Ch 7 Breakfast

For the entire night, the horizon was covered with thundering sounds—artilleries, gunfires, footsteps cracking on the snow and the battle cry of "Ura"*—seemingly to have turn the ground upside down.

When the troop finally risked their lives and rushed out of layers of the German army's surrounding, the sky was already light up like the wounded soldiers' pale faces and the sunrise was glowing like blood.

After two hours, the breakthrough force returned to their division's base and was ordered to rest there—all personels from the breakthrough force would be stationed here and turned into defence.

Forty-three deaths, seventeen injuries and ten missing—were the new stats updated on the infantry's name list in the morning of November 17. Their unit had already suffered severe loss in the previous campaign and was just able to recruit back to the one-hundred man establishment in Moscow…

Logistic soldiers were busy tending soup and vegetables as well as vodka; the latter was limited to one hundred grams per person. Wang Yao sat on the ground, exhausted, leaning against Toris while letting his friend's worried voice drifting in and out of his ears, "Poor gals! They just got through the line with us, but couldn't have a rest…"

He saw Natasha in the distance taking care of injured soldiers. She put her gloves aside and her small hands—red from the cold air—quickly rolling up bandages on the wound. A proud girl like her would never abandon her faithful duty for a few minutes' rest. All of a sudden, the girl's outcry of surprise and joy mixed with the sound of approaching clops entered his ears—Ivan, riding on his steed Kostya, was rushing towards them; behind him was a few more dozens of soldiers and horses.

In an instant, Wang Yao felt that his energy that was drained from days of battle came back to him. He jumped up from the ground, causing Toris behind him to almost lose his balance.

The cavalry units had broken through too! Among the soldiers alive was his good friend Ivan Braginsky!

Time on the battlefield—sometimes it flied like a bullet past the tip of your hair; sometimes it stumbled like the army cook carrying the water buckets across the campground.

It was a hundred kilometers away from the Pushkin bronze statue in the city park and two weeks already from that memorable afternoon under it. But, to eighteen-year-old Wang Yao, it was as if a lifetime had already gone by.

After the Red Square march on November 7, 1941, which was later foreverly remembered in the book of history, their unit was reorganized into the west line along with the cavalry unit, heading back to the front. What awaited them was the German army—also freshly rested and reinforced, vowed to take down Moscow. The two units were fighting all along. Their major role was to sneak into the enemy's rear for reconnaissance missions instead of facing the frontal battlefield like the rest of the infantry and cavalry; however, sometimes, war did not play the card one expected…During the campaign before the reorganization in Moscow, Wang Yao had done killing, but merely through long range shooting. Only in this difficult November had he tasted the brutalness of plain bayonet fighting, especially the previous night when they were surrounded and divided by enemies several folds of their number!

"Aha! You are still alive." After easing his sister who cried out of joy, Ivan came up to Wang Yao. He still retained that carefree joking tone, even just after a brutal battle. The optimism was clearly contagious and WangYao picked up his way of speaking.

"Didn't you say that you want to draw me a portrait? Let's see how you're gonna draw if I die."

"If you died, I can still draw your face." said Ivan like an unscrupulous child. "I was number one in the academy before the war. I can make portraits straight out of my memory…This look of yours, I won't be able to forget no matter how many years had past!"

The last sentence, at first, satisfied Wang Yao's vain little heart, but soon he revoked that idea and laughed at himself: perhaps Ivan just used the opportunity to show off his incredible memory and skills. "Look at this guy," thought to himself, "Like me, he also joint the army this summer, but that casual way of talking about death is way better than me. They say that he already fought with bayonet back in September, and that was when he was all by himself deep inside the enemy's region…"

Recalling only a few hours ago how he stabbed the bayonet into an enemy's chest for the first time, that face-to-face hatred and the lingering smell of blood, Wang Yao couldn't help but to sympathize Ivan, although he quickly realized this thought to be bizarre and laughable.

The base was bustling with increasing noise and energy—the logistic soldiers were serving hot soup and vegetables, though they weren't the most important. The loveliest thing was the one hundred grams ration of vodka.

"Take mine." Wang Yao looked at his portion of vodka and said to Ivan. "I don't drink."

"You don't drink?" Ivan looked at him unbelievably, "Then how about the vodka you got before?"

"People who can't survive without vodka? We've got more than we need in the trench." Wang Yao raised his chin to his fellow soldiers who were enjoying their first meal after the brutal victory in high spirits. "Giving it to someone else is better than wasting on a person who doesn't know about drinking, like me."

Ivan shook his head in disapproval. "That's not good! Yao, from today on, save the vodka for yourself. It's not to fix the craving. When you fight in the ice and snow, if you don't drink you'll freeze. It's not like you don't how cold our winter is." He pat on Wang Yao's shoulder heavily.

Wang Yao looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, then put on a face like staring death right in the eyes and pour that vodka down his throat…

"You fool! You'll get choked! Wanna be like an old soak at your first time, huh?" Ivan tried very hard to hold back the laughing and pat his back in a good rhythm. After a few seconds, Wang Yao finally caught a breath. Due to alcohol and shyness, his pale face was flushing with a rosy color. To hide his embarrassement, he diverted his sight to the soldiers talking and laughing nearby.

The time of war taught people so many things. Even if you just lost your buddy who went through life and death together, you shouldn't hold on to that anguish for too long, but only to bury it deep inside until the day of revenge.

"Where's your vodka? Wang?" A cheerful old soldier yelled to Wang Yao.

"That's a pity!" Before he could open his mouth, Ivan answered for him with a grin, "From now on, comrade Wang will take up drinking."

Soldiers were all stirred up—some regretted about the extra vodka, some took the high ground as experienced soldiers and congratulated Wang Yao about his drinking as he "finally became a competent soldier". Others were teasing the logistic soldiers of whether they scrimped today's buckwheat soup. The logistic people kept nagging and hurried them to eat, or else they were getting on that bad-tempered supply chief's nerves again.

"It's about time to get rid of that cranky old guy!" someone yelled, "Let our Toris be the supply chief! My lord, he knows how to take care of ya! If he handled the supplies, he'll get us all fattened up!"

"Under the caring of our dear Chief Toris, the one getting fatten up the most will sure be our dear Natasha!"

Among the laughters, only the two persons involved in the joke were not responding. Natasha who was so faithful with her duties was busy tending injuries over there. It was hard to say if she heard—even if she did, she would turn a deaf ear to it. The concentrating expression on that beautiful face made her even more enchanting—almost like an angel in Toris' eyes, whom were staring at her out of his mind that even spilled soup on his boots didn't take his notice.

"What should I do with you?" said Wang Yao, who was looking at Toris with amusement and pity. His face still blushed from the vodka. "You are pretty smart most of the time, but in front of Natasha, nobody beats you in a stupid contest."

Sitting beside him, Ivan's violet eyes were not looking at his sister, Toris, or any other people on the campground. Right here at this moment, there was nothing that could be more captivating to the heart of the young artist—self-proclaimed at least—than Wang Yao's handsome face which was made even the more elegant by the blushing and the warmth expressed towads his friend.

"How beautiful..." thought Ivan. "I must draw him a portrait, as we will be resting in this campground for a few more days…"

Many years later, every student Professor Braginsky had taught all remembered their teacher's word in the portrait class: "If there was such a person that inspires you to make a portrait and your heart hang on to that unforgettable urge, then cherish every moment you spent with that person! Young men!"

*Ura: Battle cry similar to "Hooray"