Chapter Text
Nikolai Ivanovich ran through the field, a rifle in hand, and filled with nothing but the desire to live. His two comrades, one friendlier and another beaten down by war, were on either side. Orders are orders. Go straight into the death trap that awaits them.
The man to the right of him, the one beaten down enough, had his head blown off instantly. The man to the left of him, the friendlier, had a hole in his foot, thus plunged into the dirt. Nikolai merely tripped right after. He didn't dare turn his head to see his dying friends. The last thing he saw was an enemy soldier standing over his heavy body.
For the next three months, Nikolai was imprisoned, tortured, starved, and met death a total of three times until the war ended and he escaped.
~ ~ ~
Jack Arthur Birling was grouped together with the allies at the end of the war. His brothers Samuel, Leo Oscar and Isaac Noah; his closest Edward, Llewellyn and Dòmhnall; his wife Marie-Anne and her brother François; and Iva and Josef Hölle and some others. God, what a horrific reunion. While he and his wife mutually disliked their marriage, in this moment it was acceptable to embrace each other without malice.
Everything smelt of dread, though a breeze of ease was coming through. Good, he thought, for he didn't want to think of the past few years just yet. He would rather look on at all the Princedoms before him who were alive and well, who had survived another god awful war. As Samuel and all his other brothers were cheering to the side, Jack was quick to observe the quieter lot off in the corner. The Eastern Europeans, with beaten down spirits, not just from the war but, as said by his American brother, by a raging idea taking over Russia. He, without further thought, tread a little closer and caught sight of one of the youngest in the group.
Nikolai had survived by losing an eye and some skin, teeth and nails—and perhaps some dignity. His imposing figure hid behind his fellow peers, and silently prayed to God. Why? Jack came to a stop. To him, and as Adalbert had expressed once as well, God was dead. Or, at least, no God would allow for this.
'What 'cha looking at?' Samuel jostled him back by the shoulder. 'Those Russians, huh?'
'Only two of them are Russian, I think.' Jack responded, not taking his eye off the least dignified. It did something to heart. Probably Pity. Anyone would've felt the same.
'No, c'mon. They're all basically the same,' Samuel laughed. He watched his brother awkwardly nod back, 'You suspicious of 'em or something?'
'Well...' A few glared at the two Westerners, and so Jack hid behind his brother. 'Look at them...'
'Yeah, Yeah, I know... Scary, but I think they won't be much cause for concern.'
The two decided it was for the best that they left the Russians—including the ones who were not Russian—alone.