Next chapter, up and ready! I got my final paper topic for my Eastern European literature course: I'm writing about the idea of victimhood/martyrdom as the Polish national identity! XD Lots of angst there, plenty of discussion about Polish-Russian relations over the years...
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Lithuania stumbled blindly through the smoke, the stench of burning wood and worse invading every sense. He tripped, stumbling over a body riddled with arrows. Somewhere through the darkness he heard a horse thunder by; there was a tremendous crash as the remains of a burning house collapsed, throwing millions of sparks skyward in a vicious mockery of the stars hidden by slaughter.
"Poland!" Liet shouted, inhaled smoke and gagged. How did he always lose them? "Estonia! La-" A burning cough, his eyes watering as he tried to make out objects through the concealing smoke, "Latvia! Where are you?"
A scream pierced the gloom, a keening unholy wail and Liet flinched. But it meant someone was alive. He altered his course towards the sound, passing through the thickest part of the smoke; near the edge of the village, the houses farther spaced out—
Kneeling among the unmoving forms of men, women, even children, was a little boy, his peasant's clothing singed and blood-stained; he rocked back and forth, smearing his face with ash as he howled his grief to the uncaring night.
Before he could say anything, a huge figure emerged from the smoke, also drawn by the child's cries: a man on horseback, decked out in a strange garb Lithuania didn't recognize, a short bow sheathed on the saddle, a sword at hand—was he from the east?
The boy's head jerked up at the horseman's approach. Liet saw his young face contort in fury; he grabbed for something next to him and scrambled up, a too-heavy sword clutched in one hand, running for the warrior—
"No!" Lithuania yelled, but he was too far to stop the blade from cutting down in a smooth arc, sinking into the boy's shoulder; the child crumpled to the ground, motionless. Liet watched aghast as the horseman flicked the blood off shining steel and directed his horse around the boy's unmoving body, riding off in search of any remaining survivors.
Liet ran up to the child, hitting his knees in the dirt next to him, rolling him over to see—
Lithuania bit back a startled oath.
The boy's violet eyes were glazed over, gazing vacantly upwards, unseeing. Blood poured from the wound in his shoulder that cleaved straight through his collarbone into the top ribs; yet even as the Baltic watched, bone and muscle knit itself back together, the worst damage rapidly healing until—
The child blinked, focus returning to his eyes, which locked with Liet's own immediately. He lurched forward, lunging for Liet's waist, his own dagger, wait he wasn't—!
The blade slammed into his chest up to the hilt. Liet gasped, jerking forward when the dagger was wrenched out again; one hand found the ground, supported his weight, it wasn't enough—he collapsed.
The boy stood over him, breathing ragged, tears mingling with the ash on his cheeks, eyes blazing with hatred; then the look passed, morphing into agony as he moaned, a strangled cry of pure anguish and simple incomprehension—why is this happening to me? He turned and fled through the carnage…
--
Lithuania came around slowly the next morning. His back ached beyond all reason; he grimaced as pain shot through him at the slightest moment, sighing as it retreated a little.
Frost and crisp just-before-snow, deep winter—
Russia! His eyes snapped opened.
The room was empty except for him, the communist country nowhere to be seen. A sigh of relief, and he glanced at the clock on the bedside table: 9:30. Startled, he tried to push himself up and choked back a cry, pain flaring at the attempted movement.
Well, looks like he wasn't going anywhere. He closed his eyes and tried to relax—difficult, given where he was—but the exhaustion still clinging to him like a mantle let him doze off.
A quiet knock roused him around noon. Blinking sleep from his eyes, Lithuania tested movement and found he could manage a little, but quickly decided against walking. "Come in," he called.
The door opened to reveal Russia, carrying a plate of food.
Liet jerked and bit back a curse as pain spiked. Damn it. He watched Russia warily as the nation approached, looking faintly remorseful.
"I brought you lunch," he stated obviously, placing the plate on the side table. "Can you get up?"
"No," Lithuania whispered, following the man's movements from the corner of his eyes. I'm completely helpless. I can't even run away.
"Can you sit up?"
Liet did so, slowly, gritting his teeth with the effort; he seated himself facing towards Russia, who offered him the plate of stroganoff.
"You'll probably be fine by nightfall," Russia nodded with certainty. "Don't worry about anything; your brothers can handle the house and such."
The Baltic nodded, eating his food in silence. Russia stood there a moment longer, then went to the window and pulled aside the curtains. Liet winced at the light, a headache suddenly making itself known—he hadn't noticed it with his back the way it was. Oh, he had a hangover, didn't he? Great…
The huge nation muttered something about being back later to check on him and left, closing the door behind him.
Russia was right; by sunset he could make his way around the room, his back stiff but willing. This was how a country was supposed to heal, quickly, not over the course of a week. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he haltingly made his way past; he paused, debating, then angled himself to see his back.
Hell. The bandages were soaked with the rust-red of dried blood, all across his shoulders and upper back, individual lines becoming more distinct as they reached down toward his waist. Russia must have whipped him raw…
He donned a dark button-up (in case the wounds reopened, he didn't want to ruin a shirt and alarm his brothers) and joined everyone, minus Poland, downstairs for dinner, where he studiously ignored the concerned and distressed looks his brothers were giving him in favor of pretending that everything was fine. Russia ruined that when he forbid him from washing dishes, leading him back upstairs; for one horrifying moment Liet thought the man was going to beat him again, but instead Russia escorted him to the bathroom where he tenderly washed and redressed the injuries, before suggesting that he go to bed early. Also, the huge nation added as Liet mumbled an ironic thank you, Poland's solitary confinement would be over tomorrow.
Lithuania was struck with the absurd idea that the announcement was the closest Russia could get to an apology.
--
Liet felt much better the next day, his back sore as if he had done heavy lifting rather than suffered a whipping two days before. Going to the kitchen to start breakfast, he noted that Russia was out of the house already, and decided to make one of his dishes. Because he wanted eggs, he reasoned; not, as a part of him thought with dark glee, to secretly spite him.
He didn't realize anyone else was in the room with him until he heard a quiet, "How badly did he hurt you?"
He turned quickly, spatula held at the ready even as he realized who it was. Poland no longer looked like a battered corpse, but he hadn't yet progressed past 'starving war refugee'; at least his wrist was healed and there were no sign of the bruises that had decorated his face only a few days prior. He was still far too thin though, and the bags under his eyes told Liet how exhausted he was.
"I'm better now," he answered, avoiding the question entirely.
Poland wasn't going to let it go that easily. "I could hear you screaming," he said softly. "Begging for him to stop…"
"It's fine," Liet said quickly, turning to hide his shudder. He poked at the sizzling eggs. "What do you want for breakfast?" he asked, a little too loudly to be normal. "Since it's your first day back out, I'll make you whatever you'd like."
This seemed to placate the blond, who let the matter drop in favor of demanding rainbow-colored pancakes in the shape of ponies. When Estonia and Latvia came downstairs, Liet manage to ward off their questions about his health with the visually-disturbing meal.
"Is this safe to eat?" Latvia wondered aloud.
"America eats brightly colored food all the time," Lithuania said by way of explanation. Next to Latvia, Estonia frowned dubiously at his pancakes before beheading one of the pony-shapes.
"But America's crazy…" the shortest country mumbled.
"Hey, if you don't want your pony-cakes, I will totally eat them for you," Poland announced, slathering his own with black currant jam. Latvia ate his without further comment.
They washed up after breakfast and dispersed to do chores, Poland following Liet around like an exuberant puppy, actually offering to dust while the other swept. The Baltic was oddly flattered that Poland would try to help him out when he wasn't feeling well, but the warmth was extinguished the moment Estonia and Latvia went to clean upstairs and Poland rounded on him, demanding, "Let me see what he did to you."
Lithuania smiled nervously. "Poland, I'm not—"
"Show me, Liet!" the blond repeated, stomping over to him and making a grab at the hem of his shirt.
Lithuania dodged, wincing. "No, you don't need to see!"
Poland huffed. "Why, didn't he leave a mark?"
Confused, the Baltic opened his mouth to reply, realized what his friend was implying, nearly choked, and exclaimed angrily, "For the last time, I'm not sleeping with Russia!"
"But you won't show—"
"He whipped me, okay?!" Liet shouted. "With a riding crop! It's embarrassing! For god sake, Poland, we're older than he is! And still, this sort of thing just happens!"
"Sorry," Poland muttered, taken aback. "I just, I thought that—"
"Russia hasn't touched me, okay?" Liet interrupted, tired of hearing the same thing. "Yes, he— kisses my hair and gets way too close, but he hasn't— nothing's happened."
"'kay," the blond said.
"Don't sulk," the Baltic snapped, scowling. "I know you're worried for me, but, just let it alone, okay?" Worry about yourself, he added mentally.
Poland nodded and they went back to cleaning, an uneasy silence between them that persisted throughout the remained of the day. Lithuania couldn't understand it; why was Poland so hung up on that? It really wasn't any of his business... Besides, if anything had happened, what made him think that he'd want to talk about it?
Things fell back into their old patterns. Poland didn't bring up Russia's uncomfortable attentions to Liet again, and the days passed slowly, relatively uneventful. Lithuania's back healed (although scars remained, an angry reminder of the event), Poland didn't provoke the huge nation into a blinding rage, Latvia made idiotic comments and didn't seem to realize, and they all kept out of Russia's way when he was home. There was a crackling tension to the man that the Baltics hadn't seen before; no one what exactly what was causing it, and no one was willing to find out. Lithuania personally suspected that it had something to do with Germany and the war to the west, but topics like that were given a wide berth when Russia was in ear-shot. Still, the anxiety was contagious; they got into minor spats with each other over stupid things: who washed dishes, who rubbed their knuckles raw with laundry chemicals, who got to make the cross-city trip that would keep them out of the house for most of the day. This cumulated with Poland making an off-handed comment about how communism sucked and landing himself back in solitary confinement for three days, thankfully without the prerequisite beating, and Liet was forbidden to have any contact with him.
And two days into Poland's confinement Lithuania woke up with a small heart attack as Russia did his best to break his door down.
"Litva, get up!" BANG BANG BANG
"Da, I'm awake, I'm awake!" The terrified Baltic nation stumbled out of bed, his mind trying to catch up to his body; he got tangled up the sheets and fell heavily onto the floor with a yelp of pain.
The door slammed open and bounced violently off the wall. "Litva, get dressed and get downstairs!" Russia ordered.
"Da, Russia Zimavich!" Liet said quickly, scrambling to his feet. What was going on?
"Wear your new uniform. Be down in the kitchen in five minutes," Russia elaborated vaguely as Lithuania went for the closet.
"Da, Russia Zimavich," Liet responded, dipping his head in Russia's direction, noting the huge nation's own uniform, an officer's formal attire, medals and ribbons displayed proudly across his chest, hat tucked under his arm. Russia gave a short nod and left to rouse the others.
Lithuania pulled out his new uniform: it looked nearly identical to his old one save for the important fact that now it identified him as a member of the 'Baltic Special Military District' to other soldiers, and as 'belonging to Russia' to other countries… He sighed, then shut the door and dressed quickly. Down the hall he heard the same treatment being applied to Estonia's door. What could Russia want now? It was barely eight in the morning; they hadn't even made breakfast yet. Why was Russia in his modern officer's uniform rather than his old Great War outfit? Perhaps more concerning, why did Russia want him in his new uniform?
"Latvia, get out of bed, now! It's May Day, I will not be late!"
Ah, that's right. It was May first, wasn't it? International Workers' Day, the biggest state holiday in the Soviet Union. He finished buttoning up the long overcoat as he walked to the bathroom, dragging a comb through his hair and splashing water on his face. Estonia stepped in next to him, muttering good morning as he proceeded to wash up as well, glasses resting on the side of the sink.
Liet murmured a response as he patted his face dry with a towel, glancing worriedly toward the hall upon hearing Latvia wail, "Ahh, Russia Zimavich, stop, I'm sorry, put me down!"
"Didn't get out of bed fast enough, I think," Estonia mumbled, rubbing sleep and water from his eyes.
Liet offered him the towel. "Was he drinking last night?"
"Probably," the brother answered, face hidden by the cloth. "You saw him at dinner."
He had. Latvia finished half a bottle by himself. "At this rate he'll be as bad as Russia," he said sadly.
"No one's as bad as Russia," Estonia muttered darkly, hanging up the towel.
Liet almost smiled. "See you downstairs."
"Da."
They both winced.
Russia left Latvia's room just as Liet started down the steps. "Litva! Make sandwiches, four of them!" he called, catching sight of him.
"Da!" Four sandwiches, which meant that someone wasn't eating. Liet hoped it was Russia. Estonia joined him in the kitchen a minute later and helped prepare their make-shift breakfast. Latvia entered shortly after, sniffing back tears, Russia following behind him. Lithuania stiffened instinctually at the sight of the bayoneted rifle slung over the taller nation's shoulder.
"Baltics, come here," he ordered.
Lithuania and Estonia immediately abandoned the counter, lining up next to Latvia, like soldiers before a commanding officer, Liet realized gloomily. Well, they were all in uniform. Russia waited until he had their full attention.
"Today is May Day. I will be marching in the parade, but I expect all of you to attend." The huge nation paused, as if daring them to object, before continuing, "We will meet in the Kremlin after the parade, at the Armory, for afternoon tea. Be there by three o'clock… I have this, for you," he said somewhat distractedly as he pulled a couple of bills from his pocket and divided it among them. "For treats and such."
"Spasiba," they said collectively, trying to hide their amazement as they tucked the rubles away.
"Puzhalista," he replied automatically, putting on his military cap. "I need to go, the parade starts at nine, I will see you later, da?"
He smiled at them, excitement and anticipation lighting up his childlike eyes, then turned sharply on his heel and strode out. They heard him singing as the door swung shut.
"We should stay home," Latvia pouted sullenly, his sniffles subsiding.
"Not even an option," Estonia said briskly, moving to finish the sandwiches.
Liet had to agree. If they didn't go, Russia would be furious. He had no idea how the arctic nation would find out that they hadn't attended, but he had no doubt that Russia would, somehow.
"Why don't you two start eating?" Estonia suggested, placing two plates on the table. "I'll bring Poland his and then we can—"
"Oh, Russia didn't unlock his door," Lithuania groaned. How were they going to get him food?
Estonia flushed, suddenly guilty.
Liet blinked, realizing, "You have a key, don't you?"
The brother shifted nervously. "Russia couldn't be bothered to unlock the door each time," he explained, mumbling.
"How long have you had it?"
"Maybe three weeks…"
"Three— Why didn't you tell me?!"
"You didn't- need to know…"
"I didn't need to know?" Lithuania repeated in disbelief. "Did you think that I would take the key to sneak in? Estonia, I picked the lock and went anyways—the key would've just made it easier!"
"So when Russia caught you he'd punish me as well?" the taller Baltic shot back. He drew himself up, squared his shoulders. "You look after your people, Lithuania, and I'll look after mine."
Liet held his tongue as Estonia collected Poland's breakfast. There was nothing he could say to that.
Way to be a hypocrite, Lietuva…
"C- Could I at least bring him breakfast?" he asked with a touch of desperation.
"No."
"I'd give the key back," Liet said indignantly.
Estonia looked him straight in the eye. "I know," he replied evenly, and left.
Lithuania and Latvia ate their sandwiches in silence, which was broken a few moments later by the sound of glass shattering, followed by a loud: "Fuck you, Estonia! What makes you think I'd even want to go to your stupid, bullshit communist festival! Have fun fucking cheering for Russia! As he figures out the next way to totally screw us over!"
The door slammed shut.
Estonia returned a moment later, mouth pressed into a thin line. Liet didn't say anything.
They cleared the table and got ready, donned boots and coats and locked the house behind them. They made their way towards the center of the city, following the trickle of people that gradually merged into a huge flood as seemingly everyone turned out for the event. The tide carried them along to the Red Square, where the main festivities would take place; thousands upon thousands of people crammed into the area, pressing up close against the barrier that separated them from the parade route. Liet led them to the area directly across from the Mausoleum, correctly guessing that it would be the center of the performance. A flight of bombers roared overhead and the Baltics instinctively ducked, memories of the last war springing fresh in their minds, but it was only the Soviet fighter planes making passes over the city, to the cheers of the crowd around them. Squirming their way through the mass of bodies, Latvia suddenly tugged on Liet's sleeve, asking, "Toris, can I?" pointing off to the side where a crowd of people gathered around a food stall.
"It's your money," he responded, so they queued there behind a mother with four excitable children of various ages of young, all chatting animatedly with each other. Festivals, the Baltic reflected, were both a wonderful and terrible chance to see things as they were. Everyone appeared cheerful and upbeat; at first glance a person would never suspect that they were living in a highly oppressive society on the brink of war. But a closer examination immediately pierced the façade, revealed the uneasy currents lurking in the crowd; Liet could see it in the way people gave uniforms a wide berth, in the furtive glances cast towards anyone that stood out, in the way they gossiped, low and under their breath, about anything that could potentially be deemed 'inappropriate' or not in line with proper Soviet sentiments…
Latvia paid for his paper cone full of steaming ponchiki, fresh out of the oil, and as they pushed their way back to the barriers, a hush fell over the crowd, all heads turning to gaze up at the Mausoleum. The Baltics too all craned their necks, trying to see past the crowd and the legions of soldiers standing at attention in the square. They quickly realized what everyone was staring at: a pair of mounted officers had come galloping up the way, both man and horses decked out in all their military finery, stopping before the mausoleum to salute a group of men that had assembled there. Liet could make out the People Commissar of Defense, Marshal Semyon Timoshenko, standing front and center at a microphone—Russia's boss, he noted with some surprise, wasn't there.
A trumpet fanfare from the army's band, and then Timoshenko began his speech:
"Comrades!" his voice ringing out above the crowd, from loudspeakers positioned on telephone poles. "A dark shadow has fallen upon the Motherland from a place where once we saw only light: the West! Thence comes the enemy, whose light is cast by the burning fires of greed. Thence comes the enemy, which moves against our beloved land with the sole desire of destroying the freedom of our people, won through the price of our blood. But we won't be placed under anyone's heel, comrades! We won't allow them to do it!"
The crowd around them burst into loud approval, confirmation, a brutal denial of the western murders, Tovarishch Stalin! Timoshenko beckoned for quiet, and silence descended again.
"The homeland is threatened. Our livelihood is in danger! But our freedom, which infuriates our enemies, only we can defend!"
Thunderous applause, thousands of tiny Soviet flags waved above the mass like specks of blood, Long live Tovarishch Stalin! Long live Stalin! Some people burst into song, but the marshal's abrupt gesture cut short the festivities.
"Under the leadership of Tovarishch Stalin, we are ready to defend our country again, at all costs, and to the last man. Are we ready?"
The soldiers arrayed before the Mausoleum, roar a deafening affirmative, echoed by the civilians. Lithuania spared a frightened glance at Estonia, who couldn't drag his eyes away from the marshal, face pale. Good god, Russia's got his whole country brainwashed!
"But you are mistaken if you believe that everyone thinks as you do. Remnants of the past may still be seen among us, in those who have not embraced the new order, and who would gladly pass judgment upon our happy state. Who are they, you wonder?"
A pause, dead silence.
"All those, comrades, who avoid their work in the fields and factories, and listen to radio London and Berlin at night!" Timoshenko stabbed the air violently at the last word; the Baltics could feel the crowd's sudden unease, tension and bewilderment evident as they shifted, murmuring to each other in low tones.
"The imperialist policies of the West have positioned its war machinery on our borders to destroy the fruits of our people's struggle." Timoshenko suddenly grinned and shouted loudly, "But it shall not be! Down with Western imperialism and its servants! Long live Tovarishch Stalin! Long live the Motherland!"
Latvia gripped Liet's arm in terror as the crowd cheered, shouting and whistling its approval, the army band striking up a well-loved patriotic tune as spontaneous circle dances broke out among the populace. But Timoshenko remained by the microphone, speech still uncompleted, and the crowd settled down after a few moments, waiting.
"I have told you about their servants, comrades," the marshal continued, his words somber. "They are among us, comrades. They sit at your dinner table. They coil around your children like serpents and plot our downfall. For that reason, for the cause of public security, it is the duty of all who carry the Motherland in their hearts and the work of Tovarishch Lenin and Tovarishch Stalin in their heads to report anything they know about any suspicious case, any suspicious person, for no one is safe anymore, dear comrades. No one!"
Lithuania swallowed thickly. Suddenly, surrounded by thousands of Soviet citizens in the heart of the Russian capital, he felt very, very unsafe. From the way his brothers edged closer to him, he suspected they felt the same way.
"But is vigilance enough? Is it enough to just say it? Is it enough to just pledge oneself and stop there? I tell you, absolutely not! The Motherland demands actions! Actions, comrades! Let every able-bodied man report to the people's authority for placement. Let the work schedule on the fields and in the factories be increased! And let numerous other measure be undertaken, for that is the only way to defend the Motherland's fortunes. For that is the only way to build the future of our children. And so, comrades, long live Tovarishch Stalin!"
The army howled its support in a deep echoing call; the band struck up the national anthem as the crowd cheered, people toasting loudly, dancing, singing. The divisions of the army that had been standing before the Mausoleum began their march through the square, officers saluting, soldiers lowering their rifles as they passed the marshal and his attendants. Lithuania watched rank upon rank of the army pass by—there were so many of them! Hundreds of thousands of soldiers… Liet wondered how Russia was feeling, with so many of his citizens caught up in the rush of national pride. He strained his eyes for a sight of the tall nation, but quickly realized the impossibility of it; Russia was just one of thousands, just another one of his soldiers, the white scarf removed to complete the show of solidarity. And it was show, a show of strength and honor. Soldiers, army trucks, heavy artillery paraded past, the new BT-7 tank roaring across the square at a staggering speed. The Baltics trembled, grateful they had the good sense to sign the ultimatum and avoid bringing the wrath of Russia's army down on their heads, and hating themselves for feeling that way.
The crowds remained after the parade had finished, still trapped in the euphoric high created by the speech and subsequent festivities. As the Baltics made their way to the Kremlin, progress slowed every time they passed by a high-ranking officer and had to salute (they were in uniform after all, and the last thing they wanted was to get arrested by the army), Liet couldn't help but feel that Russia had pulled off the day perfectly: his people had been worried, fearful of a war with Germany, but now a majority of those concerns had been abated, at least temporarily. Russia had shown them the might of the Red Army, assured them through action and word that he would protect them against all odds. And even the speech! The enemy was Western Europe, please; only a moron wouldn't realize that Timoshenko was talking about Germany…
It was all a lie of course. The Red Army might be larger than the Germany army, but the Germany army hadn't been crippled by sweeping purges of its top military officers. And even now, Stalin was running another purge, systematically destroying the high command of the air force…
The guards demanded their papers at the entrance to the Kremlin; they handed them over with the explanation that they were instructed to meet Tovarishch Bragniski at the Armory. The guards frowned at them, particularly at their uniforms, but admitted them into the walled compound, assigning a guard to act as an escort to the hall.
The Armory was tucked away in the northern corner of the Kremlin, a trapezoid-shaped two-storey building surrounded by hundreds of old cannons. At Latvia's amazed reaction, the guard explained briefly that the cannons were captured during Napoleon's retreat in the Patriotic War of 1812, before showing them to the door and handing them over to the guards there, who sent them inside with the orders to wait in the second room to the left. They went, finding a round table laden with tea snacks that they didn't dare touch until Russia showed up, and second table with six places set.
And while they waited in the quiet, the music of the army band only a faint sound within the compound, Liet felt some of the tension slowly bleed away. Being in the Armory shouldn't make him feel safe, but he reasoned that surrounded by disciplined soldiers might be better than engulfed by an angry mob. Granted, they weren't riotous, but Timoshenko's speech had enflamed a patriotism in them that Liet found frightening. He figured that was the point of the whole exercise: Russia demanded that they come in order to show them exactly what they were up against, exactly why it was best for themselves and their people if they kept their mouths shut and went along willingly. Really, Poland might have benefited from this little venture more than any of them…
Russia arrived a few minutes later—Liet noted with relief that the rifle was gone. He absently returned the guard's salute at the door, then entered, hanging his cap next to the Baltics' before walking over to them, adjusting the familiar scarf.
"So, what did you think?" he asked brightly, positively beaming, lit up by his people's enthusiasm.
'It was terrifying' immediately popped into Liet's head, but he figured that wasn't appropriate, so instead tried a polite, "It was very impressive, Russia Zimavich." His voice wavered threateningly and he swallowed.
Russia smiled, proud and pleased.
Latvia nodded in agreement, but then frowned slightly, confused. "But, why did they keep calling you the Motherland?"
"Latvia," Estonia whispered faintly.
But the huge nation didn't get angry. "… When I was very young, they said 'Fatherland'," Russia said slowly, eyes focused as if trying to inspect something far away. "But then it changed…" He blinked, snapping out of his memory. "Well, I guess mothers are more comforting then fathers, da?"
"Perhaps you would like some tea, Russia Zimavich?" Estonia asked hopefully, eager to draw attention away from the smallest Baltic.
"Da, spasiba, but we should wait for everyone to get here."
Liet glanced at the six place settings. But, who else was coming?
Just as Latvia started to ask that very question, the door to the room opened; the guard saluted Russia before stepping aside to admit—
Lithuania and his brothers froze.
Germany.
---
Oh yes, this will be the most pleasant tea-time ever, da? ^^;;;
The scene in the beginning deals with the Mongol invasion of Russia, probably the only successful invasion of Russia.
I've been dying to write about May Day for so long! The speech given by Timoshenko was heavily borrowed from Igor Štiks's A Castle in Romagna; I claim no rights to that, having only altered it slightly from its original (originally the speech was given by a major of Yugoslavia against the Soviet Union). Yeah but, it's so full of communist BS it's not funny. And no, not everyone in the audience believed Timoshenko, but Lithuania doesn't know that. The BT-7 tank was the fastest tank of that time, capable of speeds up to 80km/h (50mph).
And for you, dear readers, I have two video clips. The first is actual footage from the May Day parade in 1941, the very parade the Baltics have just watched, and the second is from the movie Bitva za Moskvu, Fight for Moscow, also about the 1941 May Day parade. Historically speaking, the first is obviously more accurate (in the movie, Stalin gives the speech, when in reality it was Timoshenko), but both give a good idea of what the Baltics were witnessing. And yes, the speech was given from Lenin's Mausoleum...
http:// www. youtube. com/ watch?v =bfWq09jXWZY
http:// www. youtube. com/ watch?v =pn9IzG4MqhM&feature =related
Ponchiki are Russian donuts, essentially; Latvia's eating the donut centers.
The next update may not come as fast as this one, as I have a lot of schoolwork coming up before finals, but I will do my best.
Read and review, comrades!