Disclaimer: This story has gone through multiple versions, with the original idea formed well before January 2022. I would also like to say something which should be obvious: This story was not written to support a war nor to condemn it, but rather, to portray how a relationship between Azula and a noble/officer of a different culture might play out.
Now, I feel that I should have said this sooner, but I shall state it now: While I claim no rights over anything taken from Nickoldian's ATLA, as that belongs to them, the Ruskian characters and the world they hail from are 100% my creation.
As for warnings, while I intend for there to be no sexual content: wounds, violence, gore, war-related trauma, and light romance I attempt to write with accuracy to both characters and themes. Also, this is meant to be an intelligent "when worlds collide" sort of story, with plenty of political maneuvering, mind games, and deception mixed in with "realistic" military operational and strategic considerations. If you like this sort of thing, please let me know.
Author's Note:
I am trying a new format for all the complex language encountered in each chapter, I hope this works better and makes reading smoother. See the bottom of the chapter and match the corresponding word and its detailed explanation. (As the story goes on, the legend at the end of the chapter should get shorter.)
Dark clouds of smoke rose from the ground below as the sun remained hidden from view, perhaps to avoid seeing the tragedy unfolding below as cannons thundered over the plain, the ground covered with thousands of corpses and dust piles lying among burnt husks of trees, craters, and abandoned trenches, while fresh ranks marched over them. Before them stood an artificial wall of earth, fronted by large earthen bastions as far the eye could see.
Volleys of gunfire pealed out at every interval, adding to the carnage as some units advanced or retreated. In some places, cavalry charged forth from behind the defenses to drive back the attackers. Shells battered the bastions and walls, from which rose a haze of violet, forming into clear shields as the projectiles smashed into them, causing them to crack like glass before shattering into oblivion and another would be raised in its place. All the while, birds circled above looking for their next meal, drawn to the field by the scent of blood and decaying flesh.
Among the bastions, many already were covered in bodies from failed assaults, while others clattered with rings of steel and the cries and groans of men in the midst of melee. Drum beats, trumpets, horse hooves, marching feet, gunfire, cannonades, screams, and shouts melded together in an unending cacophony of sound and energy as a fresh attacking unit rushed into the fray, prepared to fight and die to avenge their country and Tsar. These were the Zlachny Life Guards, one of Ruskia's most senior infantry regiments, and it was headed directly for one of the bastions. After suffering grapeshot from its cannons, and a volley of musket fire from the infantry protecting them, the Ruskians climbed up the steep and battered rampart and entered, with the Grenadiers of the 1st Battalion leading the charge. One of the first inside was a young officer, no more than 15. After striking down one man, he was wounded after several gunners slashed at him to avenge their comrade, but before they could finish him, they paused, bewildered that he'd survived before being forced back the Ruskians. Little did they know who the boy was.
An older man, attired in the uniform of a Ruskian General sat at a desk inside a small room, reading through the stack of recent reports from the front, when he heard a knock at the door. "Enter," he called as it opened, revealing his aide, Major Shostakovich.
However, the man was surprised when he saw his usually stoic features appeared... Depressed? Aggrieved? He wasn't sure, but his concern only grew when he walked up to him, saluted, and presented a yellow piece of paper. "For you, Grand Duke," he said before the older man took it and gestured for him to leave. When he began reading, at first, he appeared proud, then stunned, and finally, as the tears finished forming, he placed it down and he began to sob into his hands. He didn't know how long he continued for, nor did he care, for the thing he'd dreaded so long had finally happened. His son, his first born, was severely wounded, and in hospital. Eventually, however, he gather his wits, folded his arms, and muttered a silent prayer. "O Deus, please, I beg of thee, save my son, that he not parish in battle. I know that I haven't always been good unto my brethren, and if this be thy will, I will accept it. But will you preserve him?" after waiting and listening for several minutes, he nodded his head. "I thank thee, father. Thy will shall be done," as soon as he finished his prayer, his face lit up with determination, and he took out his writing tools from his desk.
"Addressed to His Imperial Highness, Grand Duke Ivan Nikolaievich Asimov:
While I wished to meet you in person, High Command has kept me busy. I have heard from the doctors that you are doing well, and I hope you are released soon. I also heard that your uncle has planned to give you the Order of St. Ioakim for your bravery. Furthermore, your unit, the Zlachny Life Guards' Regiment and the rest of the 3rd Guards Brigade, will be transferred to the command of the 10th "special" Army. When you arrive at headquarters, you will receive your new epaulettes and complete your promotion to Guard Captain.
Signed: His Imperial Highness, Grand Duke Nikolai Vladimerivich Asimov"
As the morning sun's rays shone over the flat, grassy steppe around him. A young, clean-shaven man, attired in a double-breasted officer's jacket and a new pair of riding breeches, sat watching the field before him from atop the diminutive brown mare granted to him for the trip. Upon cresting a small hill, he gazed at the large encampment centered in the valley, with a village cresting the horizon to the east. "Ah, finally, we made it," he sighed in relief before spurring the mare toward the camp, hearing the whistling wind and the clink of his sword while the long silver tassel on his *shako blew in the cool, late morning breeze which brushed his youthful face. When he approached, he slowed down, sure not to accidentally ride into the men who packed the dirt road leading into the camp. He saw the soldiers loading various equipment into carts, with some even bothering to salute him as he trotted by before an officer noticed him and called out for them to stop what they were doing and pay their respects. He replied with his own as he rode past before relaxing once he made it beyond the crowded entrance. He smiled as he glanced around, glad to be back at the forefront of things. In the aftermath of the battle of Bylowa two weeks ago, he had been wounded twice during an assault. Then, only several days before his return, his unit had been transferred from the 2nd Army under General Alexei Antonivich Fydorov to the 10th "special" Army. While he did not know who commanded it, he had his guesses.
When he arrived at the massive tent in the center, which he knew to be the headquarters, (judging by the giant mast with the Ruskian flag waving high above) the man effortlessly dismounted and handed the reigns to an aide. Once the aide was gone, he righted himself before walking up and opening the tent's flap, ducking to ensure the tall black plume on his shako didn't get in the way. Inside, he was surprised to see several older men dressed in black priest robes, speaking with a tall man dressed similarly to himself, though his uniform had gold leaf decoration on the cuffs and collar. His cocked hat, with its distinctive black-fathered plume, sat on the great table in the center of the tent, exposing his short brown hair, slightly overgrown sideburns, and beard. Upon hearing his entry, the man turned to him, a warm smile appearing as livid blue met livid blue, and the seasoned man quickly moved over to him before embracing him. "It is good to see you again, my Son," he said, breaking the embrace with a grin.
"Likewise, Father," he began as a smug smirk appeared on his features. "I knew you would be the commander."
His father feigned a hurt expression, though his eyes betrayed his happiness. "Did I make it so so obvious?"
Ivan chuckled lightly in response. "Yes, I should say you did. After all, you are the chef of the Regiment," he replied as his father turned back to the table, gesturing for him to follow.
Then, his father turned and dismissed the priests with a wave of his hand before coming to the other end. Once there, he picked up an envelope sealed with the Imperial double-headed eagle and a pair of gold-embroidered red epaulettes. With these in hand, he presented them to Ivan. "Here you are, my boy, just as I promised," he stated as Ivan took them before he reverently took the letter opener that stood on the desk and used it to cut the wax seal. Once open, he took out a silver cross with the coat of arms of his family in the center and held it by the black and yellow ribbon.
"I- Thank you, father," he said, admiring it. The award was lighter than he expected, yet it weighed on his heart even holding it.
"May I?" his father asked as he gestured to the medal. Ivan then nodded and gave it to him before standing with his arms firmly at his sides, his head held high, and his eyes fixed forward. "Captain Ivan Nikolaevich Asimov, on this day, the 10th of June, 2019AD, and on behalf of Tsar Vladimir II, I award you the Order of St. Ioakim. For your bravery in leading the assault on the Kordish gun line in the battle of Bylowa," he said before he unbuttoned Ivan's jacket just enough to pin it to his left above his heart before doing them back. "Congratulations," then the two exchanged a salute before Ivan relaxed, and his father turned to an officer Ivan had not noticed until now. "Is everything recorded?" he asked.
The other man finished writing and turned to him before nodding. "Yes, Sir, it is done," he replied as Ivan exchanged his epaulettes.
"Good. You may go, Major Shostakovich. I would like to have a moment alone," said his father as the Major saluted before walking out of the tent. Once he was gone, he turned to Ivan. "So, my boy, I'm sure you're wondering why we are not at the front,"
Ivan scratched his chin in thought, remembering how confused he was once he had heard where the 10th Army made camp. It took up position in the countryside between Buzurovsk to the east and Kalma to the south, with several dozen versts between the Army and either of the towns. "Yes, why are we stationed in the middle of nowhere?"
Instead of responding immediately, he gave a light chuckle. "Well, my boy, remember when you were young and said that you wished to visit other worlds?" he asked as Ivan thought it over before nodding expectantly. "Well, then I'd suggest you get ready to pack. Because we're leaving Ruskia today."
Ivan's eyes widened before quickly regaining his composure, his father chuckling in response at having gotten the better of him. "Of course, Father, I will be ready," he said excitedly before saluting and turning to leave... Only to quickly peer back. "By the way, where is my tent?"
His father stifled a chuckle as he turned and led Ivan out of the tent. "Down that way, five rows, then turn left. It will be the biggest on the right," he said, pointing down one of the main paths leading away from the HQ. Ivan then nodded before saluting his father and marching down the path. Now that he was on the ground, Ivan had a clearer picture of the men and the occasional woman, moving about the camp like an army of ants. With scenes of soldiers relaxing, their green jackets left to hang on the backs of chairs or hanging out to dry after being washed. Ivan noted the women who dashed to and fro, carrying baskets of clothes or helping the men pack, providing that much-needed extra hand as always.
Once he arrived at his tent, Ivan prepared to step inside, only to hear someone behind him. "Hello, Ivan Nikolaevich," said a voice he recognized immediately.
Ivan quickly turned around and saw a tall man with short, braided light brown hair, and sharp blue eyes sporting a fine mustache. On his person, he wore the attire of a lifeguard hussar officer, minus the pelisse (the over jacket worn by *hussars) and his shako with its long, white plume held in his arm, his long steel sabre scabbard nearly hitting the ground. "It is good to see you again, Pyotr Kirillich," he said as he smiled and embraced the man.
When the two broke the embrace, Ivan looked at him. "How long have you been waiting?" he asked.
Pyotr put a hand to his chin as he leaned on one of the supports of the tent. "Well, let's see, I spoke with a young village girl visiting her aunt in the camp," he began as Ivan shook his head. Typical Pyotr, he thought. "Then, once I heard you were coming. I decided to wait for my old friend."
"Of course you did. As we both know, you can't go a day without looking for another female companion to spend the day with," Ivan began as Pyotr snorted. "So, tell me, do you know where we are going?"
Pyotr shook his head in response. "Unfortunately, only the priests and your father know," he replied as he dusted off his uniform.
Ivan walked over and sat on the wooden folding chair near the back of the tent as the fatigue of riding for six hours straight caught up with him. "I should've expected as much," he said, taking a brief look around his tent; there was a folding chair with a sleeping cot on the floor, a backpack beside it, and an unlit oil lamp hung from one of the supports. "So, how did you get here? I thought the Lifeguard Hussars were with the 1st Army."
At this, Pyotr grinned. "Oh, I was. I even managed to get in a few skirmishes with Kordish scouts. But then, not a week ago, I received a letter from Nikolai Vladimirovich, ordering my unit to join your corps and his new Army," he said in response.
Ivan laid back, taking his shako and placing it beside him. "I see. Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Seeing as our paths seemingly always collide," he began before sitting up and stretching. "I think I'll take a nap. My legs could use a rest," Pyotr nodded in understanding before turning and leaving the tent. Once he did, Ivan undid his jacket and hung it over the chair. As he did, his eyes wandered to the barely noticeable seam which ran along the center of it. For a moment, his mind blanked as he recalled his hand clutching that very spot- Ivan shook his head and found he had unconsciously drifted his hand to where he once bled. He sighed before lying down, hoping he would have a dreamless sleep.
After sleeping for about an hour, Ivan awoke and decided to go for a walk. First, he took his jacket that he had hung over his greatcoat and put it on, making sure to do up all the buttons save the two on the top layer. Then, Ivan opened the pack beside the bed and fished around inside. Once he felt something woolly and soft, he took hold, pulling out a green fatigue cap with a red band, and visor before placing it on his head, having decided to leave his shako behind. Once out of the tent, he could see the ⁶Colours of his Regiment fluttering above the Regimental HQ a few dozen paces away, with the tents of the other officers surrounding it. Ivan turned and set out on the path, walking past the officers' quarters, and setting his eyes on the enlisted of the Regiment, with many seen chatting, eating, or inspecting their rifles, before they stood and saluted him as Ivan again saluted back and marched past. These men were almost entirely composed of the lower nobility, second sons, or young men looking for adventure. The officers, by contrast, were the sons of the highest nobility in the country, and he felt honoured to call himself one of them, even though he was only fifteen.
However, when he arrived at the accommodations of the Grenadiers-
"It's the Lieutenant!" came a shout, and Ivan suddenly found himself surrounded by his men.
"I am glad to see you in good health!" shouted Pasha, his Sargent-Major, as the middle-aged man saluted him before shaking his hand and embracing him. "When I saw you get dragged away by the medics, I feared we would never see you again,"
"Well, let's be thankful it wasn't as bad as it looked," he replied as he broke the embrace. "How have you all been."
Pasha grinned from under his thick mustache and spectacles. "We've been well, Your Imperial Highness," he began. "After the battle, our unit rotated to the rear to rest and replace our losses. However, after only a week, the Colonel received orders to come here," he finished. "Would you care for an inspection, Sir?"
In response, Ivan chuckled and fixed his uniform. "But of course, if you would do the honour's?" he asked as they both turned.
"Company, form up!" shouted Pasha as the men quickly arranged themselves in a straight line, with the tallest and most high ranking on the right, all standing at attention. Then, once everyone was in formation, the Sargent-Major joined them.
"Align!" Ivan commanded as all the men, save for the two at the right end, turned their heads to look right before filling making sure they were a hand apart from each other. "Attention!" all the men who had turned to their right snapped to face their front. "One, two, count!" at his instruction, the first man turned his head to his left and shouted: "One!" before the next man bellowed: "Two!" this then continued to the eighty-fifth man at the end. "Form two ranks!" On his order, every 2nd man stepped back once before stepping to the right to form up behind their fellows. Now that everyone was ready, Ivan began pacing around, quietly inspecting each man. He checked their uniforms, boots, and weapons, making sure everything was up to standard. But, as expected, no belt was too lose, rifle unloaded, buttons undone, or any stains or visible grime. Of course, it was highly possible the unit received new uniforms, but it was difficult to know. Regardless, once satisfied, he returned to his position at the front of the formation and faced his men. "Well, now that I have your attention, I believe I should tell you all that happened," he began. "As I'm sure you're aware, I was hospitalized for the past two weeks. But, I assure you, I have fully recovered, and as for my survival, I have you to thank for saving my life," he continued. "As a result of our collective actions at Bylowa, I am now called upon to be your Captain, and whether you were by my side in the battle or a new face, you are the finest soldiers the Tsar could ask for!" he concluded.
"Ura, Ura, Ura!" shouted his men in reply.
In response, Ivan cracked a slight smile. "Dismissed!" he commanded as the men separated, and Ivan continued on his way, but as he did, a barely noticeable frown appeared on his features. He knew he had remembered all the faces of his men before the battle, yet, out of the original 87 enlisted in his ⁷company, there were 33 he did not recognize.
After spending the next few hours wandering around the camp, the drums suddenly beat the assembly. Ivan ran towards the sound, passing men rushing to get their equipment in order before following him. The wide field, now filled with soldiers, was abuzz with activity, with officers shouting over the continuous beating of drums. While from the camp came a steady stream of men, who quickly made their way to their Battalions before forming up with their fellows at attention. After several minutes of chaos, Ivan again caught sight of his Battalion's colours and ran towards them. Eventually, finding the Grenadier platoon and took his position at the head, curiously finding another officer had taken his previous post. He drew his spadroon and raised it to his shoulder as he stood much the same way as he did when his father gave him his award.
Then, the band began to play as his father rode ahead of all the various units with his staff on a brilliant white stallion. "Greetings, soldiers!" shouted Nikolai once he came to a stop.
"Greetings, your Imperial Highness!" they replied in unison as he stopped in the center, facing the roughly seventy-thousand-strong Army.
"Now, as I'm sure you're all aware, our nation has been cut off from vital trade with our Germanic allies in Ebein, Troberg, and the whole of Neukkon!" Nikolai began. "So, to ensure our stability, the Tsar has called upon you, the brave sons of Ruskia, to go to a new world!"
"URA, URA, URA!" cheered the soldiers before Nikolai gestured for them to calm down.
"So, return to gather your equipment, for we leave at sunset!" he called before riding back the way he came, the ranks of soldiers cheering him as he left.
Once he disappeared back into the camp, Colonel Avgustin Alexeev rode before Ivan's Battalion. "Soldiers, I expect you to assemble before sunset," he began sternly, showing his disdain at them being late in forming up. "Officers, take it from here!" he commanded as he returned to camp while the rest of the unit followed behind him after being dismissed by their commanders and NCOs.
Once he was sure everything personal was packed, Ivan helped take down his tent before being loaded on one of the horse-drawn supply carts. When he finished packing his non-essential equipment, he proceeded to the field with the other officers. Ivan was now wearing his shako again to prepare for the evening. "So, you're in charge of the Grenadier platoon?" said one as Ivan turned to the man who had spoken, whom he identified as the same Lieutenant who'd appeared at the assembly.
The man quickly saluted him, and Ivan replied in kind. "Yes, I am Grand Duke Ivan Nikolaevich," he began as the man nodded in understanding. "Who are you?"
"You're the Grand Duke's son," he said, his face one of sudden recognition as he took off his shako and bowed. "I am Senior Lieutenant Antonov, your Imperial Highness."
"So I presume you are my replacement then?" asked Ivan. After all, someone needed to take his previous position.
Antonov nodded. "Yes, your Imperial Highness."
Ivan stroked his chin in thought. "I'm sorry, but I don't recall seeing you before."
The man chuckled heartily in response. "Oh, I can understand why. You see, I only got here recently. As I was formerly in a different unit. But, after speaking with the Colonel, I was accepted."
Ivan gave him a questioning look. "What unit did you serve in before?"
"2nd Platoon, 3rd Battalion, 5th Grenadier Regiment," he replied sheepishly as Ivan nodded. "So, I'm sure you can understand?"
As he recalled, the 5th Grenadiers' 3rd Battalion disbanded after losing their colours to a regiment of Kordish Horseguard during the battle of Bylowa. "Then how did you end up here?" he asked, genuinely curious how a man from a disgraced unit had ended up in the Guard. Well, not entirely disgraced, as that would only happen if the Regiment lost its Colonel's colour, and the whole unit in question would disband.
"I managed to rally the 2nd platoon, and we held up the attack long enough for the cavalry to arrive and drive off the enemy," he stated.
Ivan noted the award on his chest and nodded. "I see. Well, welcome to the Guard."
"Thank you, your Imperial Highness," he replied before saluting Ivan and walking away.
"So, I see you've met Sergei Ivanovich?" Ivan heard the distinctive voice of his commanding officer to his side, and he turned to see the austere form of Colonel Alexeev stroll up to him at a leisurely pace with his short cane held in the crux of his arm, his sharp brown eyes fixed onto the Grand Duke. Beside him was a man he didn't recognize with a well-groomed black mustache, wearing a cocked hat and General's uniform.
"Indeed, Sir," Ivan began as he saluted them. "He seems to be quite the brave fellow,"
The Colonel kept his typical stiff expression. "So I have heard. But it remains to be demonstrated in our company," he stated as both watched the man in question.
Ivan took a deep breath. "I know it's none of my business, Sir, but why did you let him join?" asked Ivan without turning to him.
The older man sighed in response. "Because I owed his father a favour."
"I see," Ivan replied, unwilling to question him further as he knew well not to ask such things in public.
Suddenly, the Colonel turned to the young Grand Duke. "But enough about him," he began as Ivan faced him. "I wished to commend you for your bravery in person. It takes a good leader to be able to accomplish what you did."
Ivan nodded in response. "Thank you, Sir."
"Oh, and one more matter," he said before turning to the man beside him. "Your Imperial Highness, allow me to introduce Brigadier General Lionoid Bykovsky, commander of our Brigade."
In response, the man stepped forward, and Ivan and the General exchanged salutes. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance General Bykovsky," he said, extending a hand.
General Bykovsky shook it, a grin on his face which met his dull grey eyes. "Please, the pleasure is mine, Grand Duke," he said before letting go. "Look at you. You've grown quite a bit since last I saw you," he told him, his smile turning into a frown. "I heard you were wounded."
Ivan nodded affirmatively, trying not to show his discomfort at being spoken to with this concern. "Indeed I was. However, as you can see, I have fully recovered," the Grand Duke replied as he tried to picture where he had seen this man before, as he seemed familiar. "Wait, have we met before?"
The man nodded and grinned. "I thought you wouldn't remember, you were so young. Your father and I graduated from cadet school, and we kept in touch since, or at least, we used to," he said before clearing his throat, clearly wanting to shift topics for some reason that Ivan couldn't decipher. "Now, as much as I've enjoyed seeing you again, the Colonel and I have much to discuss this evening's events," he said before he saluted again, and the two men turned and marched away.
"That was...Odd," Ivan said to himself. "Perhaps I should see what Pyotr is up to?" with that, he nodded and began searching for his friend.
After trying and failing to find his friend for the next two hours, sunset came quickly, and the Army, had finished packing and after forming up, stood arrayed in a long column, with the General's staff at the head of it and the wagon train at the rear. The Zlachny Life Guards took up position in the vanguard just behind the cavalry in the column. Ivan, standing at the head of the Grenadiers of the 1st Battalion. Similar to everyone else, it seemed; Ivan was both nervous and excited at the prospect of going to a new world. There were many possibilities, not all good, but he trusted his father and the Priests to get them there intact; so, when the order came to pray, he did as instructed, taking off his shako and kneeling. As he did, he could hear the deep voices of the priests carrying over the vast crowd. "O Deus, our Eternal Father. We ask that as we enter this world, Thou wilt protect us and that we may bring with us Thy message of healing and bring our nation back to prosperity. These things we say and ask Thee for, in the name of Thy Son, Dzhoshua, Amen," With that, he and everyone else stood up and watched with awe as a great, ethereal doorway appeared before them, large enough to fit at least a battalion at once.
"1st Squadron, advance!" came the command as the cavalry started to move, and orders continued to move further down the line.
Then, Major Konstantin Dmitriev, his direct superior, turned to the 1st Battalion from his position at the front. "1st battalion, Zlachny Life Guards, to the front, quick march!" as soon as the order came, the drums began to beat the marching cadence, and as one, the unit marched forward as the band ahead of them played: "Farewell my Ruskia." As they drew closer to the portal, Ivan's anxiety only seemed to increase. However, he knew how to keep a straight face, ensuring his men didn't see how worried he was. That is until the unit ahead of them disappeared into the gold mist, and he was now the next in line, so, taking a deep breath, Ivan steadied himself long enough to pass through. But once inside, the Grand Duke immediately realized his fears were unjustified, as his mind and body felt consumed by gentle light. As much as he wished this spiritual lightness could have lasted longer, he soon found himself standing in what appeared to be a desert, filled only with shrubs and short grass that dotted the otherwise parched earth. The cavalry had begun to spread out to make room for the units yet to arrive, with several seen riding off, presumably to scour the area for signs of civilization.
In the meantime, the Major guided them to the side of the portal before turning to them. "1st Battalion, halt!" he commanded, the unit stopping nigh simultaneously. "Turn around!" the soldiers turned back to face the portal as Dimitriev made his way back to the front. "Officers, you can take it from here," he said before walking towards the brigade headquarters.
Ivan, understanding his superior's orders, turned to face his men. "Platoon, at ease!" he shouted as his men relaxed while keeping their general posture. "Alright, once I dismiss you, you may relax. But don't go too far. Dismissed!" with that, the unit dispersed. The majority only walked a short distance and decided to rest on the rocks or the ground.
After spending the next hour sitting on a rock as he watched the rest of the column march forth from the portal, the sound of hoofbeats drew Ivan from his stupor, and he turned to find the scouts from earlier had returned. He watched with interest as they rode up to his father and spoke briefly with him before returning to their unit. Then, his father turned to one of his staff and said something to the man before he rode over to General Bykosky and the Colonel, who stood close by. The Staff Officer proceeded to speak to them before he rode off, and the Colonel mounted his swift brown mare and rode over to him. "Captain, rally your men! We need to get the Battalion back in formation!" he shouted before he rode over to the commanders of the 2nd Battalion. As much as Ivan wanted to ask what the commotion was. He had orders to fulfill.
So, jumping down from his perch, he quickly ran to where he had left his men. "Platoon, form up!" he commanded as his men sprung into action and prepared to receive their orders. After a series of commands and drills, the whole platoon stood arrayed in three ranks. While Ivan finished up with his unit, he turned to see that the other platoons formed up to his left, meaning the whole Battalion was now complete.
With this finished, he took up his position on the left side of the platoon with Sargent Major Pasha Solomenikov behind him before turning to face his front, just in time to see Major Dmitriev run ahead of them. "1st Battalion, by companies, form column!" he commanded, while Ivan and the other officers quickly moved to ensure no confusion spread in the ranks. Once formed up, Ivan's platoon, alongside the light platoon and the battalion command, was at the front while the other three companies formed up behind. Then the Major took the position at the head of the command section.
For a moment, they waited, and Ivan watched with interest as Colonel Alexeev and General Bykovsky rode to the very front. While this happened, Ivan heard many heavy boots on the hard ground, and the young Grand Duke turned to see the 2nd Battalion take position behind them. "Zlachny Life Guards, to the front, quick march!" Colonel Alexeev commanded, and starting from the front; the Regiment began to move as the drums beat the marching cadence.
After marching for what seemed to be fifteen minutes, the formation turned onto what appeared to be a dirt road. There were also hoof prints embedded in it, telling Ivan this was likely the route the scouts took, and, after continuing on the path, they saw smoke rising in the distance. Suddenly, the Major ran ahead before turning and conducting the unit as he sang:
"Oh, you canopy, my canopy,
My new canopy,"
Soon enough, the entire column erupted with the cheerful tune, with many trying to keep themselves from laughing as one of the enlisted from the command began to dance ahead of the formation.
"Brand new canopy, all of maple
and lattice handiwork.
Through this porch, I will pass,
arm in arm with my sweet lass."
As they crested a hill, they caught sight of a large, fortified camp several minutes walk from where they were, surrounded by a palisade wall, with people seen coming out from it, presumably to see what all the commotion was.
"Here comes a fair maid
outside the newly-made gate.
Brand new gate made of pure oak
and lattice handiwork."
Once they were about halfway, Ivan could tell they were carrying weapons as the Sun's dying rays reflected off the metal of spear tips. It was now that Ivan understood why their commander had decided to sing, as he could see the confused faces of the men in red and black armour.
"She would let a falcon out,
off her right sleeve, he'll flutter out.
Fly on, falcon,
high and far!"
Now Ivan could see the black flames in the center of the red banners adorning the walls. In addition, the fact that, for whatever reason, their most armoured soldiers seemed to be the only ones not carrying weapons struck him as odd. These soldiers unarmed soldiers wore bone-white masks over their faces, with holes for the eyes and slits to breathe. To add further to this already intimidating appearance was the spiked brow of the helm they wore, which seemed to interlock with their masks, while their armed counterparts, on the other hand, wore no face covering and had no brow on their helmets. For some inexplicable reason, they also wore spiked shoulders which extended over their arms.
"Go on flying,
high and far.
Very high and very far
to my dearest hometown."
As they continued to sing, at least two hundred of these strange armoured warriors had come to see what was going on, all seeming puzzled by their display of perfect discipline and choir-like ability.
"To my dearest hometown-"
"Zlachny Life Guards, halt!" cried General Bykovsky as the entire column marched in place until they all stopped on their left feet. Then, he turned and faced the armed men, who now had their weapons ready, at least for those who held weapons. "Good evening!" he shouted in a cheerful tone as he used a hand to grab his cocked hat and gesture to them.
Those whose faces he could see had shock and confusion written all over them, while one whose armour was more ornate, sporting a similar expression, cautiously stepped forward before clearing his throat. "And you are?" he asked, sounding to Ivan like Pogyinese.
The General muttered something under his breath before placing his hat back on his head and clearing his throat. "Hello, Sir, I am Brigadier General Bykovsky, commander of the 3rd Guard Brigade of the Ruskian army," he answered in the same tongue, which confused the man more. Good, at least there should be no issues in communicating.
"I am sorry. Where did you say you were from?" the man asked as he glanced over the Battalions.
"We are from Ruskia," replied the Colonel, while the other man continued to stare at him as though he had grown a second head.
Then, he turned to one of the men beside him, appearing to ask him something before facing the General and Colonel. "I'm sorry, I've never heard of it,"
The General chuckled lightly in response. "Of course, you haven't. Now, who might you be?"
The other man straightened his posture. "I am Lieutenant Lee of the 5th Firebending Regiment of the mighty 2nd Division of the Fire Nation Army," he replied as Ivan stifled a laugh. The idea of a country named: "The Fire Nation." Not only did it sound utterly ridiculous to him. But it also made him wonder why they called themselves such in the first place.
General Bykovsky then dismounted and extended his hand in the traditional greeting while Colonel Alexeev followed him. "Well, it is good to make your acquaintance," he said.
Lee then nodded in response as the General put his hand back at his side. "I believe I can say the same," he began as he regarded the Battalion. "Now, why have you come?"
General Bykovsky stroked his mustache in thought before turning back to him. "Well, for one, we require supplies and a map for our Army," he said as Lee looked at him questioningly.
"How many of you are there?" he asked.
"About seventy thousand," said the General as Lee's dark amber eyes widened in shock.
"Bu-" he paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "But that is impossible. Only the Earth Kingdom could field such a large force, and not even they would be foolish enough to put all their turtle-duck eggs in one basket," he said. Though, in truth, he didn't know if even they could field an army of that size.
Ivan, meanwhile, felt more confident as a result, as it showed that not only did they not have access to Firearms, but it seemed they had yet to develop large standing armies. Although, he would not display such emotions publicly, as it was his duty to ensure they got the first impression they wanted.
The General, it seemed, had a similar approach. "Well, we are not of this Earth Kingdom you have mentioned, and I assure you I am telling the truth," Bykovsky began before addressing the Regiment. "Soldiers, I require two volunteers to return to the Army and tell them we have made contact," in response, two men stepped forward and saluted him before running past the formation and back down the road.
As the General turned back, Lee regarded him with a skeptical look. "What did you say?" he asked in a cautious tone.
"I ordered them to return to our army and tell them to come here," he began. "Now, I would like to speak with your commander,"
"I'm right here," said one of the men in the crowd as it split, with only one man left in the center, an eye patch over his right eye dressed similarly to Lieutenant Lee save the red sash he wore over his armour. "Now, what do you want?" he asked as Lee quickly turned and nodded.
The General followed suit. "As I told your subordinate, I require supplies and a map," he stated.
"I am Colonel Taojo, commander of the 5th Regiment," he began as he walked forward before stopping next to Lieutenant Lee. "And I can certainly get these for you, but I must request that you come inside,"
General Bykovsky nodded in response. "Thank you, but first, may I bring my aides?" he asked, gesturing to the Colonel and, much to his surprise, Ivan.
Colonel Taojo nodded. "Indeed, you may. However, only you three. The rest must stay."
Legend:
Zlachny Life Guards (Infantry) Regiment: An Elite formation numbering 1211 men (at the moment) separated into three Battalions.
Shako: A felt and leather helmet worn by soldiers fixed with a brass chinstrap. In this case, a kiwer.
Hussars: A type of light cavalry, used for scouting and skirmishing ahead of the main army. They typically wear bright, extravagant uniforms.
Colours: The flags denoting each Regiment, with the first Battalion carrying both the Regimental colours and the Colonel's colour, the most valuable flag in a Regiment, with the others given two identical Regimental colours. Standard Infantry use only basic regimental flags.