Aleksey Nikolayevich stood amid the crowd of soldiers. His regiment shifted uneasily around him, excited to see the new colonel. They were fresh faces. Young men had come from all across the country, from where the frigid land of Siberia begins and the thick city of Moscow ends. They had not yet seen war and now their chance to experience honor and don their armor to show off to their friends back home had arrived. In this time, when war leaders were of divine status and a musket was one's greatest friend war was the apex of young men's lives. So now, with disputes rippling through Europe there was glory to be brought.

The colonel came forth, his black horse's coat gleaming and his main tossing. The colonel looked at them all evenly, calculating their personas with a single glance. His silvery hair caught autumn sunlight and reflected it back fiercely. His eyes were mirror-like and vague and his lips were drawn taut. His uniform was white and expertly made. Ribbons decorated it, along with a multitude of badges.

Aleksey, or Alyosha as his friends called him, felt his heart leap up into his throat. All at once great pride swelled in his chest. If this colonel asked him to leap into the sea or into flames and sacrifice his life for him he would do so without objection. This man overpowered them and oh—oh how he spoke! He spoke with such grace and acuteness that all the soldiers, not solely Alyosha, felt their knees turn to water and their chins rise.

"I am Ivan Braginsky. I have returned to lead you men into war. I hope you do not disappoint me," he said curtly and turned off, discussing some important matters with a general and a lieutenant. They told him that this regiment was very able and would apply themselves fully to his orders. They all had come by choice and were willing to prove worthy of his respect. Ivan did not smile but only took these descriptions in with faint nodding of his head. In time he would accommodate back to being in the warzone with horses' muscles flexing between his legs. The buzz of fighting would surround him and smoke would cloud their vision. It excited but also sobered him. Yao was still in Moscow and, by the sun's descent he would have been off to go back home. Little to his knowledge, Yao would not follow the same, strict path that Ivan had in mind.

During this time, when Yao sat in his Moscow apartment, it came to mind that life was terribly short and that one could not go through it without at least one adventure. He planned, then, with a smile starting to emerge, to go on the ordered cabby as far as Vienna, Austria. From there he would catch rides and caravans and vagabonds until he reached his home atop misty mountains in his homeland. Adventurous spirit bubbled up within him and suddenly there was no other path he could take.

Yao stood up, causing the curtains to stir, and turned and rushed towards a desk sitting in the corner of the room. He pulled open a drawer and discovered a leaf of paper still fresh and untouched. He composed a letter to Ivan in his curved, delicate hand-writing.

Ivan,

As a set out to go home I write you this letter.

He paused, staring at the paper and unsure as what to say next. He decided then to describe his plans and give a long paragraph describing his deathless love for Ivan. He wished Ivan the best of luck in the war and hoped that Ivan would not miss him too painfully. Yao penned this because he was thoroughly convinced that Ivan would be returning home.

With much love, again [Yao continued writing] I bid you farewell. If our lives are to cross then I will be filled with endless, beautiful happiness! But if we do not and you find another lover then you have my full permission to seek out a hand in marriage. You are no longer young enough to live the easy life of a bachelor. You ought to settle down. And yes, it pains me to write this for I want to be that hand, I want to live with you my entire life; but alas we are ripped apart by cruel fate as it tore Achilles' life from him those centuries ago!

My entire love to you,

Yao

Satisfied, Yao folded the letter and tucked it away in an envelope. He sought Lena and asked her for Ivan's current address. She beamed and snatched up his letter, prying it out and reading through it. Yao's face reddened. "You can't take my privacy away from me!" he cried.

"Oh," she said, lowering the letter and lowering her eyes. "I apologize. I thought you wanted me to read through your writing for mistakes… And what I found was, written with excellent grammar, the most absurd and stupidest thing!" Her last words lashed out and she waved the paper before him. "Forgive me, master, but you must understand that this is a terrible decision! Do you truly wish to go through these war-torn countries just to fulfill your own selfish need of adventure? How asinine! How ridiculous! Have you no pity for Ivan? He will surely drop dead of fear and worry once he lays eyes on this!"

Yao backed away, rebellious and quarrelsome as it was with his youth. He began to argue but Sveta, like a mother swooping in to be an arbitrary between two bickering children, glowered at him.

"What is this, I hear?" she said coldly. "What's this 'stupid' thing?"

"I—!" Yao began in protest. However Sveta took up the letter and read through it, a wooden spoon clutched firmly in her hand. She shook sighed and smacked Yao across the shoulder lightly.

Yao started but felt no pain—physical, that is. He felt a great deal of torture mentally.

"No," Sveta said. "You young people are all alike. You think what you are about to do is the only possible choice. You act on a single impulse that was really only in passing. Tell me, how adventurous do you feel presently?"

"N-none at all," Yao stammered, accenting the wrong words.

"My advice to you—and if only I could tell this too all the young folk out there!—is that when you have a sudden, strong desire to do something that you wait for a moment. Keeping waiting if the urge weakens and then it will fall away and you will forget it ever existed. But what am I to know? I'm only an unintelligent maid."

Yao looked down.

"I advise you to do so now. Rewrite this letter with a clearer mind. If you aren't concerned for yourself be at least somewhat concerned for Ivan. He may appear strong but his heart only grows weaker the more it's used." She turned away. Though her words weren't said sharply in any way they still cut through Yao likes blades.

Lowering his head he took the letter back and settled back down at the desk. He stared at the paper, unable to formulate enough words to place on it.

This same problem occurred with Alyosha back at camp. They were bivouacking in a clear expanse of land just outside a forest. The grass still had yet to dry up and yellow. The sky now was heavy with afternoon sun and sparse clouds. He run his small hands through his curly brown hair and then scratched his snub nose. He wanted to write to his mother but could not find enough information to supply her. Sighing, he folded up the paper and placed it back in the foot locker. His mind drifted back to the new colonel. Braginsky seemed a most interesting fellow. He longed to be at his side and help. Longing for those mysterious eyes to look upon him, he ventured outside of the tent. Various soldiers moved around. Some checked supplies and did actual business. Others played cards and drank. They noisily moved in groups from tent to tent, collecting more players and hopefully more money.

Food supplies, for the time being, were plentiful and almost superfluous. The war had only blossomed, but threatened to turn dark and sour at any moment. The men were enjoying their peace for as long as they could. In a larger, fancier tent further back Ivan stood speaking with people of varying importance. He exited, having asked permission to survey their surroundings, and looked around. For a flickering moment his eyes landed on Alyosha. The young man tensed up at once, trying to prove himself a man.

Ivan's gaze slipped away. He had regarded Alyosha like one would regard a rug or brick wall. He turned away and, clambering up his horse, road into the nearby village.

Bobbing slightly with the horse's pace, he spotted the rooftops come into sight. He stopped at an inn and, tying his horse up, entered it out of curiosity. Partially he wished to leave the scene because of boredom but mostly he wanted to know how rich these people were and what kind of loss they would suffer if war surged through the land.

Once inside Ivan was greeted with smells of cooking and polish. He walked in, keeping his hand at his saber and puffing his chest out, letting the badges gleam. Working in the front was a pudgy young woman. She looked up at him and smiled, showing that she lacked three teeth. Ivan approached her stiffly.

Whenever he was at war, and this fact remained hidden from him, his entire personality changed. It froze up and became brooding; serious and morose. He rarely smiled in these conditions and expected everyone to obey his every command without objection. Therefore whenever someone did not obey he flew into a rage and chastised them harshly.

Laughter burst out from another room and Ivan looked over, wandering there. The woman watched after him curiously and sighed faintly.

From another room the girls' mother, withered and old, approached her. "Why did you sigh, you silly girl?"

"It's another one of 'em soldiers. The leak in and think they own the place." She replied and her mother cast her a bitter glance but said no more.

In the other room a crowd of people were playing cards. Clouds of smoke from burning cigars fogged up the room. When Ivan entered one of the head's popped up. It was a gypsy woman. Her brown curls reached her waist and her dress, black and decorated with gold jingled around her. "Come in, sir!" she cried with a heavy accent, "Come in and play with us!"

Ivan, feeling as though he had nothing better to do, sat between two of the people. The two he sat by were both soldiers. One was a Prussia general with snow-white hair and the pale, spotted skin from his albinism. He grinned and greeted Ivan in German. Ivan replied back in that same language, though he spoke it poorly.

On his other side was an Austrian soldier. He appeared refined. He did not smoke and did not appear to be playing, but rather watching. His dark eyes swept the scene and he occasionally clicked his tongue. His hair was brown and combed meticulously. A mole was just below his lip and to the side. His nose and face was long and well tempered. He did not seem to realize Ivan had entered.

Ivan reached over and picked up a hand of cards, looking at the game and playing in silence.

"Ah you're a soldier from the regiment stationed here?" one voice said. Ivan looked towards the source. It was a Polish man with a soft and pretty face, rich blonde hair, and a sly, but smart smile.

"Yes," Ivan said.

"Capital!" The Pole said, in English.

The others there were some villagers, fat or burly, one skinny as a twig, and all bearded. Ivan only placed one note on the table and lost it. He knew he was quite horrible at card games.

The one who collected the most money at one point was the Prussian; Gilbert. The Austrian man regarded him coldly with little contempt. He did not speak during the entire duration of Ivan's stay.

Then, Gilbert lost all of his money and more to Feliks, the Pole. Through the conversations that were exchanged it became clear that the Pole, once a soldier, had declared himself a temporary vagabond and had, pushed by a tide of war, ended up in that village. He was thin from nights without dinner but his happiness did not falter.

A half of Feliks' wins were handed over to the gypsy. The gypsy was named Elizaveta and she was Hungarian, loud, and the most admirable of the crowd. She held herself boldly. Had she worn a soldier's uniform Ivan would have mistaken her for a brazen warrior. And that she was, but a temporary gypsy just as the Pole was a temporary vagabond. Her story was more muddled and unclear.

Eventually, when Ivan had gained a few notes back, he stood and bowed to them all, leaving curtly. He rode back home just as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Once he left, just as most companies do, the crowd began to discuss him. They knew he was a Russian soldier and lofty; but details they could not recall, make out, or care for. The villagers grudgingly left for home, leaving the Austrian, Prussian, Pole, and Hungarian.

Gilbert bowed his head, his lips curled to show his teeth. His jaw slackened. He looked pleadingly at Feliks, where all his money had ended up. Clearing his throat and, regaining his strength, with one last sorrowful look at the money, he pulled on his jacket and cap.

"I guess I'll have to bid you all good-bye for now," he said. Elizaveta translated for Feliks. "If we meet again, then until then! Godspeed, my friends, there's a war to fight!" he laughed and went to the young lady at the front, paid her for the drinks, and left.

The Austrian did not move, not even when the Hungarian woman and Feliks had left. He remained in that room, blinking away the film of cigar smoke that hung in the air. The sharp smell of drink still haunted his nostrils. Then, he lowered his shoulders and sighed, pulling spectacles from his pocket and putting them on. He had an uneasy feeling from that crowd, though he did not know why. He stood and collected his own things, touching the door handle and left.

That night no one slept well.

Yao tossed and turned in the cabby, swaddled in cloths and holding a bag between his legs. Sharing the cabby, all heading towards Vienna, was a family. A mustached man and his wife conversed in rhythmic German. The woman held an infant to her breast that mumbled and groaned occasionally.

Ivan lay on his bunk, his hands clasped across his chest. The soft snores of the others sounded around him. Everyone else seemed to have slept peacefully. His mind went back to the company he met and, just as uneasiness washed over the Austrian, discomfort washed over him. But he did not know why.

Alyosha, an insignificant digit among a number of soldiers, also found it difficult to fall asleep. Wanting to appease so many people, he thought up a thousand and one ways to do so; all more ridiculous than the one before. He scratched at his neck and shifted, looking over to his comrades in battle. The excitement rose up in them; proud to die.

So proud to die.