I DON'T OWN ANASTASIA. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS RACIAL LANGUAGE OF THE TIME PERIOD.

July 28, 1914. Novgorod, Russian Empire.

Ivan Skorokhodov shivered as he stood at attention in morning cold. He had been in the imperial army for 3 long months. In those few months, he had grown up considerably; for he'd had no real choice but to do so. He was 16 years old, but by his appearance and the way he carried himself, you would have sworn that he was at least 18 years of age.

On this particular morning, Ivan stood at attention along with his fellow soldiers. Despite the cold, a small blessing was that Ivan was among friends; if you could call them that. To his left stood Bogdan Abakumov. Bogdan was a hefty man with a big appetite. He was the first recruit to approach Ivan. They had started talking about how the soup tasted like shit and Ivan couldn't help but like the guy. The one on his right was Lyosha Balashov. Lyosha was a decent looking, but hard man inside and out. He never laughed unless it was at one of his own jokes and he was what you would call a glass half empty kind of guy. They had been put in the same regiment and him and they had formed into an unlikely trio. Ivan could still remember the first time that he had met them when he had first arrived at the training camp.

May 1914. Novgorod, Russian Empire.

Young Ivan had just arrived at the army camp in Novgorod for basic training. He was lead into the camp where he was immediately taken to the head officer: Captain Ruslan Glaskov. The first time Ivan saw captain Glaskov, he almost soiled himself out of fear. Glaskov had a huge scar over his left eye and speaking of his dark eyes, they were so piercing; it was as if he could see into your soul.

"So, this is the bread thief." The captain said with disgust while Ivan kept his eyes on the floor.

"Da." He replied quietly as Glaskov stood up and tilted Ivan's chin towards him.

"You will refer to me as sir at all times, is that understood you little street urchin?" He ordered with anger.

"Da sir." Ivan replied in fear as he knew that the Captain would make his life even more of a living Hell than it already was. As Ivan shivered, Glaskov began to pace.

"This is not an orphanage, this is the army." He pointed out, his voice filled with condescension. "No one will be here to clean up after you or read you a story or sing you to sleep...how long is your sentence?"

"I get out in 17 years sir." Ivan stated as Glaskov struck him across the face.

"Getting out, you can just forget about that. Being conscripted into the army is a life sentence. In my term as captain, I have seen three hundred men conscripted into this regiment. Not one of them have lived to see the end of their term. One man was sent here two months ago, he died from dysentery two days later. He wasn't even here a full week." Glaskov replied as he sat back down. "So here you are boy. Here to stay."

After he was dismissed, Ivan got in line for his supper. As he waited in line, a hefty lad who looked like he was the same age as him stood behind him. Before he knew it, Ivan was being poked.

"Don't ask the cook about his left arm." The chubby boy said. "If you do, he'll spit in your food. I've seen him do it."

"Why would I ask the cook about his arm?" Ivan asked curiously.

"Before he became the cook, he was a soldier. A Jap set his arm on fire at the battle of Port Arthur. He can't use it anymore. But he won't amputate it." The lad explained as Ivan covered his mouth ti fight back the bile threating to form. Just the thought of burned flesh made Ivan feel ill.

"Thanks for the warning." He replied as he took a deep breath

"No problem, my name's Bogdan. Bogdan Abakumov." Bogdan said as he offered his hand.

"Ivan Skorokhodov." Ivan replied as he shook it.

"Nice to meet you Ivan...no offense, but it looks like you haven't eaten in quite a while."

"You look like you could survive a week without food. This earned a laugh from Bogdan.

"If I had a rouble for every time I heard that, I could buy my way out of here." He replied with a chuckle.

Sure enough, the cook's arm was a sight to see. Nevertheless, Ivan and Bogdan kept their mouths shut, got their grub, and sat down to eat. As they ate, they were suddenly joined by a cynical looking boy who was at least 17.

"I hope you don't mind." he said with a glum look on his face. "There's nowhere else to sit."

"It's all right." Ivan said as he sat down. "Name's Ivan Skorokhodov."

"Lyosha Balashov." The young man replied as he shook the boy's hand. "Did you get sent here for something or did you volunteer?"

"I stole a loaf of bread." Ivan admitted sheepishly.

"One lousy loaf and they sent you to the army. That seems a bit harsh, don't it?" Bogdan asked incredulously.

"What about you? What did you do to get sent here?" Ivan inquired.

"Fucking turnips..." Bogdan muttered incredulously as Lyosha got a good laugh at this.

"Bogdan The Turnip Fucker." He snorted in delight. "That'll be one for the campfires."

"I wasn't fucking turnips, idiota! I stole them; 17, to be precise." Bogdan clarified with a pout. "What did you do?" Lyosha got very quiet at this question, but answered nonetheless

"I was in love with a beautiful girl in Sochi." Lyosha said solemnly. "Her father absolutely hated me though. We had plans to run away together, once I got enough money. One night, he caught us in bed together. He immediately went to the authorities and claimed that I had raped her. She tried to defend me, but he convinced the judge that she was disturbed by the trauma I inflicted upon her. As such, I was given the choice of being conscripted into the armed forces or a life sentence of hard labor in Siberia. I assumed that this was the better option."

"My God, that isn't fair." Ivan cried out kn anger at the idea of such a horrible fate for 2 young lovers.

"It doesn't matter. Life isn't fair. Anyone who tells you differently is selling something." Lyosha insisted bitterly as he gnawed on a small piece of black bread.

"I'd like to hope that there's a light at the end of the tunnel." Bogdan offered with a weak smile as he wanted to be optimistic. "Who knows, maybe our luck will change when we least expect it.

"Maybe..." Ivan muttered as he stared into the Russian horizon; not believing that he was going to get out of the army without a bullet inside him.

NEXT TIME, IVAN RESPONDS TO A DARE AND MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF A GRAND DUCHESSS. REVIEWS NEEDED AND APPRECIATED.