Cover by Ryan Barry (@9monkeys)
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Games Workshop. This is fan-produced media.
This story is being written in chunks. Chapters will be uploaded as they are produced and changes will be made throughout the process. Enjoy.
15
Before the train could cross the runoff moat, factory and workshop alarms blasted across Pyotrograd. Onlookers close to the tracks covered their ears, watching its arrival with icons and banners at the ready. They let the harsh noise to rattle within their skulls when the train sped through the valley cut into the gothic sprawl, cheering and waving. The young firstborn would not see them, sitting close together at the center of the cars, as far from the windows as possible.
Pulling up to the platform, city enforcers kept the families some paces away to make room. Carrying rifles and duffels the firstborn stepped off train mid afternoon and searched the crowd. It naturally opened and thinned out as large groups left together, only to crowd once more as they filtered through the station’s entrance.
Polina let Aleks pull her through the throng to his parents. She stood by as they embraced him in thick coats. At his legs his younger brother and sister hugged him before he turned to introduce Polina. Her heart trembled when Marina and Grigori each greeted her with an embrace of her own.
“Well met, Honored Firstborn,” said Marina.
“We’re so happy to finally meet you,” said Grigori. “Aleks sent so many letters about you.”
“Oh!” she said when they let go. “I hope they were nice.”
They chuckled.
“Worry not,” said Marina. “We forgive you for adjusting his nose.”
Polina turned red.
“’Tis fine, Mother. The medicae reset it properly and the scar is small.”
“Think of it as a highlight, dear,” added Grigori. “It makes for an interesting story.”
“I know, I know. It’s only a jest.”
Descending the steps to the parking lot, the group stayed clustered together, the siblings holding the hand of one parent each.
“I forgot to ask, where is Papa?” asked Aleks.
“Last week, he took a bad fall in the stairwell, son,” said Grigori.
“We would have written, but the letter would not reach you in time,” added Marina.
“What is he still doing home? He should be up with the Streltsy.”
His parents looked at each other.
“After Receiving Day, he returned and insisted upon seeing you in person once you were home,” said Marina.
“He’ll be fine,” said Grigori. “Let’s get to the curb where we can better hear each other.” Going around the lot they stopped beside a row of parked ground cars at the sidewalk. “Remind us again of what you wrote about Roman’s wedding, son?”
Aleks nodded. “We are meeting at the boarding house by the church where the stag and hen parties will be held. The ceremony will be tomorrow morning, followed by the reception at the same boarding house, and we should be back by dinner.”
“Polina, would you like to have dinner with us?” asked Marina.
She glanced at Aleks smiling back. “I’d be honored, ma’am.”
“We’d ask you to stay, but I’m afraid Aleksei’s grandfather has taken the guest room-“
“She can stay in my room and I can take the couch in sitting room,” said Aleks quickly, his mouth pressing flat soon after.
Polina turned red, squeezing Aleks’s hand.
“Uh, I suppose that would work if it’s alright with Polina’s parents,” said Grigori.
“It will be, sir. I’ll inform Mother when I have the chance.”
The parents nodded.
“Oh,” said Aleks. “Mother, if possible, could you make stroganov? I told Polina you make the best in the world.”
“I’d be happy to. Just don’t doddle or drink too much at the reception. And both of you try to get a pict in your dress uniforms. There are always pictographers prowling around the church after Graduation.”
Grigori dug through a satchel at his hip, “Once you commission one,” he said before passing a small pouch into Aleks’s hand, “use this as payment. I’m afraid they can’t take commissary tender, even out of respect for your status.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, I want you both to eat a full meal before you start drinking,” said Marina.
“It lines your stomach and lessens the effects of alcohol,” said Grigori. “And no roughhousing, Aleksei. Being firstborn doesn’t mean you can get away with making a fool of yourself.”
“That goes for you too, Polina. Women and drink make for a poor combination.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After saying their goodbyes, they watched the family cross the street toward home. On the other side of the parking lot, Roman was waving his rifle with the rest of their group.
“Seems they approve of me,” she said walking beside Aleks.
“Even if they did not, it would not change nothing,” he said. “For a time, I thought they meant to marry me to the neighbor’s daughter, but when I asked them in a letter, they had no such intention.”
“Really? Why your neighbor’s daughter?”
“I can explain on the way. It was an assumption of my own mind. Cousin Vita would say I was thinking too much. It still leaves two matters I must resolve when we return home.”
“I’m also concerned for how Mother will take you once we meet her. She has a son as well.”
“Then he will be my bother-in-law,” he said moving his hand to her waist. “I hope there are enough drinks to cure us both of our anxieties.”
*
The group divided between bride and groom with the men leading the way to the boarding house. Civilians stepped clear as they walked, some taking off their headgear before greeting them with, “Well met, Honored Firstborn.” The men were five where the women were three, duffels and rifles on their backs. Slava walked closest to the curb as he listened to the others.
“No!” said Roman. “The party will not be fun if everyone is sober.”
“How is it fair for us to drink when you cannot?” asked Anatoly.
“Because I’m the groom and until otherwise, I get to tell you what to do.”
“That may be, but there is no honor in indulging in excess at the expense of one that cannot,” said Aleks. “Right, Slava?”
The men peered over and waited only a moment before he said, “Only alcoholics would find honor in alcohol.”
As they laughed, the women were having their own conversation.
“Did I meet her?” asked Katrya flatly.
“No, none of you did,” said Maks. “She was with me in the Pilot Training, but avoided me like she did that day we visited the wounded. This time, I know she’ll be trapped at home where I can talk some sense into her.”
“She must be a dear friend if you’re so hell-bent,” said Polina.
“Very. We made promises to each other and I intend to make her keep them.”
“Perhaps she does not want to be your friend anymore, Vlodomyrov,” said Katrya.
“I guarantee that is not the case. Not only would she have told me to my face, but I know the exact reason why she’s so damned depressed.”
“Why?” asked Polina.
“Because until that day on the train, she was the most beautiful girl in all of Bagration.”
*
The lobby was small and square. At the end past hanging picture frames a check-in desk stood, manned by two employees with one placing bundles of parchement into open slots in a back wall of cubbies. Behind the desk split stairs lead to the rooms above, sheathed in a thin carpet. The group approached the desk with Roman checking them in. Slava and Katrya had to be added to the guest log before they filtered into one of the two doors that led into the cabaret that dominated the ground floor.
A small stage was built under the stairs facing the long bar. On each flank past the doors to the lobby was a party room behind a set of sliding doors with brass placards etched with ‘СДЕРЖАННЫЙ’ chained across the handles. On the stage the band sat in plain clothes tuning their instruments for practice. Empty round tables surrounded the stage with chairs placed on top.
Lyschak Smirnov sat over a stack of papers and a ledger at the right hand corner of the bar, his free hand typing on a mechanical calculator. Much like his nephew, he was shorter than the average Vostroyan with his head shaved clean with a black mustache curled at the ends. When he heard the group enter he slid off the stool and approached Anatoly with arms open. ”Heavy with muscle, I see! How are you, boy?” he asked letting go.
“Fine, Uncle,” he said flatly.
“Is your mother home today?” Anatoly shook his head. “Ah. Your grandmother wants to organize a party for her when she returns from an operation.” Lyschak moved among the group shaking their hands. At Slava he said, “How are you, lad? Haven’t see you since you were very small.”
He did not recognize the man. “Well, sir.”
“I reckon your father is quite proud of you. Have you spoken to him recently?” Lyschak needed only a second of silence to realize what he said. “Oh! Forgive me, lad. I forget myself.”
Clearing his throat, he led them to the back of the cabaret through the kitchen to the armory where their rifles would be stowed, leaving them with their bayonets and Roman’s khanjali. The men’s group would rest until sundown, giving the other party members time to show up. The women, however, left their duffels and followed Maks across town.
*
Daria’s parents stood in the sitting room as the women clustered in the hall.
“You’re going to miss all the fun.”
“Go away, Maksimova,” she said from behind the door.
“No. Wingmen do everything together. The time for sulking is over.”
“You are just mad that I am ruining your plans by not being there.”
“Who was the most excited when I announced my engagement to Roman? Who asked to be closest to the altar on my wedding day? You, you idiot!”
“That was then and this is now. Look what has happened to us. Look what happened to Nat and Lana.”
She hesitated. “What use would we be if we let every death and wound get to us? The boys suffered, but they graduated. We graduated, Dari. You can stave off melancholy to finish Second Third, but not to spend time with the friend you have left?” Maks did not wait enough for a reply. “Roman’s family is paying for everything. We can eat and get drunk as much as we want. And there will be lots of boys. Saul and Anatoly are still unspoken for. I have some cousins you may like, as well as Roman’s. They’re not as handsome as him, but Atmanites make for sweet lovers.”
“…Why did you not mention Aleksei? Did he not make it?”
Maks peered at Polina. “He did, but he’s now spoken for. Can you believe it?”
“I cannot.”
“She’s with us now. We’ve become very good friends.”
At her gesture Polina took Maks’s place. “Uh, hello, Daria. My name is Polina.”
“’Tis good to meet you, Polina.”
“It’s not much of a meeting with this door between us. I would like to see you.”
“I assume Maksimova explained my circumstances. Can you not imagine why I would prefer the company of my self?”
“I can. Yes… She also told me of the friends you lost on the train”
Daria look a moment. “Yes.”
“Condolences, sister.” Polina cleared her throat. “I understand why you’d rather not be seen, but how did you get through camp without being seen?”
“Of course I was seen. No exception was made for my condition.”
“But you make an effort to avoid Maks?”
“Correct.”
“Then you’re no more alive than Nat and Lana. You’re the last of her oldest friends and you might as well be a corpse.”
“For good reason-“
“Everyone was wounded! It matters not how terrible. My own mother was struck in the jaw and no one cares. We’re firstborn before all else.” In the middle of a pause, Maks and Katrya looked at each other. “So, how is your wound any worse than others? Are you so vain you don’t think it’s-“
The door cracked open and the girls stepped back.
Daria’s head was turned, showing a left profile. She was indeed beautiful, long necked with a hooked nose and a sharp jawline. Without her field coat, the suspender straps hung loose from her waist, the sleeves of her grey undershirt rolled to her elbows. Her figure was slender with a wide hips sealed tight in her breeches.
The fullness of her lips was not obvious until she turned forward. The eye she had left was turned down, large and grey with a tilt. The right side above her cheekbone was encased in metal with a red optic.
Polina smiled. “You really are beautiful.”
Daria’s lips trembled. “You should see me with a full head,” she said touching the golden strands touching her ears. When she finally looked, Daria was surprised she had to turn up. “I did not realize AK preferred tall girls.”
Polina grinned. “It’s my understanding there are not many like me.”
“I suppose his hopelessness was self imposed until he found you.”
She chuckled and reached out her hand. “It’s good to see you, Daria.”
“Likewise, Polina,” she said shaking. When she let go, Maks wrapped around her. “Apologies for my vanity, Maksimova.”
“I missed you so much,” she said into her shoulder. She stepped to the side so Daria could see. “This is Katrya. She was my team leader and very well spoken. She’s like a brunette version of you.”
“How do you do,” said Katrya flatly.
“Much better, thanks to all of you.” Daria sighed with a smile. “So, you mentioned getting drunk?”
*
Thanks to his outward status as a hospitality provider and connections, the menu of Lyschak’s cabaret was so elaborate by commoner standards that both parties nearly came to blows. It was not just food, but alcohol they had never heard of; curiosity alone was enough to turn simple arguments into screaming matches. The regional differences among the groups were secondary concerns. Once bottles and large platters of finger food were brought into the party rooms, whatever animosity lingered dissipated.
The divide between the men of the families could not have been more distinct. Maks’s side, hetmanites, wore drab kaftans and slouched fur hats that hung by the party room doors. Crests and jewelry on their persons were feline themed. Roman’s atmanite family were afforded bright, but plain chokhas and white papakhas still wet from melted snow. On their chests bullet pockets were as empty as the holsters on their belts after surrendering their revolvers and sabers to Lyschak.
The women were harder to differentiate, adorned in similarly colorful and intricate dresses and shirts. Flora patterns were stitched across the material, low cut and open for the occasion with long beaded necklaces hanging from their necks. Woven sashes were tied at their waists and hair fashioned into a single braids.
In the hen party the women took their first shots of rahzod after a toast to Maks. Most of them were experienced, but Polina found herself coughing hoarsely. They laughed at her before offering another that she took. When the platters were served, she settled into one of the party’s room’s armchairs with a tall bottle of beer.
The women had gathered into small clusters across the connected coffee tables that stretched from the sliding doors to the thickly curtained window at the end. A cloud of smoke hovered above, fed by the thin cigars the women smoked. Katrya and Daria were locked in a game of blackjack. A hetmanite named Olya sat close to Katrya, an arm around her waist as she counseled the firstborn, whispering in her ear.
“Why aren’t you drinking, Maksimova,” slurred Daria.
Holding a small plate under her chin Maks spoke after taking a bite. “Because Roman cannot.”
“Would you like a smoke, cousin?” asked Olya.
“I would,” slurred Katrya with a toothy smile.
The hetamite woman held the cigar to her lips, pressing her fingers, eyes locked before Katrya was seized by a coughing fit. Olya patted her back until it was over.
“He’d make for a fun drunk,” said Daria. “What a shame.”
Katrya chuckled lazily.
“I plan to drink plenty when we get our legs,” said Maks.
Polina took a quick swig, scoffing at the taste. “You already have legs.”
Daria snickered. “It’s a ritual where they cut them off below the knee.”
“What?” Polina gasped, followed by a burp. “Is that why so many of us are missing legs?”
“It’s called the Blood Advantage,” said Maks.
“Makes us blackout resistant and prevents pooling,” said Daria.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean it wont pool in what’s left of your legs,” added Katrya.
“You’re a smart one,” said Olya.
“Course I am.”
“Regardless,” said Daria after taking another shot, “it must be done if you want to be a pilot… And they crush your legs in press, not cut them off.”
Polina groaned and shook her head before taking a swig.
After reaching for the platter Maks noticed Polina grimacing. “Stop drinking if you don’t like it, Polly.”
“It gets better the more I drink.”
The women laughed.
“Careful you don’t like it too much, copperhead,” said Olya. “You’re too young for wasteful habits.”
“And how old are you?” asked Katrya.
After a long drag she said, “Seventeen. Is that too much for you, sweetheart?”
Katrya managed to take in a short pull of the cigar before saying, “’Tis an acceptable difference.” She found herself lost in the hetmanite’s green eyes. “Though, I never found the time for boys or girls at Kutuzov. I was busy studying for my occupation. Not sure which I like, but I like the way you hold me,” she said before putting her own arm around Olya’s shoulders, “and I liked it when you called me sweetheart.” They giggled, Olya moving closer until their foreheads were touching. After a long silence she added, “And you’ve better intuition than I with cards.”
“That’s cheating, Katrya,” said Daria. “You can’t have help that’s sober.”
“I’m not sober,” said Olya before putting a loose shot glass to her lips.
Daria hiccupped. “Maksimova, will you be a good wingman and help me?”
“My intuition doesn’t extend to cards.”
“Polly?”
“I’ve only been out of the abbey six months,” she said with a burp.
Daria groaned before another hiccup. “How about this: we switch to poker and you can keep your pretty helper. I could win several hands over, drunk or sober, with or without help.”
“I accept!” said Katrya shoving her hand over the coffee table for them to shake.
While Olya reshuffled the cards Polina opened her buttons and unclipped her belt, letting out a long sigh.
“Good call,” said Maks before opening her own coat. “I feel so meaty.”
“It’s all the food,” said Polina. “Do some press-ups and put it towards your muscles. That’s what Mother would suggest.”
“That reminds me, did Sergeant Pavlychenko actually adopt you?”
“Scary woman,” said Katrya. “Did she force you into it?”
“Of course not! She asked and I accepted. Simple as.” Polina emptied the bottle and looked at it a moment. “I didn’t think I would ever feel so much love.”
The women awed.
“I’m happy for you, Polly,” said Maks. “She never struck me as a kind woman.”
“Zytsev was worse if you ask me,” added Katrya. “Had the eyes and face of a birch eagle. Remember when she almost skinned that girl that tried to fight you?”
“Lyka Ulyanov,” grumbled Polina. “I remember.”
“I heard she’s only twenty-seven,” said Maks, making the firstborn women gasp.
“What’s the big deal?” asked Olya.
“The youngest someone can go on tour is twelve,” said Katrya. “She wasn’t a legal adult when she went through camp or combat.”
“That explains a lot,” groaned Polina as she reached for another bottle on the table. After popping the cap off she said, “But yes, Pavlychenko is very kind. What’s more confounding is she has a firstborn son.”
“Really?” asked Maks and Katrya.
“What’s his name?” asked Daria.
Polina shrugged. “I was too excited to ask. I thought it was odd too. I’ll be meeting him the day after tomorrow. I have this fear he won’t approve of me and she won’t go through with the adoption. I haven’t even told AK who she is from fear.”
“You overthink as much as he does,” said Maks.
“You’re made for each other,” added Daria with a chuckle.
“Just tell him, you stretched wench,” said Katrya.
Even Polina laughed with the women. When it died down she shook her head. “I’m not used to nice things. I have to temper my expectations until I know for sure. For now, I’m imagining she will deny me.”
“You’re a sad, pragmatic woman, Polly,” said Daria.
“Don’t know what that means, but gratitude, sister.”
“You could always marry AK and get a real name that way,” added Maks.
“Oh, I intend to and then some,” said Polina taking a swig.
A long silence followed her burp before Katrya cleared her throat. “I know we said we wouldn’t talk about boys, but I wonder what they’re doing?”
“Probably getting into fights or calling each other slurs,” said Daria.
“Or playing Pechorin’s Wager,” added Olya with a toothy grin.
Maks suddenly sat up in her chair. “They better not, Olya. By the Omnissiah, if one of them smuggled a pistol-“
“Relax! Father made sure they didn’t pack their spares or hide them in their boots. On my honor. It’s more likely one of your in-laws snuck in their back-up plan.”
Just as she finished, Olya was hit with a scatter shot of crisps torn in half. “Poshol ty, gryzun kory!”
Her mood shifted immediately, flicking her still burning cigarette across the coffee table. “Come closer and say that, southern-scum!” she shouted, nearly pushing Katrya out of the chair.
Polina failed to stand in an attempt to mediate as a screaming match ensued.
*
The men crowded around one coffee table disconnected from the rest. There sat Anatoly across from Saulius over a regicide board, a third of reach side remaining. Casualties stood at the sides, out numbered by shot glasses. If anyone spoke it was in whispers, some exchanging large copper and nickel coins with an occasional gold piece. Everyone was drunk as they watched the board, mouths agape and swaying. Aleks had his hands pressed flat to the top of his head while Roman smoked a large cigar, the chest of his field coat peppered with thick ash. Slava almost sat over the board, staring wide-eyed at the arrangement, hand over his mouth.
A quiet gasp rippled through the party room when Anatoly raised his hand toward one piece. Whispers multiplied when his fingertips grasped the cast plastic top and grew louder when he raised it. Protests and encouragements spat from the audience, clamoring together in a mess as Anatoly slowly lowered the piece to its new place. He would hold it just off the board before moving it back and letting go. The audience sighed back into silence then roared when Anatoly quickly took up a different piece to over-take one of Saulius’s, adding it to the casualty stack.
The men jumped and grabbed at each other as they cheered. Glasses were drained and smashed on the floor while food was tossed upward. The nub of ash at the end of Roman’s cigar broke off and smeared across his chest after bumping into one cousin. Aleks was shouting something at Anatoly as he stabbed his hand at the board while Slava held fast in his intense observation.
The room quieted slightly for Saulius to take a shot, only to explode once more when he casually moved one piece to take out Anatoly’s.
*
An hour after midnight both parties wound down considerably. Many of the women went to bed or moved to continue the night at the bar. After Saulius flipped over the regicide board, winning bets were given out and the men scattered, some lingering in the ruined party room to have drunken rambling conversations. The parties would mostly congregate in the cabaret proper. Maks and Roman had gone to bed, leaving Aleks and Polina the only other real couple to slow dance in front of the stage with other would-be pairings and strangers.
Slava was at the bar with a half-finished mug of beer before him. A hand held up his head while the other spun a gold coin on the polished bar top. After resetting the spin Daria caught his eye. She stumbled to the bar beside him between the stools. He could not look away as she ordered a glass of wine, letting the coin wobble into a steep tilt and rattling into silence. “I like the shape of your nose.”
She smiled, but turned only slightly so her eye would meet his. “My nose?” she slurred back.
“Your nose. I like it.”
“Odd thing to like about a woman’s face.” She turned all the way. “What do you make of the whole of me?”
Slava was deliberate as he slowly scanned her from head to toe and back. “I like those shapes too.”
Daria giggled. “Boys will say anything to get a woman out of her clothes.”
A shallow smile crossed his face. “I wouldn’t know. This is the most I’ve spoke to one and she to I.”
“So far.”
“So far.”
She leaned on the bar facing him as the wine was poured. “I’m not so easy, Guardsman. You think me desperate for attention by the ugly metal bolted to my face?”
“I can assure you, Aerman, I’m far uglier on the inside that you will ever be on the outside.”
“Hmmm,” he said scooting closer and taking up his mug. After a brief swig she slammed it back down, sticking out her tongue with a scoff. “Prove it,” she slurred.
“I killed my mother when I was born. My father renounced me and when I was little, I heard he wanted to feed me to his mastiffs… He left me to my grandmother, an overbearing hag that kept me inside when I was home from Kutuzov. Brought me up to be a fop until I beat my cotillion instructor and her replacement with a belt around my fist… Others too, but I doubt they were important because I can’t remember why I beat them. In class, I was left alone. I didn’t mind. I know better than anyone the kind of man I am.” He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve and snorted. Straightening his back, his shallow smile deepened. “So, I can say with absolute certainty, that you, Aerman, are as fine as this wine.”
Daria watched him take her glass and slowly sip before she took hold of his hand on the stem with her off hand. Slava let her pull the glass to her lips before she finished the whole thing. Using the other she put the glass on the bar to interlock her fingers with his.
“Do you know how to dance?” she whispered.
Slava burped with his chin tucked. “Will you show me?”
Daria smiled. When she pulled him, Slava’s boot caught the footrest of the stool. He stumbled and both of them crashed to the floor. In a fit of laughter they would remain.
At the foot of the stage the dance floor was modest, but spacious enough for the couples to gently and drunkenly sway and rotate in place. Aleks and Polina They held each other, eyes shut and uniforms ruined, losing themselves to the lone accordion player on stage with a cigarette in his mouth. His head on her bosom, she could feel him humming to the tune that she did not know.
“You know this song?”
“Mm-hm,” he said with a nod. He kept nodding into her chest until he added, ”It’s ‘Sister, Don’t Tell Mother.’”
“What?”
“’Don’t Tell-‘”
“Louder, please, AK. You’re mumbling.”
“The song is called ‘Sister, Don’t Tell Mother.’”
“Don’t tell her what?”
“It’s a war song that changes lyrics depending on the campaign. In our case, we’d sing, ‘Sister, Don’t Tell Mother I’m on Medusa V.’”
“But we aren’t.”
“For now that’s the version the 356th uses because that was the last campaign.”
“Oh.”
Aleks squeezed her once. “It’s a sad song. All war songs are sad. At least we’ll be in it together.” Polina nodded and laid her cheek on the top of his head. He let the moment linger before he gathered the courage. “I love you.”
“What?”
“I love you!”
Polina turned to look down at him with a wide grin. “Once more.”
Aleks groaned as he looked up, eyes half open. “I love you.”
Playfully biting her lower lip she whispered, “I love you too.”
*
Aleks rubbed the back of her neck as Polina wrenched into the toilet. Kneeling in the stall she braced against the porcelain, her gasps and cries echoing in the bowl, the muscles in her neck pulled tight. With a few final spits of bile Polina pushed off to sit against the wall, splaying her legs out. Aleks stepped carefully to stand in front of her and reached for a wrap of toilet paper to wipe her mouth.
“I’m never drinking again,” she mumbled. “It’s not worth it. They told me beer would sit better.”
Aleks peered at the toilet. “Me too. Perhaps you didn’t eat-“ Even the slightest glance was enough. “Incoming,” he said before hunching over the toilet.
Polina turned away and felt the faint touch of a tiny splash hit her cheek. “Ew!”
“Forgive me,” he gasped before another fit, bracing against the back wall.
Aleks pulled the chain to flush, but he was not done, hitting the bowl with a glancing shot before it was over. He hovered over the toilet, catching his breath as he blindly reach backwards for paper. After wiping he slumped down beside Polina. “I’d kiss you, but-“
“Please don’t,” she said shaking her head. “My teeth feel gritty.”
“Mine as well. My whole chest seemed to cramp.” He spat into the tissue and tossed it into the toilet before taking a breath. “A latrine floor is no place for a firstborn.”
Polina gasped when Aleks suddenly lifted her in his arms, one hooking her legs and the other across her back. With an arm around his neck she laughed all the way from the cabaret, through the lobby, up the stairs, and into the hall on the second floor.
“Is it locked?” he asked with strain in his voice, standing before the women’s room.
“Stand by,” she said reaching for the nob.
Polina knocked and did not stop until Maks answered in her grey undershirt and panties, bearing the faint impression of a belly. Aleks squeezed his eyes shut just as Polina covered them with her spare hand.
“Hello,” she giggled.
“Evening, Maksimova,” he said.
She looked irritated, but spoke calmly. “Thank you, AK. I’ll take her-“
“No! Carry me.”
“I’m not allowed inside, Polly,” said Aleks.
“Carry me!”
“Okay.”
Maks rolled her eyes and let them through.
Two large beds were set against the wall flanking a window with the curtains drawn, snowfall passing on the other side of the old glass. On the left cots were set around a dresser where some of the women slept that did not make it in time to get a place in bed. On the right stiff wooden couches were occupied, set in front of a fireplace. Sitting together near the hearth, framed by flame Katrya and Olya kissed, grabbing and pulling at each other.
Polina did not take her hand from his eyes as she guided Aleks. “Turn slightly right… Now straight… Almost there.”
“I need to see. Is Maks decent?”
“We’re all naked, city-boy,” said Olya.
Katrya laughed then added, “I’m about to be.”
The hetmanite woman giggled and shoved her mouth back into the firstborn before Katrya tugged on Olya’s braid.
“I’m your eyes,” said Polina. “Simple as.”
Aleks’s mouth twisted, but pressed forward with careful steps. After a handful more he reached the side of the rightmost bed. Probing with his foot he found only carpet. “I don’t feel a bed.”
“It’s fine. Lower me right here.”
With a groan Aleks slowly knelt. “Polly, where’s the bed?”
“You’re not sharing a bed with another woman.”
Olya, Katrya and a few of the women still awake chuckled.
“Don’t jest,” he said on one knee. “Maks will yell at me.”
“No she won’t.” Polina pulled him down to the course carpet, his eyes still shut. “Lay with me, my strong man.” Aleks did not fight it as she enveloped him in a straddling embrace, his arms held down in her grip. “Don’t ever let me go.”
“Never,” he whispered into her bosom, struggling to get one arm free to reciprocate. “Never ever.”
Maks watched them from the foot of the bed, crossing her arms as a smile formed.
*
A dozen nudges from Maks’s foot in his back finally stirred Aleks. He groaned louder with a stiff stretch, still wrapped in Polina’s arms and legs. Her eyes remained shut as she tightened, bringing her dry lips to his. They enjoyed a few seconds of peace before Maks poured a glass bottle of water over their heads. The couple gasped, shielding themselves from the cold deluge.
“My ear!” cried Polina.
Aleks rolled clear while Polina scrambled to sit, jerking her head to the side to clear the blockage. Maks took a swig, already in her dress coat. Over one arm hung a hussar jacket. The other women were in various states of preparedness, some nursing hangovers and covering their faces against the light. Katrya and Olya were asleep on the floor in front of the cold fireplace underneath a blanket, their bare legs sticking out of the end.
“Good morning, you two.”
“Morning,” they said, Aleks covering his eyes as he lay flat on the floor.
“It’s time to get ready. We’re leaving in three hours.”
“One more hour then,” said Polina turning to lie on her side before Maks splashed her with what was left.
“Get showered before the line gets too long. We’re gathering downstairs. If you hurry, you can have breakfast before we go.”
Aleks grunted as he sat up and crawled over to Polina to kiss her, both too weak for more than one. “I shall see you downstairs.”
As he braced against the bed frame to stand, Maks held out the hussar jacket. “Take this to Roman, will you AK?”
He nodded and shambled out of the room, cupping his eyes to see only the floor. It was less out of modesty and more to keep the light from worsening his throbbing head. Crossing the hall and turning his key, Aleks was back with the men.
They were in the midst of getting ready or at least struggling to. Anatoly was still sleeping while Saulius was drying off naked in front of the weak fire. Roman was dressed and standing over an ironing board preparing one of the other men’s dress coats.
“Hey,” he said. “Maks said you slept with the girls last night.”
“Just Polly,” he grumbled, leaning on the back of one couch.
“In front of all of them?” asked Saulius with a smirk. “You scoundrel, Aleksei.”
“Very bold, urban-scum,” said one of the in-laws.
“Degenerate,” added one of Roman’s cousins.
“There was no coupling or rutting that I was witness nor participant to,” said Aleks. “We were too drunk for much besides sleep.”
“That’s too bad,” said the in-law.
“Coward,” added the cousin.
“I could’ve done with a little bit of both, but Maks insisted we wait until our honeymoon back south,” said Roman.
“When was your last time before she put you on retention?” asked Saulius.
The Young Kossak lifted the iron off the flattened sleeve as he contemplated the consequences of confessing. “Receiving Day.”
Anatoly’s eyes opened as wide as his friends, turning toward Roman.
“How?” asked Aleks.
Roman snickered. “You know how.”
“How did you get away with it?” asked Saulius.
“Uh, we did it between the barracks.”
“Oh,” they said.
“That makes sense,” groaned Anatoly.
“Me and Polly kissed there the night before Graduation.”
Saulius tied the towel around his waist before walking over to slap Roman on the shoulder. “You’re a bravery man than I, brother.”
He shrugged. “It was alright. Couldn’t take everything off or do anything fun. We were too scared to take it slow like she likes and rushed to finish.”
“Better than mag-dumping in the showers,” said Anatoly.
The men lazily agreed and settled into a short silence. Saulius stepped between the cots to the piled luggage to find his duffle while Anatoly stretched in bed.
“Anyone seen Slava?” asked Aleks.
“Probably downstairs,” said Saulius.
“I didn’t see-“ said Roman before he noticed what Aleks was holding. “Is that Myrat’s?” Aleks looked down and passed it to Roman just as he walked around the board to take hold of the hussar jacket. He held it by the shoulders, slowly looking over the rows of tarnished medals stacked across the left breast. “Would you help put it on me, Aleksei?”
Draping it on his left shoulder Roman held it in place for Aleks to pull the cord around his side and button it to the jacket. When it was secure, Roman turned to look at himself in the mirror atop the dresser, somberly smiling.
“The man only served seven years, but look at all he accomplished. Merits, braveries, punctuality, wounded three times, lance and shooting masteries, saber wins, inspection excellence…” Staring at himself he slowly ran his palm down the rows. “I hope I live up to such a man and be worthy of his daughter.”
Aleks looked at him in the mirror and smiled.
Behind them Anatoly was sitting on the bed. “You are not authorized to wear any of those.”
“I know. As long as I don’t claim them as mine, I’ll get away with it.”
“So you are making a costume of it? Your grandfather may cause a fuss.”
“He makes a fair point,” added Aleks. “No offense, but the man struck me as the kind to get a rise out of even the smallest matters of honor.”
Roman scoffed. “It’ll be alright, brothers. He swore not to cause a ruckus, especially with all the northerners around. Maks wanted me to wear it and on my honor, I intend to do so. Once you get your own wives, you’ll understand.”
*
Covering themselves in the standard issue dress cloak the firstborn were joined by the rest of the wedding party in the cabaret. The hetmanites and atmanites were adorned in their finer modest threads for the occasion, the women covering the whole of their hair in white scarves. For the men, the bullet pockets on their chests were slotted with shining decorative powder charges, leaving behind the real bullets in the cabaret armory.
The church was only a few blocks away, but from the foot of its steps stretched a line of wedding parties on the sidewalk. All of them were firstborn marrying latterborn with a handful of firstborn couples. Maks and Roman’s party was the only one consisting of both hetmanies and atmanites. From their vantage point, the plated onion domes were visible around the corner two blocks over as they waited. Fatigue still lingered after the worst passed. They either squatted or leaned against the face of a shop, immersed in conversation before a civilian would offer the required greeting in passing.
Katrya stood in front of Olya, bracing one hand against the wall as they shared a thin cigar. “May I write you?”
“Would you prefer if I stayed with you instead, sweetheart?” asked Olya.
“Yes.”
“Are you sure your parents won’t mind? Actually, would they take issue if you’re with another woman?”
“Staying over may be questionable, but they cannot tell me what to do romantically. There may be unspoken disapproval we can eliminate with the promise of a grandchild.”
“Ooo,” said Olya with smoke curling out of her mouth before passing the cigar. “One drunken night together and you’ve already put together a strategy for our future.”
“’Tis only a hypothetical. We have three months together before I go on tour. We must decide until then if we make a compatible pairing. Then I am afraid we will be separated for fifteen years.”
The Hetmanite nodded. “In that case, I should bear the children. It’ll keep me busy waiting for you and you’ll have something to look forward to when you come home.”
“If I come home-“
“No. When.”
Katrya took a slow drag and exhaled. “Very well. The other option is I find a progenitor on tour that we both agree upon. Do you have any men in your family that are firstborn?”
“My brother, but he is in another Host and isn’t scheduled to return for another six months… And he will be thirty. What of your male friends?”
Her mouth twisted. “I am not sure. We must continue to congregate as a group before we can make that determination. Kolchuk may be apprehensive to provide seed given his relationship with Symovich.”
Olya nodded. “They are very well put together… We could also wait until you return to have children. You wont be too old and neither will I. I have a younger brother you may like. We hetmanites carry the best qualities.”
“Are you sure he can wait fifteen years?”
Olya held the cigar, but did not take a pull. “I guess not. I know what men are like.”
Katrya nodded. “Then the optimal route to take would be for you to bear the children while I am gone.”
“In that case, we have to marry before you leave.”
“Correct.” After a pause, she said, “I’ll introduce you to my brother at home, but he won’t be a legal adult for another four years. You could use the time to get to know him and our families could come to an agreement as to-“
“Are you two seriously contemplating prostituting your siblings to each other?” asked Daria.
They women looked over to find the group staring at them.
“It’s a hypothetical,” said Katrya.
“A deviant one. You just met her-“
“And then some,” added Olya with a before grabbing Katrya’s waist. “Do they not believe in love at first sight in Tsarigrad?”
“Of course we do,” she said. Slava looked up from where he squatted and smiled. “However, I take issue with how brazenly you have announced your intention to use your male siblings as progenitors, whom I assume remain underage.”
“We also spoke of waiting until they were adults, Gurlukovich,” said Katrya. “To eavesdrop, one must listen.”
“’Tis not eavesdropping when the speakers are inconspicuous.”
“I don’t see the problem,” said Polina. “Seems no different than an arranged marriage. I don’t know the full story, but Mother had to have something planned to give birth to my brother when she prefers women.”
“That is not my issue,” said Daria. “I have nothing against such arrangements, but discussing it in the open, even as a hypothetical, surrounded by people, is wildly inappropriate.”
“You did not strike me as a prude last night,” said Slava.
Daria looked down at him with reddened cheeks. Before she could retort, the group turned to the street as newcomers arrived.
They were a mix of older hetmanites and atmanites being lead by a trio of firstborn. Two were Captain Sobietsky and his wife, Aer Captain Ungyrn, Roman’s parents. With them Artur walked beside an ancient hetmanite elder that no one but Maks and her kin recognized.
“Grandpa!” she said rushing off the curb.
Vlodomyrov gasped when she collided then laughed, patting her back. “Hello, little cub.”
“I thought you couldn’t make it. The journey is so arduous.”
“I wouldn’t miss this day for the world. Nor will your father.” He looked over his shoulder and gestured a younger man forth.
Under his arm he carried something wrapped in thick paper. Undoing the twine he revealed a rough wooden board and held it leaning against his chest facing Maks. Surrounded by a stained frame, a painted rendering of Myrat Vlodomyrov stared back with bright blue eyes on a smiling face. He wore a firstborn dress coat with the hussar jacket Roman wore now. Maks gently took the board and held it to her chest, resting her cheek on the edge.
Beside them, Roman was shaking hands with his parents and grandfather. Per regulation, when in dress uniform, saluting superiors was not required, the other firstborn waiting on the sidewalk for their turn.
“Are you sober?” asked Sobietsky.
Roman nodded. “I did smoke, but that wont hurt anything. Will it, Mother?”
“Only in excess and I won’t have you smoking,” said Ungryn. “A pilot friend of mine smokes all the time and more often than not, she’s coughing her guts out. It’s a filthy habit, son.”
“But not the worst, dear,” said Artur. “Everything in moderation, boy. In that way, you can do no wrong.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Master of Kossaks stepped closer to the curb to greet the other firstborn. At Aleks he lingered. “Your name, son?”
“Aleksei Kolchuk, s-“
“I figured so! You were an infant, but I recognized your eyes from the last time I was home. Sergei brought you and your parents to a ball. You were there too, Puzikas, as a boy,” he said to Saulius. “How is the old man?”
“I was told he broke his leg and is staying at our home.”
“Just a leg?” Artur sputtered and waved his hand once. “He’ll be fine. I shall see him tomorrow. Inform your parents of my intention to visit. It’s not urgent or a matter of honor. No need for a show of respect. Tell them that exactly.”
“Yes, Master.”
Artur stepped back so everyone on the sidewalk could see. “But when we are in there, the Omnissiah will be watching,” he said pointing toward the church. He spread his gaze across the group, deliberately eyeing the hetmanites. “We will pay homage and conduct ourselves as operational dogma demands. This is no sich chapel or sanctuary on the tundra. No fighting, roughhousing or shooting… We’ll save that for the reception. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said the men.
Glossary of Terms
Apparatek -the political body of Vostroya
apparatik (plural ‘appartiki’) -a member of the Apparatek
grom (plural ‘gromy’) -grenadier
kobarda (plural ‘kobardas’/abbreviated ‘koba(s)’) -mechanical horses
kossak (plural ‘kossaks’) -cavalry branch of the Firstborn
Obnovlenye -time of renewal
otvergat (plural ‘otvergati’) -reject, nameless
polkovnik (plural ‘polkovniki’) -clan leader
serzhyat (plural ‘serzhyata’) -trainer
sich (plural ‘sichi’) -clan village
sotnik (plural ‘sotnika’) -work chief
streltsy -retired serving firstborn
vasketbol -basketball
volot (plural ‘voloti’) -folklore giant
Vostnovit -when diminished Hosts are folded into others
voyshkola (plural ‘voyshkoli’) -war school’
Recommended Viewing/Reading
Union of Salvation, directed by Andrey Kravchuk
The Admiral, directed by Andrey Kravchuk
War and Peace, directed by Sergei Bondarchuk
Waterloo, directed by Sergei Bondarchuk
Mongol, directed by Sergei Bodrov
Enemy at the Gates, directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud
Come and See, directed by Elem Klimov
The Duelists, directed by Ridley Scott
The Wind and the Lion, directed by John Milius
Always with Honor, written by Pyotr Wrangel
My Dress-Up Darling, written by Shinichi Fukuda
With the Old Breed, written by E.B. Sledge
Fury, directed by David Ayer
Starship Troopers, written by Robert A. Heinlein
