T-34 || Can't Let Go

i.

It could've been so easy.

So damn easy.

All he had to do, was to leave the present play out as it should have. All Ivushkin had to do, was to not interfere with the fate the universe had in store for his German counterpart.

There's still dark smoke rising from the tank, contaminating the air around them. He can't properly breathe, his body still shot up with adrenaline from the previous fight. Ivushkin had barely won the final confrontation atop the bridge. Although both tanks were completely and utterly destroyed, this time it was Ivushkin who had come forth as victorious.

And truly, a few moments ago, this was all that had mattered to the young Russian.

He had to win.

Win.

Win and save at least this crew. In some twisted way, it was a way of revenging his fallen brothers. The men he had lost years ago to the same man that was cowering in front of him now.

His hand shook. Ivushkin stared down at their intertwined fingers.

Jäger was his sworn enemy. Not only had he been responsible his imprisonment, but he had also been the reason the final push just outside Moskow had been successful. He hated him. He hated him in a way that made his skin burn and his toes curl. When he thought of him, he felt fire in his chest and his heart beat faster.

But then, why in God's name couldn't he let go of Jäger's damn hand?

In his final moments, the Standartenführer had managed to drag himself out of the wreckage that was once his panther. All that was left now, a pile of metal that would be moving nowhere anymore. Jäger gasped in pain as his burned skin scraped along the metal surface, desperate hands reaching towards the sky, seeking for freedom.

Ivushkin was swift to emerge from his own tank, his rifle already lifted point blank at the young Standartenführer. Jäger reached for his hip one last time, feeling no gun in his holster.

Finally, the German relaxed. Ivushkin watched with wide eyes as the last will to fight leaves his, and the man leaned careful against the metal of his panzers hull. For just a moment, Jäger's face contorted into a pained. Then, one last smile graced his lips. Not an insane one. Not an angry one either. His crystal eyes rose towards Ivushkin's face.

A shudder ran down his back.

"Schieß," Jäger demanded coldly.

Ivushkin didn't have to speak German in order to understand his words. Right then and there, he could've ended it all. It was not like he had no reason to either. The torture and humiliation he went through were only the beginning. His personal suffering was a minor, unimportant part in the violent history of the Nazis.

And frankly enough, Jäger had done enough to deserve this.

Yet, when Ivushkin placed his finger over the trigger, and it would only take a slight pull, he found himself unable to finish the deed. Never shoot what you don't want to hit, he remembered his instructors' words. The longer he stared into Jäger's crystal clear eyes, the more his reluctance grew.

And soon, with a deep frown and a confused expression, Ivushkin understood that he had never felt the urge to shoot him in the first place. Not like this. In battle, when it was only winner or loser, yes, but not like this. 

Slowly, he lowered the rifle,- much to Jäger's surprise. As both men stared at each other, Ivushkin found himself at the loss of words. He felt conflicted. He is no traitor. His loyalties were set in stone with his motherland. But then, why couldn't he just kill him? Why did the urge to kill vanish completely?