1925, Russia, in the midst of the extended Civil War

A spring day. That is what this young boy found himself in. A gentle, serene Russian spring day. He discovered himself to be laying down on an ornately embroidered blanket with Russian stylings on it. He heard laughing. Gentle, innocent laughter from children in play. Finally sitting up, the boy saw the source of the laughter to be local village kids playing a game of tag through the fields of grain and meadows.

It was a nice place this vilage was, especially when compared to the shabby hut villages that most Russian people in this time lived in as serfs. The home was a somewhat small but comfortable cottage where he and his sisters currently stayed at in the temporary absence of their parents. They lived in an unusually prosperous (for Russian standards) village in these turbulent times, but the troubles of the nation affected this peaceful place nontheless.

Just the other day he overheard some men arguing about a war or something, and he even heard news of other villages being destroyed by Communist forces. He was far too young to understand it at the time, but this young three year old Russian boy was living in a land that was murdering itself. It's people fighting amongst each other after the failure of the Russian Imperial fighting and resulting massive civil war.

But that's not why his young mind remembered this particular day. It's a miracle how a three year old ought to remember anything at all.

To his right he saw his babushka at work in the garden. She was a sweet old woman who remained pure through all the trouble that has plagued the land for the past few decades. A woman who he will always remember as an absolute saint who loved him until the day she ascended to Heaven. Both her and his grandfather were quite elderly, being at the old age of in their sixties. That doesn't sound very old, but people didn't live very long back then, especially in Russia during this time. Nearby, his grandfather was singing Kalinka as he chopped firewood for cooking later.

"Little red berry, red berry, red berry of mine!

In the garden a berry - little raspberry, raspberry of mine!"

His dedushka sang as he worked, getting pleasantly surprised when his wife joined him in the song.

"Ah, under the pine, the green one,

Lay me down to sleep,

Oh-swing, sway, Oh-swing, sway,

Lay me down to sleep..."

His grandparentsts continued to sing the pleasant Russian folk song together, much to the satisfaction of his young ears. Also to his utter delight, his babushka left him some desserts in a basket for him. He greedily took up as much as his little hand could carry and awkwardly stood on his three year old legs. Just as awkwardly but in a cute way, the Russian child stumbled over to his grandparents with treats in his mouth.

The distance was short since they were all still on their property, but a lot was going on around them. Birds chirped their songs, the children still played, horse-drawn wagons and carts trodded along the dirt roads into or out of the village, and there were men with rifles and pitchforks going down the road. The home had a low hanging stone wall that separated it from the road, and threw young boy innocently walked past these armed men on his way to his grandparents. There were older men and some women after the armed fighters, begging them to not go and get themselves killed while they argued that they refused to stand by and let their country fall into madness.

Just things a three year old could care less about. The singing stopped when the fuss of the people walking past their home happened, and it did not continue for his grandparents looked on at the display, shaking their heads in disapproval. It wasn't until he reached his dedushka that the man broke sight of the dreary display.

"Ah, my grandson..." The man smiled, holding his wood axe over his one shoulder while he proudly watched the Russian child practice his walking.

"Dedushka!" The child babbled out for he's too youngto speak or say most words properly. It was made especially difficult with the sweets in his mouth.

"Hehehe...I see you like your sweets, don't you boy?" His grandfather chuckled. The child's only response was to keep eating while slowly nodding his head.

"The child likes to eat anything..." His babushka said as she came over with a basketful of fresh vegetables and gave her husband a kiss on the cheek. "Little Mikhail eats like a bear." She added, gently roughing up the child's already messy long brown hair.

"Heh, suppose the boy ought to be as strong as one then!" His grandfather joked. "Why, he's already bigger than most boys his age!" He said as a matter of fact. Mikhail truly was large for a three year old. Then, his grandfather had the bright idea of introducing the child to the intricate art of wood chopping. "Say, come over here, my grandson."

Without hesitation, the child went to his grandfather where the older man held the axe out and examined it. "Hmm...tell me, boy. Are you strong like a bear?" He asked, eyes looking away from the axe and at his boy. The child hesitated, not sure how to answer. Eventually, his young mind told him to say 'yes'.

"Da." He responded.

"Oh? Are you really now? Well, how about you prove it then..." with that, his grandfather passed the axe to him. It was quite heavy and the three year old nearly dropped to the ground when he was passed the axe. "Show how strong you are by chopping this..." He stopped for a moment and firmly planted a log on the stump. "...log right here!"

"Oh Alyosha! Little Misha will have trouble holding that thing!" His grandmother said.

"Nonsense! You hear that, boy? Babushka thinks you are weak! Now prove babushka wrong and break this log like a stick!"

His young mind didn't understand the urgency, but he did get a sense of motivation from his dedushka's encouragement. With all of his might, he could barely lift the axe off the ground. This made his grandmother lightly chuckle while his grandfather told her to hush.

"Oy! Stop making me look bad in front of your babushka!"

Nodding his head, the child gathered up all his strength and grunted loudly when he managed to lift the axe over his head...and then fell over as the heavy weight of the axe caused him to fall backwards. His grandparents started laughing at him for it was awfully endearing, and the boy got up with a puff. He took a deep breath and just like that, the axe flew up, and came right back down.

Soon, his grandparents shut up at the sound of wood getting split. Turning around with a big smile on his face, Misha saw the shocked looks of his grandparents.

"Oppa..." His grandfather gasped. Then, his eyes widened with pride. "Ha! Told you he could do it, woman!" He then got a light slap on the face.

"I never said he couldn't do it!" She said sweetly before going over to Misha. "Oh, looks like my grandson really is a bear!" Mikhail's response was to roar like a bear, though it came off as not very strong for he was a child. Still, it was endearing enough that it was the thought that counts. "Well then, looks like I must make a feast for my little bear!"

With that, happy little Misha found himself riding on top of his grandfather's shoulders with the promise of a good meal waiting for him. He took great pride in the title of 'bear', a name that he will consistently find himself to have well into the future. That night, his grandparents presented him a heavenly meal that his young three year old self was absolutely delighted to gorge himself on. His grandfather played Katyusha on a Russian folk guitar while his wife sung the lyrics as she made and served the food. Absolutely showered with love, young Misha couldn't be any happier.

Soon, the child fell fast asleep for his meal had made him quite sleepy, and he had nothing but good dreams. His grandparents were still awake, though they did not have happy looks on them at the moment. While Misha was sleeping, they watched and listened from a window as the entire village was abuzz with activity this late at night.

You see, a bloodied messenger on horseback came to the village screaming his lungs out that the Communists were coming before riding off to warn other villages. Now this village is technically neutral in all of this chaos of war, but there were some people who had family opposed to the communists, and some who actually were opposed to the Communists. There were people here who sympathized with the commies, but they for the most part continued to live peacefully with their neighbors.

But now was different. A lot of villagers were in a rush to leave and were packing wagons and horses with their belongings as the Communists would kill anyone who opposed them, even if you were just a villager who dI'd not take arms to directly oppose them. Even the families of those who oppose them will be captured for they will be seen as enemies regardless just by association.

Misha did not awake until someone slammed the door to his grandparents home wide open with a loud thud.

"Papa!" Misha's father called. He had a Mosin-Nagant slung across his back and he was heavingharshly as if in across harsh rush.

"Damn it, Piotr, you know how long it took to fix that damn door!?" Alyosha Cherinkov chided his son. He swears that the door's been broken more times by his son than anything else combined.

"Father, this is no time to worry about doors! We must leave! Now"

"...I know." Sighed Alyosha. "Your mother has already packed her things. I'm almost done myself..." He gestured to several hastily tied bags and boxes filled with things they owned.

"Okay, okay, good. Make sure you only pack what's necessary. Where is my son?" As soon as he said these words, Misha came over all sleepy eyed from the his grandparent's room.

"Papa?" The tired boy said sleepily. He hadn't seen his father for the last couple of weeks for he has gone to fight against the Communists. His mother was with him as she worked as a nurse for their side, but now both of them had left the front to come and save their son.

"Mikhail!" His father cried out as he was so glad to have weathered machine guns and still be able to see his son again. He ran to him and scooped him up in a tight hug of love, kissing his young son across the cheeks. "Listen to me carefully, papa is here to take you, dedushka, and babushka away from here."

"Why?" The child asked.

"There are bad men coming. Bad men who will...will hurt us badly if they find us." His father answered. "Now come on, your mother is waiting outside."

Piotr Cherinkov carried his son outside where for the first time in his life, Mikhael has seen a car. It was more like a truck, but not a lot of Russians during this time have ever seen a form of automobile before. From there, he found his mother waiting for him and she gladly embraced her son. His father helped his grandparents hurry up the process of bringing their things into the car, and with no further waiting, they left. The car drove through the village where it was a scene of chaos.

Young Misha was fearful for he saw people moving quickly and in a rush to leave. There was Shouting and screaming everywhere and the only thing his young mind could think of doing was to hide himself in his mother's bosom. The adults watched the scene unfold with grim faces, painfully aware of the reality of the situation for they are also a part of it.

"Mama? Where are we going?" Misha asked. His mother didn't answer for she was looking back in the direction they came from. They hadn't left the village completely yet, but far to the north where the road came from, dark smoke rose into the night with the orange colors of burning fire illuminating the air in the distance.

"Somewhere safe..." She answered finally, rubbing her scared son's back. Looking back himself, the child could faintly see his grandparent's house grow ever smaller and smaller until he couldn't see past all the things blocking his vision anymore. Now, they car was in a sort of caravan of other disorganized villagers leaving the village.

"Don't worry about the house." His grandfather comforted him with a warm smile on his wrinkled face. "And have no fear, boy. For you are a bear, and bears do not feel fear..."

Okay then, so this is the first of mercenary backstories. These are on more serious notes due to their nature, but they ought to give in-depth looks of crucial moments in all of their lives.

So I present you with the start of Heavy's life in hiding until he gets imprisoned in a gulag.

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