"It is a matter of immeasurable importance to the Allied Powers and the future itself for Russia to be stabilized, unless we desire another terrible Great War. If other leaders refuse to intervene, we'll simply have to take matters into our own hands." - James Ironwood, 1918
1919
The setting sun shined across the wide and calm waters of the Volga River as it ran crimson with blood. Nevertheless, watching it eased the woman's mind. This river was the soul of Russia itself, yet she could not ignore its current state. Not too long ago, she and her brethren were united against the outside hoard of the damned Central Powers. Now, she thought against those who corrupted and destroyed the governing system with its ideals within her own homeland. She fought the Bolsheviks, the Red Army, but they were no longer her own.
She was Voron – the Raven, who commanded a contingent of White Army forces. She was once part of the Women's Battalion of Death, while others wore their Imperial uniforms or Cossack robes. They came from various corners of the former great Empire, yet they were united in their hatred of the Bolsheviks.
She had cleaned her black saber and sheathed it, returning back to the camp at Zevina's ruins, the primary building being what remained of the church. Bodies of Red and White soldiers still lay around, soaking the shining snow with blood or filling up the crude trenches. What remained of her unit did to their best to rest, while others wailed from wounds and the biting cold.
"Raven," She was called out to, "What will happen now?"
The younger woman with the short hair and icy blue eyes was her companion for a long time, serving alongside her ever since they found themselves together in the fields of Galicia. Raven was thankful that she could rely on her, especially now in this chaotic world after the Great War. But Vernal, like everyone else, was tired. Perhaps she couldn't stand killing fellow Russians, but Raven was willing to do what was right – not simply right, but necessary.
"It doesn't seem like we can fight here anymore." She answered.
She looked over the battlefield. Three of the five Mark V tanks burned in the snow, while the two remaining ones could barely function. So much for British engineering. While they crushed the attack of the Reds, one third of her unit was dead, while the rest were either wounded or fatigued. They were low on ammunition. Some time ago, she and Vernal forced peasants to provide them with food, but even that was running low. The devils would certainly attack again after being replenished. For a cabal of undisciplined peasants, they were persistent.
"We've ruined this place enough. We have to go back to Tsaritsyn." Raven said.
"If we do that, we'll be letting them follow us there. We can stop their advance here, for good."
"Try saying that to the half-dead men there," She pointed at the camp, "This is a matter of survival. We have a chance at Tsaritsyn."
That was always the plan. Lieutenant-General Wrangel had given clear orders to slow the advance of the Reds on the Volga, but if it was no longer possible, they would retreat to that city where they numbered in the thousands, reinforced with supplies. Wrangel – the keeper of order among the Whites in the south, had succeeded in taking the city after previous attempts failed. In addition, they were assisted by a certain James Ironwood in the capture of the town – the one who organized the donation of Mark V tanks for the White cause. From that symbol of a city, they hoped to launch a decisive assault on Moscow.
"Believe me, I would pierce the chest of every Red traitor myself, but we need to think logically."
"Would you not spare Vorona, as well ?" Vernal asked.
She went silent. Her brother chose to abandon her like a coward, believing that life after this war would be better for them under the Reds than the way things were when they lived under the old order. That was his choice. If he wanted to convince her of this on the battlefield, she had no reason to listen to an enemy. That would be it. She silently left a disappointed Vernal alone to brood, while she mounted her dark mount. She looked at the crystal clear river one last time.
"Why are you such a fool, brother ?"
…
TSARITSYN
To the front we go, as communists
Oh, little apple, you are made of tin,
The Red Army has come to us
The Red partisans have arrived
The Vorona took one last sip from his flask - the last drop of the cheapest vodka, though it is still one luxury they have, along with more supplies brought from the industrial heartland of Moscow by train. It didn't make him feel any better. It was bitterly cold and the sight of the great port city that was gutted from bombings didn't help. His regiment waited for the fight near Demchenko Street.
"Remember our mission, a mission for peace, bread and land ! We will fight to the last man !"
The so-called commissar shouted over them with words of inspiration. They were empty in reality, since these 'new political advisers' accompanied the army to make sure that no one, especially the small number of untrustworthy officers, got out of line. Anyone who wasn't blinded by the glory of revolution knew that, but no one should voice their thoughts about what happens behind the lines. Qrow had no attachment to these ideologies. He wanted to survive.
"The Whites are said to be on their last legs," Dima said next to him, "We can stomp those stuck up royal officers for good."
Dima was exactly the kind of man consumed by those ideals. The young man of Georgian origin proudly wearing his budenovka hat was not very bright, but full of spirit. If the commissar told him to directly charge at the enemy guns, he'd probably do it.
"I wouldn't be too confident." He replied.
"You know, the Voron is apparently right here," He said, a bit of dismissal, "Is that true ?"
"It is."
"What could some woman do to change the inevitable ? I've never understood the fear surrounding her."
"Then you're an idiot."
He winced at the thought of Raven. She stubbornly refused to accept change, to live out the rest of their lives in a new world without the hardship this country endured now and then. She chose to become a butcher for an outdated cause. The fact that she couldn't listen made him angry. For a time, he thought he could still change her mind, but it was stupid to believe that.
"So, what, have you seen her before ?"
"Sure. Now I'll see her again. I guess I'm lucky." He answered grimly.
Disappointed with ending up with an empty flask, he instead picked the eternally useful Mosin-Nagant rifle and strapped it on his back. He looked ahead and he could faintly see the city's cathedral, or what was left of it. He was lost in thought for a moment, but soon he could hear some kind of whistling noise – it got closer and closer, then he realized it.
He pushed Dima down on the ground as a loud bang came crashing down, collapsing the remains of a nearby building. Dima watched in disbelief.
"W-was that meant for us ?"
"Who knows," Qrow said nonchalantly, "Maybe the Voron heard you earlier."
That explosion kicked off the Red advance. The officers shouted orders to run. Hundreds and hundreds of men poured out of the barricaded streets towards the center of the city, where the cathedral was. The Whites started fired first, so they would respond in kind. Ahead, shots already rang.
"You said you didn't get why the Voron is feared," Qrow handed the boy his dropped rifle, "Now you will."
The confidence from before was gone from Dima's face, as he went pale. Nevertheless, they joined the charge, the start of a decisive battle.
…
From horseback, she saw the Red beasts began to move, running en masse towards the fortified White bastion. The revolutionaries emerged out into the killing field, where her soldiers opened fire from entrenched holes with their rifles. The machine guns cut them down Reds, but their sheer number meant that they would eventually break through.
The Red horsemen joined the fight, accompanying the infantry. Raven couldn't standby. She charged too meet head to head, passing her bewildered men on the ground. Her own cavalry followed her, chanting cries that everyone else would hear.
She already carried a spear. The nearest target was an officer who shouted at his men, firing his pistol. As she dashed across the field, the unsuspecting man received the spear through the chest like a bullet that she had thrown.
She continued moving in the same direction, and a Red cavalry man dashed towards her with his saber, intending to cut her down for good. With this distance, he could made it. Raven pulled out her own dark blade. In her mind, she steadily closed the distance between them. Three, two, one …
With a swift swing of the hand, she knew she would triumph. She had cut the man down first across the chest. His body fell like a rag doll, leaving his horse to wander off in panic. She circled back around the battlefield, drawing attention from bullets from the Reds. She evaded fire.
The Reds had gotten closer, little by little. They stormed their trenches and barricades, reducing the fight to a barbaric slug fest. Men charged with fixed bayonets; while others pushed their enemy down to shoot them down at point blank range or beat them, bloodying the snow around them. Her Cossacks had been circling the battle, cutting their targets down with swords and spears. Those not fast enough were blown away from their mounts by stray fire. Blasts from grenades thrown recklessly had been destroying the ground.
In this chaos, she had found Vernal. Behind cover, she shot from her pistol. She hadn't noticed a Red behind her that planned to jump on her with a knife. Raven continued at the same pace, but her horse began to stumble. Hit by bullet fire, she would soon lose control of it. Thinking fast, she jumped high off her stead moments before it fell. With her blade in hand, she came down on the Red like lightning. She had landed on him with her sword plunging into his chest. Vernal stared at her in surprise, helping her get up.
"Raven !" She shouted, "We need the tanks !"
She didn't respond; because this is the moment the metal behemoths would make their appearance. She looked back. The line of Mark Vs made their way to the zone of action, trampling the corpses that happened to be in their way. Their cannons sung, blasting away rows of men at once. No matter how much the Reds fired, their bullets bounced off their armor.
She looked back at Vernal, expecting a passionate cry at the sight of backup. Yet, she looked at her in a face that seemed to show sadness. Suddenly, her body fell on Raven's in a sort of embrace. The Voron didn't understand, until she looked at her hand that touched Vernal's back, covered in fresh blood. For a moment, the deafening sounds of war faded away as a terrible realization hit her.
…
Qrow had not taken down a single enemy before a White in his tsarist uniform kicked him down the ground. The man who was probably driven half-mad at this point, resulting in him running around with his spiked club. Qrow could let him batter him, or shoot him down with his revolver.
In those few seconds, he thought about doing nothing, yet the attacking man still fell. Dima, with his rifle in hand, had been his savior. He gave Qrow back his rifle. From the look on his face and how his hands trembled, this is the first man he shot.
"S-sir," He said, "Everything alright ?"
He could barely hear anything in this mess. "Don't call me sir-
A loud rumbling noise made its way towards them. He signaled Dima to drop the ground in the little trench they were in. A steel monster made its way above them, ready to blow them to bits if they hadn't dropped down. After it passed, Dima pulled his anti-tank grenade, a stick made up of multiple explosives. He ran towards the back of a tank with the stick hand, shouting along the way. Qrow ran after him in panic.
"Dima, you moron, wait ! No !"
He was right behind the vehicle, ready to jam the explosives up its back. His hand completed the motion of throwing away the stick, but Qrow grabbed him from behind to try to pull him back immediately. His vision was hit by a flash, before he and Dima still in his hands were pushed back by a violent blast that emerged from the tank and the splashing of snow that came after.
They were thrown in a hole. Qrow's ears buzzed. He tried to get back to his senses. He couldn't tell how long he stayed there with Dima's body on him, but he soon realized that Dima didn't bulge and pulled him off him. He looked at the young man. He was still breathing. Qrow noticed a pool of blood that he was soaking in. Dima's right arm was blown off.
Qrow could've move at all because of this sight. He just looked around him, watching soldiers march along. In one corner, something caught his eye. A woman was embracing another, right in the midst of warfare. Perhaps he was still disorientated, but it was hard for him to recognize the woman with the long dark hair. Once he did, he pulled the revolver from his coat and aimed at her.
Minute after minute passed, yet he did nothing. The other woman his sister was embracing stood there motionlessly. He was angry, yet it was simply impossible to pull the trigger. He dropped his firearm, remembering that Dima still lived. He ripped out pieces of both their coats, doing his best to wrap it around what remained of the young soldier's arm. He pulled him across his shoulders, running back as a call of retreat came. He was still angry, but he could only leave Raven to her own devices.
…
Vernal lay on the cathedral's floor, with Raven at her side. Snow had fallen once again as the enemy ran back. She gripped her subordinate's hand firmly, watching over her. Some time had already passed. She had patched up her wounds earlier, but she knew that it would do no good.
"Raven ? … "
Her voice was faint, fleeting.
"It looks like you're crying."
The Voron looked down, saddened by the other female's state.
"You're only seeing things. You need to rest."
"You're not much of a liar," She said, coughing a bit, "I've been a nuisance, haven't I ?"
"No ..."
"It doesn't matter now, does it ?" She smiled, "If you continue to survive at my expense, I'll be happy."
She had not answered, simply staring at the life that faded away from Vernal's blue eyes. She stroked the woman's face with her bloodied fingers. She thought of only one gesture she could still accomplish.
On the road, I'll give you
A small holy icon
And when you'll pray to God, you'll
Put in right in front of you
While preparing for a dangerous battle,
Remember your mother
Sleep, my good boy, my beautiful
Good night, sleep tight
Good night, sleep tight
She sang and sang, until she couldn't feel anything from Vernal's body. Slowly, she finally closed the woman's eyes.
…
Dima finally awoke, puzzled. Perhaps he expected that would die with his monumentally stupid move of heroism, but Qrow had thankfully managed to save him. The older man was sitting and drinking next to him in this building that was turned into a sort of medical center.
"You're seriously lucky, kid," Qrow said harshly, "If I wasn't there, no one would've bothered to pick you up.
The boy laughed. "I guess I did get a bit ahead of myself, but I didn't intend to die. I wanted to do my duty as a soldier of the people. Trading my arm for that purpose isn't so bad."
"I'll never understand that," Qrow took a sip, "Just be glad you won't have to go through this hell again."
"You know, sir," He smiled, "You have a soul of a grumpy father. Well, are you a father ? I've wanted to ask."
"I have a niece," Qrow answered melancholically, "She's a bit younger than you."
"Is she well ?"
"She is. She's far away from all of this."
Rubin was indeed far away, because he had sent her off outside of this country that had collapsed into endless fighting. It might've been painful to see her go, but it was needed. He didn't want her to fight. Right now, she would be traveling alongside a trustworthy companion, a good pup. All he could is trust her to take care of herself. He couldn't guarantee that he'd get back to her, but he did make a promise.