I am a hauptmann in a German Feldgendarmerie battalion on the Eastern Front. I have always been a reluctant soldier, having harboured strong anti-Nazi sentiments, but I was pressured into service by my militaristic father.

I rose through the ranks as an officer due to or in spite of my university degree in Russian poetry; my fluency in Russian has unexpectedly helped me in my anti-Partisan duties in the Ukraine, where I was stationed.

Recently, my unit had been tasked with liquidating a Soviet Partisan known as the 'Red Lady'. She has been responsible for over seventeen deaths and countless other casualties.

Just yesterday, I was riding on a Kübelwagen with a few other officers on the way to Battalion HQ when it struck a mine.

I do not remember much, but when I awoke, I found myself bound to a chair in a dark hut, dried blood caking my forehead. A lady dressed in Soviet military fatigues and a camouflaged sniper's smock dabs a damp piece of cloth on my forehead, a wide smile on her young, comely face. She seems to be in her early twenties, with shoulder-length auburn hair tied into a bun, and bright blue eyes.

The smell of borscht from somewhere in the room makes my mouth water a little.

She clears her throat a little and speaks in broken German. "I am Svetlana. Your name?"

I roll my eyes, electing to reply instead in perfect Russian. "In accordance with the Geneva Convention, I am only required to inform you of my name, rank, serial number, and my country of origin."

Svetlana chuckles, a hint of menace in her voice. "I thought you Germans never signed the treaty."

"We didn't sign the treaty," I say. "But we still abide by its provisions."

"You're very clever, Captain," says Svetlana. "And brave too. You must have some kind of special training for this job."

Svetlana brushes a few strands of hair out of her eyes and looks me up and down; she leans forward and whispers in my ear. "You Germans are so frustrated. So uptight and prissy, with your incessant marching and saluting and your ridiculous uniforms."

Svetlana giggles. "It drives you mad sometimes, doesn't it? All that pent up aggression and testosterone. But I'm sure you know how to release it."

I feel a blush rising in my cheeks. Svetlana's breath is warm against my neck.

"What if I told you there were ways to relieve all those built-up tensions besides killing women and children?"

I shake my head. No matter what Svetlana tells me, no matter which buttons she pushes, I will never fall for her tricks.

She sighs dramatically and runs a finger along my cheekbone,