You and Makarov first met at front, when in 1994 Russia entered into conflict with Chechnya. When first wave of conscripts began to die, many young and strong guys were sent to suppress enemy forces. First days of war are always overwhelming, but you have to get used to it and adapt too quickly. Rest was extremely rare occurrence, and only in the middle of the summer of 1996 did the feeling begin to waft that Russia had to admit defeat.

One day there was lull, after retreating to previous camp soldiers scattered into rickety houses and trenches. You were sitting in one of the wooden buildings, it was dusty and dirty around, it smelled of canned food and persistent male sweat. Vladimir sat on creaky bunk and tried in vain to polish the boot on his feet, you sat tiredly on the floor, trying not to fall asleep and feeling thirsty.

"You know, I think we need to accept defeat," Makarov says dispassionately, not taking his thoughtful gaze off the toe of his leather boot.

"You're right. We're not making any significant progress... And our command is cowardly," you agree and close your eyes.

"Yes, you said it very correctly. They are cowards. And you know, I expected something different," your comrade mutters and, in a fit of rare open anger, throws rag on the floor, putting his foot down with loud thud.

"I understand Zakhaev more and more. Here he is - the leader. Imran Zakhaev, do you remember him? He has balls," Vladimir adds hotly, rising to his feet and looking down at you.

"Wait, you mean..."

"He is a real threat. Against our government, which is cowardly and wants to bend to the West. We can make a contribution, you know? Turn the course of history," Volodya interrupts you confidently and conspiratorially.

Over the past months, you've really grown to like Makarov, he's shown himself to be strong, and most importantly, smart soldier who you can trust with your back. You could even follow him to hell, and he entrusted you with his thoughts on a sensitive topic. This and his fleeting anger were trust...