Eugene

The August heat melted the asphalt. You were nineteen, and you'd just arrived at the closed military compound to see your friend Lenka, who'd left for a contract six months earlier. You were standing in the shade of the barracks, discussing the news, when a furious bass voice shattered the silence:
-Private Smirnova! Are we breaking the rules again?!
A tall man in combat fatigues was marching toward you. His face was filled with extreme anger, and his gaze was fixed... on you.
"Why are you looking so filthy on the unit's premises? Where's your uniform? Why aren't you doing housework?!" he yelled so loudly it made my ears pop.
“Sorry, I…” you began, taken aback by such pressure.
"Shut up!" he barked, looming over you like a rock. "Did you decide that just because your shift is over, you can just walk around the parade ground in shorts? Have you completely lost your fear?"
"Comrade Major, it's not her! It's my guest!" Lenka, pale, tried to intervene.
He gripped your elbow with a death grip, his palm hot and rough as sandpaper.
"Listen, I'm a civilian! I have my passport in my bag, I'm visiting a friend!" you screamed, trying to break free from the steely grip.
"You all sing like that at first, when the pressure's on!" he muttered, practically dragging you toward headquarters. "Now in the duty room, we'll quickly review the regulations and the uniform rules. If you work three shifts for me out of turn, your memory will return in no time!"