The First Soldier

Lies made of paper. promises made of dreams

Two days later, Stronvich woke up. His head pounded as he tried to sit up before falling onto his back. "Well you're awake," The sound of an older man's voice woke him from his slumber. "Oh god," Stronvich moaned as the man stopped him from trying to sit up once again. His blurry vision making it hard to see the man's face. "Been out cold for about 2 days now. Sure gave that Storm-commander a good thrashing." The doctor chuckled to himself as Stronvich's eyes cleared and he got a look at the man.

He was balding, with blue eyes and a thin moustache. He looked almost like a steryotypical grandfather. "Well, I put you in for a two weeks leave after that fight. It's not much but you could use the break from the mud." The old doctor helped him to his feet before leading him to the door. "Thanks doc." Stronvich said as he opened the door and was met with the sight of trucks full of men being unloaded to replace them on the front.

Pytor waved to him, rushing over to the young soldier. "Stronvich! Can you believe it? We finally can go home!" Soon enough, they had loaded onto the truck, making their way to the east, toward Russia. The soldiers were all happy, talking excitedly as they were shipped towards their homes and families. Stronvich however was anything but excited. He had joined the army to stay with his friends and away from his family. His step-father was a useless drunk, and his mother hopelessly in love. She was chasing that high of being loved by a man and took whoever would put up with her for more than a night.

Pytor hopped off the truck a few towns back and Stronvich was looking out the back of the vehicle at his hometown. Was it really going to be worth it to head off here? Maybe he could just... no he should see his mother. Stronvich hopped off the back of the truck, and walked around. "Guess it's just me," the driver gave him a quick salute before driving off.

The streets where no longer familiar to the young man. In all of a year, he had forgotten how to navigate the streets he had lived on for over 16 years. Finally he saw it that old apartment with the crumbling stairs. He walked up to the door and knocked. A man opened the door, but it wasn't anyone he recognized. "Can I help you?" the man asked, looking at the young soldier.

Stronvich was a bit shocked but maybe his mother had finally ditched that old man. "Sorry sir, my name is Stronvich. I just came back for a week of leave and wanted-" The man stopped him. "Wait you were that lady's kid?" The man quickly invited him inside, sitting him down on the couch. The table next to it had been replaced, but Stronvich took little notice of that. Instead all the old pictures were gone, nothing remained even of his mother or father.

A woman came into the room, "honey who's this." The man looked back to her. "Remember the guy that sold us this place?" Stronvich interupted them, "Hold on, my mother owned this apartment not him." The woman looked to him, "Oh god..." She sat down next to him, rubbing his shoulder. "We bought this place from Mr. Joseph, he said he wanted to move out after his wife..."

She didn't need to finish, Stronvich could infer what had happened. "Oh.. ok, just let me. Just..." He started to break down. He had wanted to get away from his step-father and his mom. But if he had known it would be the last time he would see her, he never would have left. "Take your time." The man sat with him, his wife getting up.

The soft pattering of feet filled the hall, "Natasha! Get back here." The wife came from the kitchen, chasing a small girl who held a book. The child stopped upon seeing the soldier. She looked at his face before squealing. "It's him!" she threw the book onto the couch and tried to climb up, her mother grabbed her. "Natasha, what did we say about greeting guests? And can't you see he is dealing with something right now?!" the mother scolded her daughter. "But mama, it's the boy from the book! And the paper too!"

Stronvich stayed with them for the night, they gave him a room next to the daughter, across from the parents. The mother was named Sasha, her husband Vladmir. Stronvich lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his head a jumbled mess of thoughts. He thought but could not wrap his mind around its own train of thought. The door creaked, Stronvich jumped up, reaching for his shotgun only to grab air. Oh, he wasn't on the front. "Hey, psst!" it was Natasha, she had snuck out of her room and into his.

"Oh, hi." he wasn't in the mood to talk right now, but she rushed over to the bed before climbing onto it. "Is it true that all soldiers get medals and recongnition? That our country is the greatest?!" she looked to him, eyes full of wonder. Stronvich wanted to cry, to tell her that it was all a lie, that most men would die in a shallow grave made of mud and never be thought of or seen again. "No. not all men get medals, not all of us make it home. But we all did our part, seaking out our own glory."

She looked up to him, "When I grow up, I am going to do what you did! I am going to make my own glory too!" she squealed, stars in her eyes. Stronvihc sighed, "little Natasha, you must never follow my footsteps, never go to war."

She seemed to not hear him as she left the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Stronvich in the dark bunker once again. The soft click of rifles, magazines, and pistols being loaded as each second ticked by. The soft melody of war lulling the newly named veteran to sleep.