintenance, whatever didn’t require lifting. Some paid less than his pension after expenses. Others wanted younger men.

The pension was almost enough to live on, technically. He owned his apartment, inherited from his mother, free from a mortgage. The building was aging, the plumbing unreliable, and heat was controlled somewhere else in the building. He wasn’t sure where exactly, having lived there for 11 years.

He wasn’t miserable. He liked fishing, old cars, and vodka. His marriage had ended years ago without much drama. He had no children. Most of his friends were still working, had moved away, or had families. Occasionally somebody called. Rarely.

The special military operation had been going on for nearly five years. Officially it was progressing well. Every few weeks another village was captured, another advance announced, another victory declared inevitable. Sergei couldn’t have located most of these places on a map. It was the army’s business to know where it was fighting.

Sergei wasn’t political. Putin was probably better than the alternatives, although he couldn’t name the alternatives. The war was simultaneously far away and everywhere. Sergei thought the whole business was probably a mistake. He kept these opinions mostly to himself. Arguing wouldn’t improve the situation.

His own situation was deteriorating. He had 38,400 rubles in savings, several medications, and a refrigerator that had started making a sound. He could eat less meat, put off repairs, stop buying unnecessary things. But he had been doing all of these for some time. Every adjustment made his life a little smaller.

He didn’t want to die. He wanted a job, a salary, and the dignity of being useful. These weren’t extravagant ambitions, but at the moment they were unrealistic.

One evening he saw another advertisement for military contract service. This one somehow caught his eye. There were a signing bonus, monthly salary, allowances, and benefits. The amount was enormous.

He had assumed the advertisements were intended for younger men. Soldiers were supposed to run, carry equipment, and get shot at. He wasn’t particularly interested in any of those activities.

But the advertisement mentioned technical skills.

The next morning he looked up the recruitment office.

The Recruitment Office

The recruitment office was on the ground floor of a municipal building near the city center. There were flags outside, several military posters, and a handwritten sign directing applicants to the second door. Sergei showed up. He had expected a queue, but there were only three other men waiting.

A young woman at the reception desk asked for his passport. She copied his information, gave him a form, and directed him to an office down the hall.

The recruiter was a pleasant man in his thirties, wearing civilian clothes and an expensive watch. He introduced himself as Anton, offered Sergei tea, and asked about his employment history.

Sergei explained the plant, the trucking jobs, and his disability. Anton listened with genuine interest. Twenty-seven years maintaining industrial machinery was an impressive career, he said. They were always looking for experienced technical specialists.

Sergei hadn’t heard his career described that way in years.

Anton explained that the modern army was a highly technical organization. Drones, communications, logistics, electronic equipment. Much of the work required patience and practical intelligence rather than physical strength. Men with Sergei’s background were particularly valuable.

“What about my back?”

“There are positions that don’t involve heavy lifting.”

“And my age?”

“Forty-nine? That’s hardly old. Experience counts for a great deal.”

“I’ve never been in the army.”

“That’s what training is for.”

Sergei asked whether he’d have to go to the front. Anton explained that drone operators often worked behind the lines, protecting supply routes and monitoring enemy activity. It was among the safest combat assignments available. Naturally there were risks. Anton wasn’t going to insult his intelligence by pretending otherwise.

Sergei appreciated this. He also noticed that Anton had answered every question without once appearing to consider it.

The more they talked, the more suitable Sergei apparently became. His mechanical experience was valuable. His age demonstrated maturity. His disability could be accommodated. His lack of military experience was perfectly ordinary. Even his unfamiliarity with computers was easily addressed through training.

Anton had an answer for everything. Sergei recognized the technique. He’d encountered salesmen before, and this one was exceptionally good. Every objection became another reason he was qualified. It was almost impressive.

Then they discussed compensation.

Anton turned his monitor toward Sergei and explained the federal signing payment, the regional bonus, monthly salary, and various additional allowances. The numbers were difficult to comprehend together. Sergei asked whether the largest figure represented annual compensation.

“No. That’s what you receive for signing.”

Sergei looked at the screen again.

He had made good money at the plant, at least by local standards. Nothing remotely like this. The monthly salary alone was several times what he’d earned maintaining machinery.

Anton continued explaining benefits. Medical treatment, insurance, pension provisions, compensation for injuries, and payments to relatives in the event of death.

Sergei interrupted him.

“How much if I die?”

Anton gave him the figure and explained the conditions. There were several separate payments, depending on circumstances and eligibility. He had a printed sheet with the details.

Sergei studied it. He hadn’t thought about death in financial terms before. There was something peculiar about seeing it assigned a precise value, particularly one so much larger than anything he’d been worth alive.

“Do you have a wife? Children?” Anton asked.

“No.”

“Parents?”

“Dead.”

Anton nodded and moved on to the benefits Sergei himself would receive. There was no awkwardness. Sergei suspected this wasn’t an unusual conversation.

He understood that he might die. But he might also survive, and survival would solve nearly every problem in his life. He could buy a car, repair the apartment, and accumulate savings. He might even enjoy working again.

Death, on the other hand, would solve his problems in a different way.

He didn’t find this thought particularly disturbing. He was forty-nine, unemployed, and watching his remaining savings disappear. He had no family depending on him and little reason to expect circumstances to improve. He wasn’t looking to die, but the possibility no longer seemed sufficient to disqualify an otherwise attractive opportunity.

He asked about the technical positions again. Anton assured him that his experience would be taken into consideration during assignment. There would be training, of course. Sergei wouldn’t simply be handed unfamiliar equipment and expected to operate it.

“How soon would I leave?”

“We have departures scheduled regularly. The next one is tomorrow, and then the following week.”

Sergei considered the offer. He knew Anton was selling him something. He knew there were details he didn’t understand and risks that no amount of money could eliminate. But he had spent years looking for work, and this was the first person who had treated his experience as an asset rather than his age and disability as liabilities.

He asked to see the contract.

Anton produced the paperwork, explained where to sign, and helped him through the forms. He had signed employment contracts before and didn’t imagine this one would be any different in that respect.

By early afternoon he was officially a contract soldier in the Russian army.

Anton shook his hand and congratulated him. He was told to report the following morning with his passport and personal belongings. Transportation and accommodation would be provided.

Sergei left the office carrying several documents and a list of instructions. He felt unexpectedly pleased with himself. He had gone in expecting to be told he was too old or too disabled, and instead he’d been hired for the most lucrative position of his life.

He stopped at the supermarket on his way home and bought a decent cut of beef.

For once he didn’t check the price.

A Soldier

Sergei reported the following morning with his passport, medical records, and a bag containing clothes, toiletries, medication, and a few personal possessions. He had slept poorly. He didn’t have a drink the night before. He considered this a good start to his military career.

There were twelve other men waiting outside the building. Most were younger, although two appeared to be about his age. A uniformed man checked their names against a list and directed them onto a bus. Sergei asked where they were going. The man named a railway station.

At the station they were given tickets and told which train to board. Sergei had expected some sort of introduction or briefing, but the arrangements were apparently more straightforward than that. He was a soldier now, and soldiers went where they were told.

The journey took most of the day and continued into the night. Sergei watched the landscape, ate some of the food he’d brought, and spoke briefly with the man across from him, a former construction worker who had signed up to pay off debts. Another man had served before and seemed to know what was happening. Sergei considered asking him about technical assignments, but the man fell asleep.

Nobody seemed particularly concerned about their destination. Sergei took this as a good sign.

They changed trains once and eventually boarded a military bus. The windows were dark, and Sergei had lost track of precisely where they were. He assumed they were somewhere in western Russia. There had been several announcements, but none that he understood to concern him personally.

They arrived at a military installation well after midnight. A man with a clipboard counted them as they disembarked, then directed them toward a building where another man checked their documents. Sergei was issued a number, which he was instructed to remember. He immediately forgot it.

They moved through several stations. Medical records, personal information, clothing, equipment. At one point Sergei was asked about his professional experience. He started to explain the metallurgical plant and his work maintaining machinery. The man wrote something down and sent him to the next station.

Nobody mentioned drones.

He received a uniform, boots, a helmet, a pack, and a rifle. The rifle surprised him. He had assumed weapons would be issued after training, but apparently it was convenient to issue everything at once. He asked whether he should know how to use it.

“You’ll be instructed.”

The pack was heavy. He adjusted the straps and found that distributing the weight made little difference to his back. The boots were slightly too large. He asked whether another size was available and was told to inquire in the morning.

There were more forms. Some required signatures, others initials. Sergei was getting tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been awake this long without drinking, and his back had deteriorated into a continuous ache. He had expected the army to be bureaucratic, but it was difficult to understand why so many people needed to examine the same passport.

Eventually a soldier led him and several others to a barracks. The lights were mostly off. Men were sleeping in rows of bunks, with clothing and equipment arranged around them. There was a smell of sweat, damp fabric, and something Sergei couldn’t identify.

He was assigned an empty bed near the far wall.

Sergei put down his pack and sat for a moment. He was exhausted. He had questions about his assignment, the training schedule, and when he could expect his signing payment. He would ask tomorrow. There would presumably be some kind of orientation.

He took off his boots, placed his rifle beside the bed, and lay down without undressing.

His back hurt, but the mattress was sufficient.

He fell asleep immediately.

The Evacuation

Sergei woke to an explosion that shook the building. Then there was another, followed by several more in rapid succession. Men were shouting. Someone turned on the lights.

He sat up and tried to understand what was happening. The men around him were already moving, pulling on boots and grabbing equipment. Another explosion shook the room. Dust fell from the ceiling.

Sergei wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but everyone seemed to be leaving.

A blast struck somewhere close enough to throw him off the bed. The lights went out. He crawled underneath the bunk as another explosion tore through the building. There was a tremendous cracking sound, followed by the ceiling coming down.

He was lying beneath the collapsed bed with debris piled around him, unable to hear anything except a high-pitched ringing. His first concern was his back, which hurt considerably. His second was that he appeared to be buried alive.

He managed to push aside a section of broken wood and crawl through an opening in the rubble. Part of the roof had collapsed, and the far end of the barracks was gone. He couldn’t see anyone moving inside. He found his pack caught beneath the bed frame and pulled it free, although he wasn’t sure why he bothered. His rifle was nowhere to be seen.

Outside, men were running between buildings. Several structures were burning. Explosions continued at irregular intervals, accompanied by flashes of light that illuminated the installation. Sergei had no idea where he was supposed to go. He could barely hear, and the air was thick with dust and smoke.

A group of soldiers were climbing into an armored vehicle near the edge of the compound. One of them saw Sergei and waved urgently for him to come over. Sergei started running, discovered that running was extremely painful.

The soldier pulled him inside. There were six or seven men already seated in the vehicle, heavily equipped and speaking rapidly to one another. Sergei couldn’t make out anything they were saying over the ringing in his ears. The vehicle began moving before the door was fully closed.

More explosions erupted behind them.

Nobody introduced himself. Sergei sat between two soldiers and held his pack against his chest. One of the men asked him something. Sergei couldn’t hear the question and shook his head. The soldier repeated it, louder this time, but Sergei still couldn’t understand.

“From the barracks,” Sergei said.

The man turned away.

Sergei couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or disappointed.

The vehicle drove for an hour. There were several abrupt turns and stretches of road so rough that his back became almost unbearable. The men occasionally spoke into radios. Sergei gathered that something had gone wrong, although the precise nature of the problem remained unclear.

He considered explaining that he had arrived only a few hours earlier. He was supposed to receive training. He had been promised a technical assignment. He didn’t even know which unit he belonged to.

But the men seemed occupied with more immediate concerns, and Sergei was reluctant to make himself a problem. He had already been rescued once.

Eventually the vehicle stopped. Someone shouted an instruction and the rear door opened. The soldiers climbed out and immediately began moving away from the road.

Sergei followed.

It was still dark. They were somewhere rural, with trees on either side of a narrow road and open ground beyond. The men moved quickly, occasionally breaking into a run. Sergei tried to keep up, but his back was failing him and he was badly out of breath.

After several minutes he fell behind. He could see their silhouettes moving between the trees, but the distance was increasing. He tried to run and managed perhaps twenty meters before stopping to catch his breath.

There was a bright flash ahead of him.

The explosion illuminated the trees and struck him with a wave of heat and pressure. He fell to the ground. For several seconds he could see nothing except a bright impression of the fireball burned into his vision.

When he looked, the men were gone.

He couldn’t tell whether they’d been killed. There was smoke drifting across the road, and something was burning beyond the trees. He called out, but his voice sounded distant and unfamiliar through the ringing in his ears.

Nobody answered.

Sergei got to his feet and moved away from the road. He didn’t know where the explosions were coming from or whether another was about to follow. The trees offered some cover, or at least he hoped they did.

He walked for several minutes before realizing that he had no idea which direction he was going.

He stopped and checked his phone. There was no signal. The map wouldn’t load. He probably had a compass somewhere in his pack, but he didn’t know where he was; besides, knowing which direction was north seemed of limited value.

He considered returning to the road. The soldiers might be there. Or the vehicle. Or somebody who knew what was happening.

An explosion from that direction settled the question.

He continued onward.

The Field

Sergei walked through the night. He had no idea how far he’d gone, though he suspected it wasn’t very far. His back was in terrible condition, and his legs had begun to ache. Every few hundred meters he stopped to rest, usually against a tree. He was cold, thirsty, and increasingly concerned about his situation.

He had attempted to check his phone several times. There was no reception. He tried calling the emergency number anyway, but nothing happened. His battery was nearly dead.

He had been a soldier for less than two days and already found the experience considerably worse than advertised.

At some point he stopped hearing the explosions. His ears were still ringing, though less severely, and he began to recognize ordinary sounds. Wind moving through branches. Insects. Occasionally something rustling in the undergrowth.

He considered sleeping. He was exhausted, but the ground was cold and he wasn’t sure whether it was safe to remain in one place. He had no idea where the Russian positions were, or whether he had wandered into enemy territory. He didn’t even know which direction he had come from.

He kept walking.

By morning the trees had thinned, and he could see a small village in the distance. Several buildings were damaged. One had lost its roof, and another appeared to have burned. There were no vehicles on the road and no smoke rising from the chimneys.

Sergei stood at the edge of the trees and studied it. He couldn’t see anybody moving, but there might be people inside. Perhaps Russian soldiers. Perhaps civilians. Maybe there would be water or at least somewhere to rest.

He had no other plan.

Between him and the village was a field, about two hundred meters across. The ground was uneven, with patches of tall grass and shallow depressions. A narrow road entered the village from the opposite direction. He could see the entrance to a cellar beside one of the damaged houses.

He started across.

The first fifty meters were manageable. But his back began to seize and he had to slow down. He was breathing heavily despite a modest pace. The pack was intolerably heavy, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon it. He had carried it through the entire night. It seemed foolish to throw it away now.

He stopped briefly to catch his breath and looked up. The buildings were closer. He could make out a doorway in the nearest house.

Then he heard something.

A faint buzzing, distant at first, like a swarm of bees. He looked around. There were no insects that he could see, and the sound was getting louder.

He remembered the explosions, and where he was.

Sergei began to run.

His back protested. His legs were exhausted, and the uneven ground made it difficult to keep his balance. He stumbled, recovered, stumbled again, and continued toward the houses. The cellar was a hundred meters away. If he could reach it, he could get underground.

The buzzing grew louder.

He ran harder, breathing in rapid, painful gasps. His pack beat against his back with every step. He could barely feel his feet.

The village was close now.

The sound was louder.

He looked over his shoulder.