Vodka Letters And Marching Orders

Dusk at Stalingrad-1 Rail Station. Yesterday a German panzer unit launched an assault that failed to take back their lost territory, leaving the station tenuously in Soviet hands and full of more wounded and more shells. Nearby, the fighting on Mamayev Kurgan has raged without rest, giving not even a few minutes' silence from the constant sound of gunfire and shelling. Overhead, the Luftwaffe have been dropping bombs regularly over the city, as though there was much left standing to bomb.

More Soviet reinforcements have arrived today at the station, replacing the hundreds that have died here for this ferociously defended patch of Stalingrad, but on the west side the Germans have been doing the same. It never stops.

Yevgenich is sat agaisnt the wall sewing patches on to the holes left by petrol bomb. Soon the mantle will be as good as new, apart from the singe marks and horrible needle work. He barely notices the newcomers it's not like he's likely to meet the same person twice.

Alas, Novikova has been frustratingly stuck with her bum leg. She does sit up though, listening here and there as the bombs fall and as troops shuffle. It's almost like background noise now. She might quietly mourn a familiar face or watch a friend go by, but she for her part examines the old SVT rifle, sets it aside and looks to Yev. "Hey, Sergeant." Griiiiiin.

At least one semi-familiar face isn't dead yet. Liadov, his head and one arm wrapped in filthy, bloody bandages. Feet crunch on broken cement and glass as he ducks into this poor excuse for a pillbox, his good arm wrapped around what looks like a bunch of pieces of paper. "Comrades."

Mikhail is present, being lost in thought for the moment. Pausing a little bit as he hears Liadov, looking over in the man's direction now, a bit quietly.

It takes Yevgenich a while to realise Novi's speaking, and that she's speaking to him. He hmms as he finishes his little patch then looks up, "Comrade Novikova." A smile, then his attention turns to Liadov as he greets what seems to be the whole bunker, he still thinks of it as a bunker. Hmm, no drinks, that figures. Still he's listening.

"Hello there," She smiles at Yev. Novikova seems glad to see him about. But she turns to see poor Liadov. Her face turns red briefly. "Comrade," She greets him anyway. Fidget. She looks to Mikhail briefly and goes quiet to listen.

That's what you think, Yev. There's something jammed up into Liadov's right greatcoat lapel, but it's not the man's primary focus. "Comrade Sergeant," he tells Yevgenich. Word gets around. "Congratulations." He dumps the papers — and they are papers, blank ones, along with four pencils — onto a broken chair. "You're being reassigned soon. But it looks like you have time for this." He clears his throat. "They got a mail drop scheduled for tomorrow."

Mikhail pauses for a few moments as he hears that. "Mail drop? Incoming or outgoing?"

Yevgenich replies, "Comrade Sergeant." A quick nod, "Thank you." He then looks blankly at the papers, before getting up and shuffling towards the papers, he's not entirely sure what's happening, but isn't going to admit it. Mikhail can do the talking.

Blink. She smiles at the congratulations and looks over as the papers get dropped. "Oh, thank you." Mikhail beats her to the question and she glances to Liadov now, strangely quiet and … not wiggly. Oh my. Novikova hms, considering it. Re-assigned. Could be good, could be bad. But a letter home might be good. 'Dear mom and dad, FORGET SOMETHING?'

"Both." Liadov tells Mikhail. "Some mail got across the Volga with a battalion of marines that just came in. If they can get it here, they will." In other words, don't count on it. But they're trying. "They'll take any outgoing letters in the morning and send them back with the evacs. Might be the only drop you see for a pretty damn long while, so make use of it." He exhales thinly, pursing his lips. "It'll go through the Commissars, of course. No talking about troop movements, numbers, nothing the enemy could use if they get to it first. If you wouldn't want Hitler himself reading it, don't write it."

Mikhail nods a little bit as he hears that, "Should tell someone we're still alive, at least."

Yevgenich nods along, "Right." He's obviously here to stop people fighting over the pencils. "Seems like an opportunity we wouldn't want to pass up." He's rather distracted, waht was that about reasignment, damn his inability to listen when faced with sheets upon sheets of blank paper. An absent nod to Mikhail, "Tell them not to worry."

Novikova nods and listens. She's watching poor Liadov and turning red. Hmm. "What to write about then." Her family probably DID figure out the mistake a bit too late. She will take half a sheet and fold it. The other half will be saved for Elise, probably. "Sounds good, thank you." More red facedness. She takes a deep breath. Right. She reaches for a pencil, then.

Liadov nods, his dark brown eyes turning onto Yevgenich again. "Tell the rest of your squad someone'll be back with more paper tonight. And more of this." /Now/ the bottle, that shape that's been lurking under his coat. He grabs the vodka bottle by the neck, plunking it down next to all the papers. Don't get too excited; it's the cheap stuff. Oh well. "And tell your boys to get ready to march."

Mikhail nods a little bit as he hears the others, then looks to the bottle, rather carefully. Staying quiet for now, as he seems to be formulating a letter in his thoughts.

Yevgenich nods, eyes the bottle and nods again. "Good news." He murmurs, "So we're done with the station then?" Wandering how far they'll be marching. He'll grab a couple of sheets of paper for himself, carefully avoiding the bottle of vodka. He's got his own pencil, whcih he pulls out of some pocket. It's a ragged old thing. Finally, "For the bottle I thank you on behalf of my Comrades." How long since he's had a drop of vodka, two months?

On the upside, Sergeants drinnk first? It's hard to write with Liadov /right there/. Ahem. Novikova takes up her half of her paper. She sets her pencil to it. "Very kind of you," Novikova adds. She winces at the mention of marching. Well, she'll manage one way or another or get launched out of the big gun to point B. Pencil sets to paper and quietly gets to moving. "Thank you again." Beam. She looks to Yev, then her paper.

"Yeah," Liadov says to Yevgenich. "They need the backup a little north of here. Red October area, so I heard." The giant steel factory a few miles away. "Militia's been holding out up there but the fascists are tearing them a new one. Battalion's on their way, they'll need supplies run in." And extra firepower. The senior sergeant looks grim about the situation. A nod towards the vodka. "No problem, comrade. Drink up, who knows when we'll see any next."

Mikhail moves to get hold of a piece of paper and one of those pencils now. "Will be good to move around," he offers, a bit lightly. Starting to write on something for the letter now."

Yevgenich considers things, first the march "I'll get us ready for that." He grunts, no such niceties as time tables. Now the vodka. He rubs his forehead for a moment before producing a tin thimble from somewhere in his coat, it's freshly scavanged. A quick wash and, "Pass the word around, everyone gets two measures." The thimble is held up. "Whatever's left" That would be a joke, but he's not smiling. "Goes to the Comrade Doctor, or the nurses." He sets the tiny cup down beside the bottle, turning away quickly. "And you'll need a crutch, Comrade Novikova." He slips a couple of sheets of paper into his pocket whil he thinks no one's looking.

Mercifully, there's no drooling. Only quiet admiration and writing. Achem. Novikova frowns and sighs. "If it's not the face…" It's the leg. Curses! She looks annoyed. She is listening though. She looks to Yevgenich and tilts her head. Well, he's fair at least. "Er- do we even have any of those? I'm sure I'll be okay." She looks a little embarrassed. If she notices him take a couple of sheets of paper, she says nothing.

A crutch? Liadov looks down at Novikova, seeming to notice her leg for the first time. "Oh. Shit, that's a nice one. We'll find you something to walk with, comrade." He folds his arms, looking at Mikhail and then back at Yevgenich. "Got anyone in your squad that can handle anti-tank mines?"

"A crutch should be easy enough to make out of some part of the wrecked station," Mikhail says after a few moments of pause, before he blinks a bit at Liadov, "I've only seen mines at work, sadly." Offering a half-smile in Yevgenich's direction at the paper-gathering.

A blush as Liadov finally notices her leg. "Yeah… Guess I zigged when I should have zagged," Novikova fidgets. She smiles weakly. "Don't go to too much trouble on my account," A headshake. "Mines? Like- those aren't too hard, you just have to not push the plate in when you-" Pause. She blushes and goes quiet. "Thank you." Nod.

Yevgenich was going to get a rifle, or like a bit of wood. But Liadov's idea is good too. "Thank you once again Comrade." Ah, he mentally flips a coin between outright lie to get the equipment, and… well, honesty. He settles for honesty, first day on the job and all. "We have an electritian, but then he's a civilian, and some non engineer veterans." A shrug, "I'm afraid we can't do anything." Despite Vladmir, who's just badass. A look to Novi, "Hmm?" Hey, looks like he's wrong again.

Liadov nods slightly to Mikhail and Yev. "Not many people know how to use them that haven't served before. They're pretty fucking dangerous. But when those panzers are trying to crawl up your arse, they're invaluable." He looks back at Novikova. "Something like that. You have to know how deep to set them, shit like that. We got a couple boys who know what they're doing with 'em." Back to Yev: "If you want to send some of yours to learn, we'll show them. But you don't have much time, so get em over there quick."

Yevgenich nods and nods some more. "They'll be some volunteers I'm sure." Glance at Novi there, he'll make sure /someone/ goes, "Can't rely on molotovs." He agrees. He leans his single remaining sheet of paper agaisnt a sloping wall and starts writing quickly. He's done quite quickly and pins the sheet to something wooden with his handy bayonet.

=================================== Orders ===================================
Message: 10/9 Posted Author
Vodka! Tue Apr 13 Yevgenich


This message is scrawled in large letter wit pencil on a half sheet of paper fastened to a prominent block of wood with a bayonet.

Marching soon. Be prepared to take all you can carry. Bullets especially.

Two thimbles of vodka each.

Limited opportunity to learn mine laying.

Yevgenich.

"Yeah, a guy in my chemistry class-" Novikova pauses. Best not to admit to knowingly hanging out with the crazy one because he could set bombs. Ahem. She just smiles politely and nods. "I only know a little but I don't mind coming to learn," She offers. If she heals up in time anyway. That bum leg. She blushes and smiles at Yev. "I know." Nod. Could it be a potential for cosmic revenge? Either way, she looks somewhat touched Yev looked to her. Or worried. A shrug and a smile.

Mikhail pauses for a little while, "If we need volunteers, I'll go," he offers, a bit quietly. Going back to his writing, a bit thoughtfully. Singing softly under his breath.

«OOC» Mikhail says "For the song: http://poemsintranslation.blogspot.com/2010/04/isakovsky-katyusha-from-russian.html"

"You don't mind," Liadov echoes Novi. "If." That, to Mikhail. He thins his lips and looks at Yevgenich. "Well, if the 'if's and 'don't mind's turn to 'Yes, I damn well will for Mother Russia', let us know. Those panzers they're rolling all over us could use some more bugs up their arses." He unfolds his arms, starting back for the bunker door. "I'll be back with some equipment and more paper later."

Yevgenich frowns, cough. He lets the senior sergeant go. Before turning back to the other two, "Our Comrade back might not be so sure about what you two just said. But as far as I'm concerned the both of you just volunteered, he just doesn't know it yet." His voice was getting softer as he went along. Want… vodka. He walks past the chair, so his back is turned to the others. "Enjoy your training." Dangerous as it may be it would be nice to have a half way reliable means of not getting run over by tanks. He turns, smile.

Mikhail pauses a little bit as he hears Liadov, looking over at the man, rather carefully. "Let's do this then, Comrade," he offers, with a bit of a shrug.

D'oh. And he was so - ah, embarrassment. Might as well drop an anvil on poor Novikova. "Yes, I will," She promises. Novikova doesn't follow the cuurses. But she nods and smiles. "Thank you comrade." Already she has a penchant for explosives, why not mines? Poor kid's gonna be popular as jock itch at this rate. She looks to Yev. She takes a deep breath. "I guess so." She really doesn't seem to mind the idea of horrible death. A lifted eyebrow. "Payback -" She laughs softly. "I think you should take first drink since you got promoted." Nod.

Yevgenich nods, that's sorted out then. "Just pay attention, don't think they'll have much time." He circles the chair again, "Remind me to get you that crutch." To Novi then, "I'm not touching that stuff, best to go without than to whet the appetite." Nod.

Mikhail continues to write his letter, looking lost in thought, for the moment. Back on the singing of Katyusha, then.

"Of course," Novikova smiles then tilts her head. "If you're sure. I'll try to make sure some is saved in case you change your mind," Nod. She sighs. "A crutch, I don't feel that old…" Poud. She looks to Mikhail. "You sing?"

Yevgenich is going to have to be rather curt about this, "Either that or someone may have to carry you, and they will have their own things to carry." Or she could just recover, still they could be leaving tomorow for all he knows. A quick glance back to Mikhail, he notices the singing, recognises the tune and tries to ignore it again quickly. "Do that," He tells Novi, "The Comrade doctor can use it for medical purposes." General aneasthetic. He's hovering near the entrance, there's a bottle of vodka and pile of paper and pencils for letter writing on a chair further in.

Mikhail pauses his singing, shrugging a little bit. "A little," he replies, before he yawns a bit. "Should get some rest while it's still possible. I'll take my share of the vodka later on." Leaning back a bit, he closes his eyes, soon falling asleep.

Frown. "Guess so." Sadface. Novikova is clearly unhappy about being slowed by her injury. She looks to Yevgenich. "Sure." A shrug and a smile. She just looks to Yev, "You sound Sergeantly already," Grin. This amuses and pleases her and so she settles in to write.

Yevgenich frowns a little at that Sergeant bit. Reassignment. Anyway he shrugs it off. "Keep well, and don't forget to pass the word on." Delegation. "A look down to the letter, "And be careful about the censors, blanked out spots might worry your parents." With that he'll stalk out to do whatever he does in the train station.

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