Home Trending Latest threads New posts Developer diaries

'I'm sorry, but you're not the only one...'

Jump to latest Follow Reply
  • We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
The general is not a bad character, but I would, under the conditions our hero is under, find him irritating to deal with.

So we begin to have more details filled in. It looks as though (as if we had no suspected it) the Past is not the past of the Future with time travel inserted.
 
I like this so far, but what I am wondering is will you have time change able and therefore what ever he does back in time will create a different future or has this all already happened and whatever he does creates the future he is from?
 
I feel Nikolai will need to be brought to heel fairly shortly. He is bordering on being insubordinate. While he has a number of obvious advantages to those he is now with, he has a number of disadvantages also.
 
Nice update!

I liked the conversation between Koniev and Nikolai, now let's see how they team up in battle
 
asd21593: Thanks!

J. Passepartout: Well as a character, i don't acctually like Nikolai. He is rude, abrasive and sly. But he still is our hero... or is he?

Sematary: I knew this question would come up eventually. I combatted this by putting Nikolai into a totally ahistorical situation, and although it dosen't sort out all the problems, it addresses many. More will become obvious as time passes. Still have plenty of adventures to go before you find out, trully, what is happening ;)

stnylan: Indeed he is, hence why i don't really like him :) He is just lucky that Koniev is a) too freindly and b) too confused to work out that Nikolai is being as he is.

Capibara: Thanks!

Updates a'comin'...
 

Chapter VI: Another Enemy​

The horses bolted for the hill that their riders were heading for, head-to-head in a non-existent race. Nikolai was getting the worst of the situation as he bumped up and down in saddle, and experience which was killing his back, yet he was obviously a natural if nothing else by simply keeping on top of the horse. The Ukrainian found the time to look around him to see how far they had travelled. He was astonished to see that the column was at least a twenty minute march away. That was not surprising, though, as they were reaching the very bottom of the great mound that was their rendezvous point with the Regimental Column.

Nikolai’s back, however, could take no more riding, especially not up a large hill. He slowed and stopped his steed and waited for Koniev to do so. The impetuous officer had already started up the steep slope, and took several moments to notice that his companion was no longer riding with him. The Russian looked around to see Nikolai dismounting, so quickly brought his horse to a stop. The Ukrainian had gone to tie his horse to a nearby tree when the officer trotted up behind him. The clattering of the horses hooves alerted Nikolai of Koniev’s presence.

“I’m sorry Koniev, my back just can’t take a ride like that” he said, continuing his walk to the tree without turning round. The Russian squinted at Nikolai before he could come up with a reply.

“Perhaps some more training might be needed to…err… hone your skills?” he asked hesitantly, before jumping down off his horse with a majestic agility. Nikolai chuckled slightly under a tired cough, his breath was gone. Riding was a surprisingly tiring experience. He threw a piece of rope around the tree, and tied a firm knot to the horses’ reins. Koniev did the same and both of them fell to the ground in tiredness, although Koniev did his best to cover it up.

Nikolai gave another exasperated laugh before he reached into his knapsack, attached to his belt, and opened it up. Koniev watched, silent apart from his heavy breathing, intrigued at what Nikolai was doing. Out of his sack, the Ukrainian procured a bottle of vintage Vodka and two shot glasses. “Emergency Alcohol!” exclaimed Nikolai, breaking out into full laughter, soon joined by Koniev. Nikolai split the glasses and offered one to the officer, which was duly accepted.

“This is against Imperial Regulations, Nikolai” the officer giggled. “However, I feel the situation hardly complies with anything Imperial!”

“And I am not under Imperial Authority either” the Ukrainian reminded the Russian.

“Oh be quiet and pour me some Vodka!” Koniev said, hitting Nikolai lightly on the arm. It was an odd friendship at best. The Vodka was poured and the bottle placed on the ground. Koniev offered the toast; “To our new allies and new friends!” and Nikolai repeated. The Vodka was not swigged, though, as something caught Nikolai’s brown eyes before his arms could react to the toast.

“What is it Nikolai?” asked the officer, who had not drunk his vodka either, after he had seen Nikolai stop dead. The Ukrainian did not reply, but lowered his head, and placed the shot glass on the ground. He studied the bottle carefully, before he raised his head in a grimace towards the officer.
“What is it?” Koniev repeated. His face had gone a deathly white in fear and anticipation.

“You aren’t prone to earthquakes here, are you?” he asked, his voice serious and monotonous.

The officer shook his head. “I have been here four years, and haven’t witnessed a single earthquake.” Nikolai lowered his head again and looked at the bottle. “Why? What is wrong?” Koniev asked desperately seeking an answer.

“If you don’t have earthquakes” the Ukrainian spoke with his head still pointed downwards. “What is making the vodka in the bottle splash around?” he raised his head, revealing that his face had now turned white. Koniev studied the bottle carefully and the two looked at each other in a deathly silence that lasted minutes.

Before Nikolai could utter another word, Koniev had leapt up onto his feet and was running at a full sprint up the hill. Nikolai picked up the shot glass, of which the contents were also splashing around now, and downed the glass before placing it back in his knapsack. He grabbed the bottle and began his run up the hill.

It was a long run up a steep slope, that would take the energy of any man away, let alone two already exhausted ones. The run must have taken two or three minutes to complete, and as Nikolai struggled up the slope, he saw Koniev reach the top, before the Russian collapsed into a ball at the summit. Nikolai soon came to the same place, and keeled in two with exhaustion. Eventually he regained his breath enough to lift his torso back into shape. It was a bad move, as his eyes took in a sight which he could not believe. His eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped and the grip in his hands loosened. The prize bottle of Vodka fell and smashed on the dirty surface, spilling its contents over the ground.

In front of the two men was a sight that would usher fear into all men. What came into view was thousands and thousands of barbaric looking cavalry charging the beleaguered Regimental column, which could do little to stop them. Nikolai watched in silence as he saw the little figures, all dressed in the same green uniforms as Koniev, scurry about to try and form a defensive line, looking as if they were pieces on a board. Nikolai tried to ask what was happening to the Koniev, still weeping in his hands, but although his mouth opened, the awe of the moment did not allow his voice box any air. The number of cavalry was so numerous that it filled as far as the horizon could see, and the thundering of the hooves made the ground shake and the sky to echo the sounds of hooves smashing against soil.

The Regiment was in no shape to fend off the attack. Caught off guard while marching in a column, their defence could only be rag-tag as soldiers desperately formed into semi-prepared lines to receive the enemy. Amazingly, above the sounds horses, barbarians and scared soldiers could be heard one order that went down the entire Russian line.

“FIRE!”

The line replied by letting off a thousand guns at the charging enemy. Nikolai watched as hundreds of the barbarians fell from their horses, tripping over many of the creatures following behind. However, on the grand scale of things, it made only a small dent into the endless numbers of cavalry.

In a bone crunching crash, the cavalry hit the Russian lines, and the battle became an uncontrollable melee of slaughter. Nikolai saw, without a word of grief, hundreds of men mown down under the hooves and swords of the barbarians. Little soldiers, dressed in green, were now running from the rear of the column and making their way towards the hill. Behind them, a small group of fifty or so Barbarians chased after them, looking for an easy kill. This would, inevitably, draw them towards Nikolai and Koniev.

Koniev had awoken from his cries and now threw himself upwards with a rage evident in his eyes. He swung round a rifle which he had been keeping on his back and without even aiming, cocked and fired the weapon at the advancing horsemen. Amazingly, it hit its target and a horseman fell from his perch. The same rage was soon passed onto Nikolai, who slung his AK47, which had been strapped around his back for the past day without anyone even noticing it was a weapon, round and into his waiting arms. Somehow, this action stopped Koniev from reloading his rifle, which had left a black powder stuck to his face.

“What are you doing?” he asked desperately. His face showed a mix of exasperation, hate and dread.

“It’s my weapon” Nikolai replied before taking aim on one of the riders. He fired; the gun gave off no smoke and practically no recoil. He quickly took aim again and fired once more. Koniev’s face drained of its red colour immediately as the Ukrainian fired his weapon. “But… what... how?” he asked, confused by the makeup of the gun.

“There is no time to explain at the moment, my friend” Nikolai shouted past the muzzle of his gun. “Just reload your rifle and get on with it!” he demanded. Koniev got to work. The Barbarians were almost upon them. It a sudden bout of fury, Nikolai lowered the gun to his hip and aimed it liberally at the crowd of cavalrymen. The gun went off as the trigger was pressed down firmly, all thirty bullets of the magazine flying into the attackers. He counted ten men gone down to his spray. Koniev almost jumped down the hill in fear. Nikolai looked once at the officer before turning his head back towards the aggressors.

They were close; he wouldn’t have time to reload. He dropped ‘Cossack’ and quickly reached into his pocket for his pistol, which he brought out just in time as the first barbarian swung his sword at Nikolai. The barbarian, now easy to observe at close quarters, looked eastern in skin tone, and wore thick furs against the cold climate. His sword was oriental, no doubt. His body armour, some form of leather, did nothing to stop the bullet from the pistol, and the weight of his swinging sword threw him off his horse as his body went limp. Another one came up and was met with the same reply.

As the next barbarian stepped up, the pistol only clicked. It was out of ammo! Nikolai had forgotten to reload it after his ordeal in the cave. Quickly reacting to the swinging sword, he ducked down; the sword tip missing his helmet by an inch. Lifting himself up as the sword passed, he reached down, pulled out his Bebout, and slashed the rider across the back. As the rider keeled off the rear of his steed, the horse reacted by smashing out its back legs. This threw the falling body straight into Nikolai, which knocked him clean off his feet. He was now open to attack…
 
Last edited:
i can only agree with the previous post. please update again soon.
 
Not a pleasant situation to be one. From having a comradely drink of illicit vodka to facing barbarian cavalry. Not good.
 
asd21593: Thanks :)

BritishImperial: thanks, and i did start as soon as i read that, but it got held up by school :(

J. Passpartout: Only the pistol ;)

Sematary: Thanks, but there is always a way :D

stnylan: Certainly quick proceedings. I thought the vodka scene was quite Jurassic Park-esque ;)

updates a'comin'.....
 

Chapter VII: A True Hero​

The de-horsed rider hit Nikolai straight in the chest, and the horse of the horse’s rear legs transferred from the dead man to the Ukrainian, sending him flying to the ground, while pushing the breath out of his, already, hyperventilating lungs. As he hit the ground, his helmet, which even with his experience with the Viking was still unstrapped, flew clean off his head. The barbarian landed beside him and Nikolai rolled onto his stomach, desperate to relieve pressure on his breathing. This, however, left him open to attack from the remaining riders, who closed into the dangerous man who had destroyed many of their number.

Nikolai was too angered by the adrenaline rush of the situation to care about the fact that he was about to die, but as the riders dismounted, the situation began to increase in urgency. The riders pulled out their oriental swords and rolled their fallen comrade away.

The next few moments were all quite blurry, and a single word, shouted from afar, saved the Ukrainian. A harsh Germanic accent filled the air with a word that helped the Ukrainian have another chance.

“Feuer!” announced the voice, calm and controlled; almost as if the situation was a daily one. A dispersed volley, though giving a sound of precise deadly accuracy, fired from the slope below him. Several of the advancing barbarians fell, and the rest remounted their horses and bolted back down their side of the hill. Down that side, the thousands of riders were clearing up after their lightning victory. Many strode around, finishing off those who had been badly wounded by spears or arrows, quickly decapitating the injured Russians. Some saw the barbarians running from the slope, and jeered at the hill of their defeat, ripping up the green jackets of the dead.

A hand presented itself before Nikolai’s astonished face. He had expected Koniev’s soft, noble hands, but instead was met with the gritty hands of a soldier. Nikolai’s eyes flicked upwards to see a man, unknown to him, in an even stranger and more elaborate hat than worn by Koniev. “You want a hand, my friend?” said the man in scratchy Russian, with a distinct German accent.

Nikolai laughed; he couldn’t help himself. His lungs, although desperate for air, still conjured up enough precious oxygen to laugh. Nikolai reached and grabbed the German’s welcoming hand, and was pulled up to his feet. “That’s the third time!” he snorted, “the third goddamn time someone has had to pull me up! I’m on a role!” The German stared at the hysterical Ukrainian before gripping his hand firmer. He shook Nikolai’s hand while introducing himself.

“I am Captain Claus von Hertzdorff, Imperial German Ulhans, attached to the 64th Infantry Regiment” the German paused for a moment, his face turning into a grimace. “At least… what is left of it” he said despairingly looking down at the bloodied field down the other side of the hill.

“Is that right?” Nikolai said, almost bearing a grudging look at the man who had saved his life. “Well, I’m Private Nikolai Vadrasnyi, and am attached to no one.” The German looked slightly confused by the statement. Before he could ask about Nikolai’s situation, Koniev bumbled in.

“Not the Imperial German Ulhans?” Koniev stumbled towards the German; his uniform scuffled by his dive. Von Hertzdorff nodded, a distinctly smug smile grabbing his face. Koniev’s jaw dropped. “I had no idea we had such honoured guest” the Officer looked ashamed of himself. “I’m sorry Captain; I have failed to protect your column” he bowed his head in guilt.

“Yeah! You weren’t much use at all!” Nikolai shouted at Koniev. “Those barbarians, whatever they were, could have killed me because you scarpered off down the hill!” he pointed at the Russian with each syllable that he used as stakes into Koniev’s depression.

The Russian wiped his eyes with his sleeve and covered his mouth to muffle his weeping. “You scared me with your weapon” he sulked, burying his head into his shoulder again. Nikolai shook his head viciously, and sighed deeply in desperation.

“Well, you are both still alive” said Von Hertzdorff, attempting to bring the men to a compromise, “and for now, that is all that matters. Now stop quibbling amongst yourselves, and let us clear up this most terrible situation” the senior of the three pointed out. Nikolai only now looked round to find seven soldiers, dressed in neat grey uniforms and hats like Von Hertzdorff’s. They stared blankly at the group of officers, of which they guessed Nikolai was one.

“So what do you suggest Captain?” Nikolai asked, seeking some command advice with the position the skirmishers were putting him in. “We ten men can’t stand up to that horde of whatever they are” he stated matter-of-factly, throwing his right arm towards the thousands of cavalrymen jeering at the hill.

The German thought to himself for a moment before coming to a decision. “Well our situation is, as you rightly said, hopeless.” He pointed back towards the advancing column of Koniev’s infantry about ten minutes march away. “I left most of my company with your column, and came with these skirmishers to relieve you, after your sergeant-major told me you had advanced to this position.” He paused momentarily before making his final choice. “I think our situation is hopeless. If near on three-thousand men could not hold off this horde, then I doubt three hundred infantry and one hundred cavalry could hardly manage to beat them. Our best hope is to retreat to your encampment and use your entire force to hunt these men down.”

Koniev gave a quick sob before taking a deep breath and regaining control over his emotions. “The encampment is about a days march from here, and as long as we go quietly, the Mongols shouldn’t be able to detect us. However-” he was interrupted mid-sentence.

“Did you just say Mongols, Lieutenant?” asked the Hertzdorff, his face turning sour. Koniev nodded, and the German raised his eye brows. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the Mongols get beaten by Ivan Grozny, back in the 15th century?” Koniev shook his head, as there was no easy way to explain it. Nikolai, too, had turned pale.

“I can’t explain it very well, sir” Koniev explained. “I’m sure that General Loktinov will be more than happy to fill you in” he continued, smiling as he had been earlier that day.
At that moment, just as Koniev was to continue his explanation, several dishevelled figures appeared at the top of the hill. Von Hertzdorff’s skirmishers immediately turned and readied to fire at the new arrivals.

“Hold you fire!” shouted a parched voice. “For god’s sake…” he took a space for a desperate breath, “…please hold you fire.” The figure who had said this soon fell over and hit the ground hard. Everyone rushed to help him, although the men standing with the fallen person were obviously too tired and dehydrated for assist, and simply looked on in painful grimaces.

Nikolai reached the fallen Russian first, and quickly rolled the rather stout man over onto his stomach. “Water!” he turned round, demanding someone give him some. Koniev handed him a flask, coated in a soft fur, and Nikolai pulled out the cork-like top. He opened the fallen man’s mouth and poured the life-giving liquid into the dry mouth. As it fell in the gap between the man’s mouth and the flask, the early morning sun shone on it, giving a beautiful reflection of the water; taking the mood far from the tense moment. As the man coughed his way back into life, everyone’s faces began to smile uncontrollably. As the Ulhans saw their fallen comrade revitalized, they moved to help the other five men who had appeared with the stout man.

Eventually, everyone was in a fit state, and the man who had fallen over was able to get to his feet. “Hertzdorff…” he coughed dryly, “…where were you, you damn German.” The Ulhan laughed slyly, rubbing his dirt covered face with his equally dirty hands.

“I came as soon as I could, sir. We met up with our rendezvous, under Lieutenant Koniev” he gestured towards the young officer, who was talking with the Skirmishers in bad German. “After that, we heard gunfire, and I returned as soon as I could with a small group. Unfortunately…” he stopped; there was nothing more he could explain to the man.

“Nikolai” said Hertzdorff to the man standing, arms folded, above him. The Ukrainian bent down to receive the news. “This is my commanding officer, Colonel Nicholas Vetnyi, Duke of Smolensk and commander of the 64th Regiment of the Line” announced the German with some pomp. Nikolai and Vetnyi shook hands briefly before the Ukrainian lifted himself back to his feet.

“Captain” bleated Nikolai. “I think it is time to move, as the Mongols seem to be doing so” he pointed down the hill at the vast numbers of riders remounting and riding off to the east. The German stood up, looked at the Mongols and nodded with a grunt.

“Lets go down the hill; we left our horses with yours” he pointed out. “We will regroup with your column and report this catastrophe to General Loktinov.” At that name, Nikolai let out a sigh. “Let’s move!” Hertzdorff ordered. He also ranted something in German at his Ulhans and the rag-tag group began moving down the hill.
 
Last edited:
I think Nikolai needs to stop depending on others saving his skin. He looks like a rather poor soldier. That horrendous fighting of his may be good for the USSR but he left that behind, and I am sure his Cossack ancestors would not be pleased.
 
I agree that Nikolai needs to pull his socks up, and stop blaming others for his misfortune's.

So far he has been fortune's fool, but luck has the habit of running out when you start to depend on it.
 
Sematary, stnylan: Perhaps, but i can sympathise with him on some levels.

asd21593: thanks :)

update a day overdue, but i hope no one noticed...
 

Chapter VIII: Through and Through​


“Koniev” shouted Nikolai while turning in his saddle, “What’s the time?” The Russian continued to hold his reins while probing into his tunic pocket. He procured a pocket watch and read the time off.

“Eight forty-five and fourteen seconds” shouted Koniev, before replacing his watch back into position. He decided to catch up with Nikolai to continue their conversation without hurting their voice-boxes. “Why do need to know?” asked Koniev, cantering his way towards Nikolai. The Ukrainian looked back at him with deep eyes as Koniev slowed down, gracefully, into a trot. “Why?” he repeated, as the noses of the horses drew neck-to-neck.

“Because I haven’t had any food since I got here” Nikolai exclaimed, rubbing his rumbling stomach, which even Koniev could hear. “I mean, I have been here all but a day, and already I have fought my first battle, almost been killed twice, and have been saved by a random German!” he raised his voice and then broke into a light chuckle. Koniev looked at the man riding next to him, properly, for the first time, just to check how real this all was. The de-strapped helmet swaying with the horses trot, the sharp blue eyes with the light brown slithers of hair creping from under his headwear and the stubble on his chin. There was still mud all over his drab green uniform that held loosely to his lanky frame. He looked every part the soldier, though he hadn’t proved himself much use as of yet.

“Perhaps the Sergeant will have some food for you. They had pack for two days, we have been only one” Koniev suggested, patting the hungry Nikolai on the shoulder. “He is at the front of the column” he explained, and Nikolai set off at a canter immediately without even thanking the Lieutenant.

During the short ride, he went straight past the lines of neatly dressed Ulhans, looking surprisingly resplendent in the dull grey colour of their uniforms, and the Green-Jacketed Infantry of the Russians, marching precisely in step with each other, as if they were machines. The memories, spurred on by his hunger, began flooding back. His eyes seemed to see the ragged formations of Soviet troops, marching in no particular order, with little discipline, and only a will to kill the enemy of their beloved state. In many ways, the Soviet soldiers were simply machines, with nothing more inside them then a killing instinct and un-bending loyalty to the government. On the other hand, these Imperial Russian troops outclassed the Soviets in many more ways. They were not un-bindingly loyal, but could not be faulted on discipline or drill; it was an immaculate display of trust in their training. Nikolai had also seen the Russian troops in camp. They were lively, joking and friendly, if a little suspicious of outsiders at some points. The Soviets were sombre, quiet and scheming. ‘Snap out of it’ came the order from his mind. He was acting as if it was all real, as if this was actually happening to him. That wasn’t possible; he doubted the world he had known and replaced it with this make-believe one.

He was lucky enough to finish his ride down the column before his mind imploded with thoughts. He over shot the start of the column and pulled his horse round to side-step along with the sergeant-major. “Sergeant” he addressed the man ahead of him, who quickly saluted while still continuing the march, but Nikolai gave no similar reply. “Sergeant” he repeated “have you got any spare food on you?” The man seemed miffed but answered anyway.
“We have only been on the march one day, sir” the NCO shouted, although there was no audible need for it as the column was all but silent; albeit the stomping of mens feet. Nikolai waved his hands to try and get the old man to make his point. “Of course we have extra food!” he exclaimed.

“Excellent” Nikolai bellowed, “Its just I haven’t eaten since I got here” he continued. The sergeant was confused by the Ukrainians statement again, but never the less reached into his knapsack and bulled out a half-loaf of bread and a small ration of meat, which he duly handed over to the rider. Ignoring etiquette in front of the assembled men, he rabidly dug his teeth into the bread and tore a chunk out of it. Chewing heavily, his stomach didn’t mind the fact the bread was several days stale, just relieved about the fact he was getting some form of nutrition.

An amused giggle came from beside him and Nikolai looked up, a chunk of bread still held in his jaw, from his horses back to find Von Hertzdorff smiling widely at him. Nikolai’s cheeks went bright red instantly and he quickly removed the loaf from his mouth. Hertzdorff broke into full laughter as he saw the Ukrainian blush. “I see you are hungry, my friend” the German said, quickly regaining his breath before breaking into laughter again.

“I haven’t eaten in over a day, sir” Nikolai found himself calling the officer ‘sir’ shyly. The German stopped laughing immediately, his quick and shrewd mind picking up on the Ukrainians hick-up.

“I thought you said you were under no one?” the German’s voice almost imitating that of Nikolai. “If you are under no one, then no one is ‘sir’ to you?” Nikolai could only look blankly back, caught on the wrong foot. “I am right, no?” Nikolai nodded hesitantly. The German’s brain was too quick for a simple Cossack. “You want to tell me about it?” asked Hertzdorff, leaning skilfully from his steed to lead Nikolai’s horse further forward ahead of the column.

“Well it is all a bit fuzzy really” Nikolai began, not quite knowing how much to tell the German about the so called ‘time-travelling’. “Oh what the hell, you will have to learn eventually!” The German seemed quite taken-aback by Nikolai’s aggressive comment. “I am not from here, I am from 1983. I was fighting in this same place when I was sent into a cave. I got hit in the back and woke up here, in 1850.” The German cocked an eyebrow and began to look as if he would laugh Nikolai’s comment off. However, Hertzdorff was too intelligent to do so.

“Right” he took the information in slowly. “And this ‘time-travelling’ is the cause of those Mongols that we were fighting” the voice was slow and controlled.

Nikolai nodded in reply. “Not only that. When I first arrived, I was almost chopped in half by a blood-crazed Viking.” He wiped his face clean of dirt and looked hard into the Hertzdorff’s contemplative eyes, struck deep in thought. “So now I am stuck in 1850, with no way of knowing how to get home. Personally I think I have done a good job in the position I have been placed in!” he exclaimed, throwing up his arms in an appeal for help.

“I’m sure there must be a logical answer to this. Whatever happens, I think if we can find out, using you, what is behind all this, perhaps we can stop armies descending on us from around time like a plague!” Nikolai was seriously surprised and impressed. Not only had the German been able to accept the ideas that had been put forward at short notice, but was already trying he best to work them out. “Perhaps…”he paused, gently stoking his stubble covered chin, “…perhaps if we can locate the said cave, we can reverse the situation and send you back to wherever you came from… 1983 I mean” the German raised his voice in eccentricity and slapped his thigh as he finished. Nikolai was speechless. In less than a few minutes of being confronted with unorthodox idea of time-travel, the German had accepted and already worked out a possible plan for reversing it.

“Well we could try, though I would prefer not to go through the same experience again, it was rather painful” Nikolai wined, sounding very pathetic. Hertzdorff shunned it off.

“Even if it were to get you home?” he questioned, his words cutting deep into Nikolai’s soul. “I would do many things to see my native home again. But alas, I chose this instead.” Nikolai was face with to many ideas for the moment and decided to switch the conversation onto something a little easier to understand.

“But what is a German, or in fact a company of Germans, doing in the Imperial Russian Army? Shouldn’t you be fighting in Germany?” he asked Hertzdorff, whose eyes were beginning to water.

“I suppose, if there wasn’t civil unrest and constant wars in the German states, I would go to Germany, but I am not properly German” he explained softly. “I was born in Russian territory, just north of the border with Prussian Memel. So officially I am Latvian, but of strict German decent. All people in my situation are required by Imperial law to join one of the two German companies in the army. I was lucky enough to be placed in command of one of them; a blessing of being from a wealthy family.” He stopped to think, Nikolai viewing his deep thoughts through the dark brown eyes. “But, I haven’t seen Latvia in over five years now. My company and I have been suppressing revolts by Muslims. It is not nice business.” A blue tear began to trickle down the soldier’s cheek, dripping off and hitting the dry dirt beneath them. “I’m sorry” he coughed, laughing off his weep, “honestly; I usually try not to think about it.” He wiped another tear from his eye and sniffed loudly, before regaining control of his emotions.

“I shouldn’t have brought it up, it is my fault not yours, sir” whispered Nikolai calmly, feeling genuinely sorry to see a soldier like Hertzdorff reduced to tears. The German gave another coughing laugh and looked at the Ukrainian totting alongside him.

“You needn’t worry, it happens to us all” the German laughed his way back into form and hit Nikolai on the shoulder lightly. “Now how about we get back to camp and try and work a way to get at least one of us home. And if you have no leader, then call me Claus, it is much more preferable than any official title.”
 
Just read the three latest chapters, that's quick updating! I knew Nikolai would run out of ammo! :p Those Germans saved his life, I like this new addition, Captain Claus von Hertzdorff included of course!
 
All in all, everyone's confused, and no prospect of understanding in sight :)

Though nice of Nikolai's stomach to remind himself of its needs eventually :)
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Top Bottom
Back