At Ease, Cadet!

[Natal]

Prologue

“How did you spend your army?” Maksym Tomaszewski smiled as he remembered this. He was little, around 2 years old and his father didn’t really understand his pidgin Median. He was looking at his father, who was a general in the Royal Army, as some of his father’s friends were talking about how they spent their time in the army. When Maksym asked his father, this question, while his friends began laughing and one of them said: “He is alive. That is how he spends in time in the military,” his father didn’t understand it. Instead of understanding “spend” as “how did you kill free time”, he understood “how come you wasted the army”. So, his father changed a subject and talked about how the army is so weak and how even the officers support deserters. Maksym found this discussion boring so he left. He didn’t know if his father understood exactly what he asked him, but it didn’t matter. He was brought back to the present day by his wife, who put in front of him a cup of coffee.

“How much is it?”

“50 Reai… no problem honey, he will pay it.”

“I imagine.”

Kostya Tomaszewski came from his room with a large backpack.

“Everything is ready?” is father asked.

“Yes.”

“Also, the speeding ticket, you will pay it. From your own money.” His mother said as Kostya approached the door.

“Okay, I will pay it.” As he approached the door, his father stopped him again.

“Take care.” He said as he hugged his son. “And pay it!”

Kostya was glad that he finally escaped. He took a cab and first went to the central police station to pay the fine. All this ridiculous argument was shit. He received a speeding fine while driving his father’s car. Even the police officers who stopped him talked about giving him either a fine or a warning. He had only 57 km/hours. One of them told him to give only a warning, while the other, presumably a higher ranked officer insisted on a fine. So, now he paid. He took another cab and went to the train station.

The Worker’s Square was one of the most important parts of Altaisk. It was the first part of the country which was systematized. All old buildings in the square, from blacks, houses to the railway station were demolished and rebuilt. While in Carentania and Havenshire, Socialist Futurism became popular, in Media, the socialist architecture took a more classical approach. The old houses and three and four storey blocks were replaced with 10 and 16 storey blocks with marble façade. Kostya passed through the station and went to the second line, from where he knew that the train to Dara will leave. As he lighted a cigarette, he could hear the next train being announced in the station:

“Regional Train no 2505 coming from Baile Ier, Arwad will arrive in the station at line one.”

As he was watching the old steamer struggling to carry the 6 carriages over the slopes at the entrance of the yard, his attention was turned to a man coming towards him. At first he couldn’t recognize him because of the smoke as a freight train hauled by another steamer was leaving the station. He recognized the man only after his voice:

“You fucking bitch! Smoking without sharing…” a typical greet from Andrzej, but interesting such greets were reserved only for Kostya.

“Andrzej, you were late. I nearly finished it.” Said Kostya as he was searching for the SAV package of cigarettes to give one to Andrzej. At the same moment another announcement could be heard in the station:

“Fast train number 626 leaving towards Alesd, Tirgu Ier and Dara will be formed in the station at the second line.” As the announcement ended the platform began to be flooded by passengers. A diesel locomotive was slowly hauling the 18 carriage train to the platform. As people began to enter the cars. Kostya’s pupils widened as he recognized someone.

“Move! Move!” he said pushing Andrzej to quicken his entry in the carriage.

“What is the fucking problem?” asked Andrzej as he entered in the compartment and put his backpack in the storage shelf.

“I think I saw Pavel Dabrowski. I saw the lists, if I am to see that guy for four years every day, at least let me enjoy the 14 hours trip without him.”

A girl entered in the six seat compartment, seating herself in one of the middle seats, near Kostya. She took a book from her luggage and began reading. As the train departed few minutes later, the three remained alone until Tirgu Ier where the other seats were occupied.

 

[Potenza]

In the throb of people at the station was a woman wearing moderately fine clothing, her high heels clicking along the ground as she made her way to the train carriages. There was nothing to make her in particular stand out among the populace. Her hair was dark, her skin swarthy, her eyes dark as well, and she was dressed no more extravagantly than most of the people there. Despite all this, the woman was not a native Median - rather, she was a Tiburan, specifically of the Potenzan brand. Unlike the Tiburans the Medians may have been familiar with, the Potenzans were more humble and laid back in their demeanor. This woman did not hold her chin up or a royal walk, but like any other woman at the station. The only difference was that she wore the light purple silk pants that had grown popular in some circles in Potenza, in particular in Turin, her home city. Her top was a darker purple silk shirt with ruffles going down her front, a small, golden cross dangling down from her black choker.

This woman was Marisa Cologna, from a fairly wealthy family back in her home country. She had attended a higher grade school on the opposite end of the city, and excelled in athletics - mostly running - giving her thighs and hips a wider shape than most women, thanks to her developed muscles. Nature had provided a developed bosom which she often attempted to hide with two bras, which some Potenzan women often did. At the age of 19, she had felt a strange calling towards the military, and though women served in limited positions in the Potenzan military, her birthplace of Turin worked against her. The nearby unit in Turin was the Scipio's Own Division, which, while well respected in the Royal Army, was looked down upon by the populace. That was because it was made up of the "social rejects" - those who had been orphans, or had served time in prison, or had been threatened with prison time. The liberal sentiments in the city also worked against her, and many of her friends had threatened to not talk to her again if she took up the uniform. It was for these reasons - and others, which she kept to herself - that she convinced her father to pay for her trip to Media, to attend the military academy.

The city of Altaisk reminded Marisa of Turin in some ways. She appreciated that the architects had taken a more traditional look to the buildings, rather than the crudely designed buildings found in other socialist nations. The amount of t-shirts worn took her a bit aback, as in Potenza that was generally thought of to be underwear, and no one except those who lived in the rural areas such as the Duchy of Cremona or Venosa wore them as normal garments out in the public. Aside from that and the language, however, Marisa did not experience too much of a cultural shock.

She did her best to avoid the bustle of the crowd as the carriages were loaded. She found her compartment and sighed, happy to find a window seat. She sat down and placed her small suitcase beside her feet, taking a moment to adjust a stray strand of hair behind her ear, which was pulled back into a bun behind her head. She crossed her legs and began to absent-mindedly play with the bracelet given to her by her father.

 

[Danmark]

Southward Ho!

As the regal auxillary yacht, HDIS Glimtende Perle (Shimmering Pearl) veered its way to its moorings in the military port, accompanied by an escort of three destroyers and two battleships, its prize possessions over which so much fuss and effort had gone to protect, the Prince and Princess Imperial, Prince Constantine and Princess Petra, peered out towards the Median shoreline. Highly regarded in Media due to longstanding ties, the Danish royals were sure of a grand reception and no effort had been spared to welcome them as a mini flotilla of boats, sirens and horns blaring, accompanied them as they made their rest after a two-day voyage from the singularly important port city of Fredrikshavn. Crowds had aligned along the shore and the docks as the six ships pulled in the Shimmering Pearl, itself a small vessel, dwarfed by its entourage of warships. But, as they had been used to comfort and privilege for most of their lives the Pearl was the last such experience they would likely experience for some time as reality beckoned before them. Although highly independent and individualist, the Prince Imperial was surely betaken of second thoughts as the reality loomed before him. Second in line to the Vermilion Thone, the Prince would now have to get used to being, almost, a common citizen rubbing shoulders alongside the ordinary people ~ though caveats had been woven into his escapade in that he would return to Danmark as need arose to undertake official duties, so would not be a resident in permanence. A mere cadet like all the rest - Cadet Constantine of Roskilde - the Prince began to wonder if he has made the right choice. "Was this right, did I make the right decision? Thoughts ran through his mind - a mild panic setting in. Wanderlust was replaced by homelust.

However, in regal manner, he steeled himself and reminded himself of his aim. Men were dominant in Danish society and no less in the royal family. Protective chivalry was a major aspect of the way men acted towards women, and no less on this occasion. He had his wife to protect, the Franconian-born Princess Petra, though she seemed to be bearing up pretty well, inculcated by royal manners and correctness as much as her husband. But being away from

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~ whether that be her homeland of

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or the not-too-far-removed

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~ somewhat irked her probably not helped her seasickness, not used to long voyages on the high seas. Both were in a foreign and, in some instances, a truly foreign country. Totally out of her comfort zone. News the she would be a mere 'forces wife' helped not either.

As the Pearl was tethered and anchors had been dropped, the royal couple were able to make their descent towards the docks. Prince Constantine led the way, his foot touching Median soil for the first time in his life. Princess Petra followed behind in the looming shadow of her husband. With broken Median, though effort had been taken by himself to at least learn some of the local tongue, a tongue he would need to vastly improve, he spoke to the welcoming party assembled before him.

Fiddling with cufflinks he spoke his first words of Median to the hosts, conscious that he was not fully in grasp of it, but damned sure he would make the effort.

"Vă mulțumesc pentru bun venit. Mă simt umil, deși mă bucur să fiu aici" ("Thank you for the welcome. I feel humble, though I'm glad to be here").

He was not sure if he was understood but at least tried. Several months of lessons, he hoped, had not gone to waste. He tried to emulate an authenic Median accent but was not sure if he has struck it, conscious he might have a heavy Danish brogue. He only knew his mother tongue, German, and some Slavic languages. Median was new. But he geared up for the ridicule of his accent, hopeful that the Medians would be benevolent enough.

Conscious of his standing, he gleaned over his hosts in a slightly imperious fashion. Not that he was necessarily imperious per se, but that he had been accustomed to being detached and aloof a necessary function of royalty, symbols of the nation that they were. Consciousness that he was a Prince of Danmark did not alleviate despite the down-to-earth element that was the society of Media. Indeed, it was curious that a Danish royal was, effectively, 'slumming', to some, in Media though the Prince was keenly aware of the deep-rooted respect for monarchical tradition irregardless that it had a non-monarchical government at the present, a socialist republic.

The Prince followed by his wife, eventually made their way to an awaiting car. Not the state car they would normally expect, but one quite ordinary. A car that would carry them off to the Aleksandar Vinokourov Land Forces Military Academy for the best part of four years. Whisked off as they were along the streets the Prince was conscious that he had been spared the initial hit of reality by the Medians, whether that was due to backroom pressure by the fiercely protective and loyal Danish government or a sincere regard for him and his wife by the Median government. Either way, it was there. But this would not occlude the reality soon to dawn - life as an ordinary person stripped down, in many respects of title and privilege. However, a hardened person, this was what he desired. He came in a slightly distant Prince but several years of down-to-earthedness would more than likely make him a different person. The Imperial Court shuddered at the prospect only curtailed by his elder brother, now King Frederik III, in their horror.

 

[Natal]

The Medians always enjoyed a good show. Starting from the visit of a foreign head of state to military parades, concerts and fireworks, there always was a big smile of the people when they saw those things. The Danes and the Arens were always seen as a friendly people and as great friends of the Medians, which is why there was a mob gathered at the port to welcome the Danish prince. A visit of a Danish or Aren prince, official or monarch was always seen as a sign of the respect and friendship between the peoples, but a Danish prince who was to enlist in the Dara Military Academy… This was something new for Media, especially since the revolution nearly 8 years ago. Many cynic people were saying that Constantine was sent to make sure that the Medians will keep the Dara port open for the Military fleet of the Imperium. Others were saying that the Danes surely have something to win from an independent and friendly Media, which is also why in the Riff there are two divisions of the Danish Army. It didn’t matter really what dissidents and critics believed. What does matter is that a Danish prince chooses to show his friendship towards the Socialist Republic by attending the Aleksandar Vinokourov Land Forces Academy.

The cadets were lined up in the main courtyard of the Academy. General Osipenko was standing on a tribune in front of the cadets, standing beside him were the Lieutenants and the Majors- the teachers and professors of the academy. Behind him was the main building of the Academy, built at the beginning of the 19[SUP]th[/SUP] century by Dragan Demian. The courtyard was surrounded on the other three sides by 6 storey blocks serving as the college campus.

“Good morning comrade cadets!” Osipenko had what the cadets could describe as a strange voice for a general. One would think that a general voice is stern and rough, but his voice was warm and had a fatherly tone. “Congratulations on your admission to the Aleksandar Vinokourov Land Forces Academy! You are some of the few privileged persons which will participate on the classes of one of the most prestigious military universities in Himyar and the world itself.”

As Osipenko was giving his speech about military values and about how great is a soldier fighting for his country and how honorable is to die for your country, Kostya was looking around him trying to find some familiar faces. The formation was made with the short cadets in the front and the tall ones in the back, with the men on the left part of the formation and the women on the right part. Kostya had Andrzej in front of him and when he looked on his left side, he saw on the same row like him the Danish prince. Looking on the right side he could see near him a girl wearing light purple pants and a dark purple shirt and two rows in front of her, her saw the girl from the train. They made acquaintance and he knew that she was also coming to the academy but now he forgot her name… something… something starting with “A”… Aurelia... no…Anka…yes Anka. Osipenko was now talking about how great is that some foreigners arrived…something about the Danish prince and about something like being a simple man but still respected… or something like that, Kostya didn’t really heard nor understood what the general was saying.

“Now, the lists are on the entrance of the main building. Go and look at them to see where are you accommodated and get accustomed to your new rooms. In an hour return to the courtyard to meet your lieutenants.” This time Kostya clearly understood him. As the general left, everyone was flooding the main hall of the central building to look at those lists. Andrzej asked Kostya to also look for him. As he looked, Kostya was surprised to see that him and Andrzej were accommodated in the same dormitory; Building II, dormitory no 25.

The two went to the “address” and were the first to enter the room. As they opened the door, they entered a small square corridor, with a hanger. Passing through the corridor they entered in the other room. The walls were bleached, with two bunk beds and a normal one.
“So, we will be five it seems…” said Andrzej with a sigh.

“Bunk beds… well, what I can say is that… I will stay up…” Kostya said with a burst of laughter. After half a minute later, Anka entered the dormitory and after the initial surprise of being in the same room with the guys she met on the train, she put her backpack on the bed under Kostya’s claiming it. The three were now waiting to see which will be their other two roommates.

 

[Potenza]

As the cadets lined up, Marisa glanced about her, wondering if they were to stand at attention or snap into salute. No one seemed to do either, so she just went with the flow. Women were lined up on the right, men on the left, and Marisa glanced about to purvey the general population, wondering if there would be anything that would make her stand out too much from her time here. Didn't seem like it. The Median general who appeared seemed fatherly and kind, reminding Marisa a bit of Potenza's General Ronco, the head of the Scipio's Own Division. When the cadets were dispersed to the hall, Marisa tried to stand on tip toe in her heels to try to catch her name. It shouldn't be hard, right? It would be the only Tiburan name on the entire list. Finally! There it was...Building Two, Dormitory Number 25.

She went on with her small carrying case with nothing but a book or two, some sleeping clothes, and feminine supplies. She presumed it would be an all girl's dormitory, as her home country's barracks and the Royal Military Academy at San Salvo did. That's why she was utterly confused when she stepped into the room of bunk beds and saw two men and a woman there. The Potenzan blinked twice, looking about, especially at the two (admittedly attractive) young men.

"Oh..." she said in confusion, then realized they were all staring at her. "Uh...ciao!" She walked in, feeling very awkward though already supposing this was how things would be. She went to the one normal bed, placing her bag down and bending over to shuffle through it. In doing so, she unintentionally gave both men a fine view of her rear end. When she found the small book she was reading at the moment. She took off her high heels and lay down on the bed, sighing as she stretched her toes out, resting her head on the pillow and holding the book up, beginning to read it quietly. She wasn't sure how to introduce herself - let alone did she even know if they would all be in the same unit. For now, she figured she'd keep to herself and play a game of mystery with them.

 

[Havenshire]

Entering their assigned dormitories with blank faces and rigid millitary discpline, the two Havenshire exchange officer cadets stood out by their pale faces and golden-blonde hair, their shining blue eyes staring straight head. If not for their matching green with red-trim uniforms, they might have been mistaken for the Germanian ideal, soldiers from Wiese or Danmark perhaps. But once they spoke, their accents betrayed their true origins.

They filed into their assigned quarters silently. Though they were not related, one might have been forgiven for mistaking these almost clockwork soldiers for twins, though one was male and one was female. They were called Cadet Ensign James Rogers and Cadet Ensign Jessie Hart. Though currently attired as they had arrived, as Havenshire People's Army officer cadets, they would soon don the same uniform as everyone else at this academy. They had been carefully prepared for this exchange, and had been selected from hundreds of potential candidates for their perfect scores, ideological purity, and rare ability to speak Median. It was one of several languages they could have chosen to learn as children, and the fact that they had done so now ensured they were here. Success would be measured by how much they learned, and they would be guaranteed very cushy posts as Chief Instructors when they returned.

However, there was one concern that both cadet shared, though outwardly neither showed it. Beneath their precision, their clockwork perfection, their dedication to showing that they were already good soldiers, if not yet capable officers, was a nagging fear. The fear of contamination, of ideological taint. That their Council-Communist virtues would be called into question, that, by fraternising or appearing to fraternising with foreigners from Potenza and elsewhere, they would suffer the stain of traitors when they returned.

Though each kept this fear to themselves, both were shocked by the presence of women, and the jovial, informal atmosphere of the other cadets. It was not that either were unused to the presence of female soldiers. Havenshire had had mixed sex forces since the Civil War. But that these women were so clearly -women-, and that there was a ready camraderie amongst the foreigners and new arrivals. It was all very strange and foreign to them. Jessie, in particular, felt strange, mixed feelings at the presence of other women. She had a razor-cut hairstyle, identical to James's and had long been used to binding her bosom so it didnt get in the way. To outward appearances, she might appear a particularly feminine young boy. The main difference between her and James outwardly was his adam's apple and her more graceful cheekbones. It would be strange to serve in a place where the genders were recognised in such a way, rather than ignored in favour of total uniformity.

Taking their place by their bunkbeds, they quickly and methodically and unselfconsciously dressed into their new uniforms, Jessie ignoring any stares at her pale white underwear and tight bosom-repressing bra, which in some cultures might be called a "sports" bra. James found himself wrestling with somewhat different thoughts, feeling his eyes drawn to the Potenzan female cadets, and elsewhere.

Soon, the routine of training would begin, he reassured himself. They would keep to themselves, and focus on the learning, and by such means hopefully avoid contamination. Maybe. He gulped.

 

[Natal]

Pavel Dabrowski

While the general was giving his speech, Pavel Dabrowski, 19 years old, of average height, with a light brown short hair and black eyes, was standing in the formation on the Danish Prince’s right side. He saw Kostya on the left side of the prince and Andrzej in front of him. But it was something interesting in the people who were in front of Andrzej. They were wearing some military uniforms, but he didn’t recognize them. Near him was Konstantin Tomaszewski. Seeing him, made Pavel remember his father, he hated him.

Stepan Dabrowski had the impression that the family had bond with the air forces, that is why he was thinking of him as more superior than Tomaszewski or Sinistyn… this type of thinking started a war between him and Tomaszewski and maybe… Pavel was afraid to be seen as similar in his behavior as his dad, so he tried to avoid Kostya as much as he could.

He kept secret from his father his entry to the Vinokourov Academy just to delay the drama. He doesn’t know how, as his mother supported him, but Stepan Dabrowski found out and the drama unfolded yesterday. The argument was a mixture about how Stepan “explained” Pavel that he will be actually cannon fodder if he goes there and yells on how Pavel is the disgrace of the family. So, he left home yesterday night and slept at his girlfriend. This morning, Ava went with him to the railway station. There the bomb finally fell. His mother came to see him one more time before he left and told him that if he doesn’t want to abandon the Vinokourov Academy, his father will disown him. Instead of being sad, his heart was filled with anger. If the man he called father preferred to have no son than having a son who isn’t in the air force, maybe he shouldn’t even invest such feelings in him… So, Stepan preferred to have no son than to have a “Vinokourovist”… then he can only call Laura-Pavel’s sister- as his child.

He went to see the list located at the lobby of the central building of the university and saw his name on the left side of the number 26… Dormitory 26. He went to his room and saw the two men in foreign uniforms. He greeted them and was surprised to see that one of them was a woman.

Locotenent Dan Kovalenko

They four of them were waiting for the hour in which the cadets were going to find their dormitories. Each of them was very different from the other, but in the past years they have shown that they can work together despite their problems and differences. General Osipenko was looking at the three lieutenants as the three of them were explaining why they should take the company in which the Danish Prince is present. As the three were talking simultaneously, all that the general understood was a flood of words and from time to time Constantine.

“Okay, enough talk, just tell us which of us will take the second company.” Said Lieutenant Dan Kovalenko as he saw on the clock that the hour has nearly passed and it would be shameful for the cadets to assemble in the courtyard before them. He was around 25, had short black hair, tanned skin and blue eyes. He was known between the cadets as the bored one, as he wasn’t the stereotypical military commander which yells and screams just because he likes to hear his voice. He also wasn’t one of the most zealous commanders, and always had such an attitude which made you think of him as always bored of everything.

“Shut up Kovalenko! Comrade General, I have shown to everyone what can I do! Give me the command of the second company.” Lieutenant Baraz Al-Bishi interrupted him. He was an Uroduan in his early 30s, with olive skin, black eyes and short black hair.

“Hey Uroduan! Don’t you have some goats to milk or camels to feed? Leave the education to civilized people…” said Kovalenko with a large smug smile on his face.

“If you two would stop arguing, you will observe that assuming command over our Danish guest is a privilege given only to the ones who did their civic jobs.” Lieutenant Adrian Andrushenko said entering the discussion. He was hated by officers and cadets alike. While Kovalenko was known as a decent man and Al-Bishi was respected because even if he ordered a complex and tough exercise to be done, he would be the first to do it, Andrushenko-the oldest of the Lieutenants, short in height, with sandy hair and light-brown eyes- was hated because he was exactly like the stereotypical idiotic commander. He yelled, screamed, barked, threatened with court martial and nearly everyone knew that he spied for the ProNat.

“Yes… I thought of it and decided to give Kovalenko the second company. Al-Bishi, you will take the first company and Andrushenko to third and this is how we end the conversation. Now, let’s go!”

As the officers assembled again on the tribune, the cadets assembled again in the same formation. As General Osipenko was presenting the lieutenants, each of the read the names in each company. Between the names of the first company, Al-Bishi pronounced the names Pavel Dabrowski, Jessie Hart and James Rogers. In the second company, between the many names pronounced, Kovalenko read the names Marisa Cologna, Andrzej Demian, Anka Gorski, Constantine de Roskilde and Konstantin Tomaszewski.

As each made acquaintance with the rest from the company, the Lieutenants led the cadets to take their new uniforms. Those were all black with golden epaulets and ribbons on the collars. The rest of the day was free for the cadets to know each other better and to explore the large academy.

 

[Danmark]

Challenges to the social order

He had slept well reasonably well considering his new surroundings likely due to exhaustion and tension and was surprisingly fresh and alert though one thing that Constantine was suddenly acutely aware of was the lack of a certain someone, Petra. She had been bequeathed a comparatively luxurious third-floor apartment with several rooms ~ paid for by the Danish state ~ some miles away on the Bulevardul Democrația, with full views of the shimmering Sindh Sea and ready access to the white sands of the beaches. She could even see ships far on the horizon from here. Herself, Petra had missed being away from "my sugar prince" ~ the pet name she called him in private ~ but knew she would see him often. Despite her degree of lonesomeness, there was an upside to being here in Dara that had been a hitherto unknown perk - the ability to sit out in the warm weather rather than be wrapped up with all buttons fastened, coat on, and carrying an umbrella. There was no cascading rainfall, leaden skies or bitter winds here which was a delight. If it was this good, it would be ideal to come and live here permanently, she briefly considered, before her common sense kicked in. That was unlikely to happen. Returning to the damp shores of Danmark would beckon - just not yet. The discovery of beautiful weather went a little to her head and she sat out in it for a little too long. Her pasty Germanian skin did not take too much of the sun well as she quickly realised and she emerged after her first day with a reddish complexion from a sun burn. This was another lesson she had had to learn in what was becoming a steep learning curve and readjustment.

Whilst the Princess Imperial lived it up, her twenty-two year old husband had to suffer in a comparative grot hole ~ all plain living, porridge, no mod cons and up at the crack of dawn. Not that it was that bad, but compared to the wing of the gilded royal palace ~ Storkong Jorgens Slot ~ it was a culture shock. Being a somewhat sheltered man from the workings of the natural body, the Prince had been somewhat perturbed to have been woken during the night by the sound of someone, not sure who, breaking wind and wafting the bed linen to get rid of the stench. Clearly someone had been eating too much cabbage or another horrid delicacy of foreign concoction. It would only get worse if one of the men decided to take it upon himself to exercise his hand on his third leg. Simply ghastly. Constantine stared up at the ceiling tracing the airline cracks, which bore an uncanny resemblance to a map of Ivernia, as he contemplated how he would interact with his new 'chums'. Yesterday, he had been rather stiff and wound up in royalist protocol, speaking to the others as if he were addressing a member of the Danish working class on his 'walkabouts' - "Hello, what do you do?" and other such light conversation whilst some of them engaged in tomfoolery and banter. "That Kostya!", the Prince had perhaps prematurely come to the conclusion, was an uncouth and lecherous womaniser who liked a drink ~ or six ~which even his broken and rudimentary grasp of the local tongue were enough to tell him that the Median's choice of words and etiquette oozed filth and courseness. Constantine was rather a conservative man and an arch-traditionalist. He had been aghast as he realised that they were putting women in the same room as the men and feared for the Potenzan lady. "Did they not have any respect for ladies here?" Obviously not, and he was further alarmed when he had heard Kostya loudly proclaim that the Havenite woman next door had "big breasts" and preceded to demonstrate with his hands their size. His own brother, Christian, knew very well about those sort of women but this just was not right.

He descended from the top bunk carefully trying not to wake the man below. His name was Andrzej and was the only one he remembered at this stage. The Prince had come to the conclusion that he was a nice man if somewhat still rather young and with a loose tongue but he was kindly enough. He looked about at the others. The Potenzan looked rather beautiful even if her face looked like it had melted, facial muscles relaxed. He would have to get to know her and they could discuss something of mutual bond - their Tiburan faith, an element that had been considered 'worrying' about the Prince, the only Tiburan in the entire royal family and in a nation where Germanian strains of Tiburanism were seen with distrust ~ Trojan horses of faith in a predominantly protestant homeland. Despite his ultramontanism and conservatism, the Prince Imperial was judged to be rather unconventional in someways, a little bit of an 'odd ball'.

Even though the bunk steps creaked a little, Andrzej did not seem to have been disturbed. Trudging off to search out the communal bathrooms, he'd had to go onto the next floor. He disrobed and let the shower water warm up. This was a little ugly, there was soap scum and matted hairs in the drain from yesterday, and the shower cubicles on this floor appeared not to have any doors, so he had to endure his wash in the open.

Returning back to the dorms naked aside from a towel around his waist, he had been struck by their plainness. He would have to do something about that and thoughts ran through his mind as how he could personalise the place by putting up a picture of his wife and him following their state wedding. But he was not sure if it would fit and whether the reds from Havenshire, if they ever came in from the next dormitory and saw it, would appreciate a photo of royals in full dress uniform with sashes, braids and flourishes. Looking for something, all he could find as a reminder of home was a 'pink back' ten shilling note with the portrait of his brother, now king, upon it and realised the wedding photo he had obviously left in his wife's luggage. His mind a little confused by the strange surroundings, he realised he should have dressed in the bathrooms and would now have to suffer again trying to figure out how he would get his underwear on without anyone seeing him ~ especially Marisa. "Were there no boundaries in this place? What ever happened to privacy?" He was afraid the others would see him for what he really was, in essence a man like the others, and worried that the clear lines of separation between a prince and the ordinary people would be broken down. Oh, the calamity.

 

[Potenza]

Things had seemed fairly relaxed for that day. An assignment of lieutenants, the giving of uniforms, and the rest of the day was free. The academy almost seemed like a summer camp than it did a military institution. Perhaps the Median military was much more relaxed than those in foreign shores? Was this why they had lost to the Talemantine in the previous war, Marisa pondered. She actually liked the uniforms - she thought the black color matched her eyes and hair, and the golden epaulets were a nice touch. She patted down the end parts of the jacket and looked at herself in the mirror as the quartermaster put the final touches on the dressing.

Marisa spent the rest of the day walking about the academy, her hands behind her back and observing the surroundings. Mostly she was looking to see where she could run later, but she was also getting familiar with the layout. Under her lieutenant - some rather droll man named Kovalenko - was a man named Constantine, who seemed rather shy and aloof. There were rumors he was someone of importance, although Marisa was unaware of royalty outside Potenza. His accent had reminded her of some Danish exchange students at the university, and she pondered if that was his source. "De Roskilde" did not sound like a Danish name, but then again you had the occasional Aren name in Potenza, given the Empire of the North's influence in the region.

After supper, Marisa changed into the running clothes she had brought and began to jog around the route she had planned in her head earlier. Some of the male students were eying her, and she was aware of it, but she just ignored it. It came with being a woman, and she had gotten used to it in high school - there was little one could do except live in a cave. As she ran, she mostly focused on her thoughts and her pondering. She thought of her homeland, of the rolling hills around Turin and northern Potenza, and of the familiarity of the language and the people. She did miss the skyline of Turin and the music heard in the streets as she passed by the shops and restaurants in the downtown market. She missed the smart uniforms of the (often very handsome) Carabinieri. Here there were some similarities, but Potenza was Potenza. As she came upon her fourth lap, nearing a mile's length, she thought about what the future held. She would be wearing the uniform of a Median academy and fighting, possibly, under the Median flag. What would she contribute? What would she bring? Would they permit her to use her strengths and forgive her weaknesses? Today had seemed so simple, but would the rest of her time here be similar?

After eight laps, Marisa came to a stop, stretching out her left leg behind her and bending her right one before her. She held two fingers to her neck, timing her heartbeat, and as she switched legs she glanced over and saw another male student glancing towards her. He had come with a woman, so Marisa assumed they were foreigners from the same country, and by their features could only guess some English-speaking nation - Engellex or Havenshire, she wasn't sure. The Potenzan looked away, then back, seeing the man still staring. She looked away again, thinking to herself, Has he never seen a Tiburan woman before? Did she really stand out that much among the Median women? Perhaps he was just unused to seeing so much...leg exposed. Again, what could she do? She couldn't jog in a burkha.

After her stretches, the Potenzan returned to the dorm...just in time to hear one of the dorm mates make a crude remark about a female cadet next door. Apparently a woman from Havenshire was rather exceptionally well endowed, and Marisa quietly thought to herself, rather sardonically, Thank goodness, someone's bigger than me. She kept to herself, showing no offense taken by the comment as she got her sleeping clothes and went to the woman's shower to change. There were no shower cubicles, but it was the same at her high school and university when she played sports, so it was no shock to her - although the hair building up near the drain was a bit of a shock, though again, common for women. Marisa gently moved the bundled up hair out of the way with her tanned toe, beginning to wash the sweat from her body. She changed into her sleeping clothes - a t-shirt with a v-neckline and some regular shorts - and went back to her room.

That night, as Marisa slept in the sole single bed, she heard a loud rumble that sounded like an explosion, followed by the patting of a bed cushion. It only took her a moment to realize someone had released some biological weapon in the room. Che diavolo?! she cursed in her head. She was tempted to grab the book resting on the windowsill near her bed and toss it in direction of the noise, but thought better. She did, however, hear the noise of someone moving - the creek of someone going down the steps of a top bunk. As the sound moved past her she glanced over her shoulder, seeing the Dane moving out the door. In his more relaxed clothes, he was a rather handsome man. Marisa smiled to herself and, after he had left, shifted herself so that she lay on her back. Thoughts ran through her mind, and the instinctive playfulness in most Potenzan women came upon her. She decided to see just how "shy" this Dane really was.

When she heard the sound of footsteps of someone returning from the showers upstairs, she went with her plan. She lowered the bedsheets just below her waist, lifted her shirt up to her chest, exposing her belly and navel, and bent her arm up, bringing her pinky to her teeth, acting as if she was chewing it in her sleep. As the footsteps drew closer she slightly opened her left eye, looking through the doorway. What came in through the door made her cry out in her mind Mio Dio! She watched as the Dane struggled to find a more private place to change, and after some time she murmured, pretending to speak in her sleep but adding a certain breathy accent that many people thought Potenzan women spoke with:

"Oh, mio caro..."

 

[Natal]

25[SUP]th[/SUP] of September;

Kostya was staying in line, between James and Andrzej, at attention with his PM-383 at his chest. He was standing at attention, following the orders of Hetman Sinistyn. Hetman Tomaszewski stopped in front of them, congratulating them for the eight anniversary of the revolution. While the cadets gave their triple hurrah, Kostya was looking in his father’s eyes, hoping that his father will see him. He didn’t see any change in his features, as his convertible left, the hetman continuing his inspection.

The sun was rising and even if it was only ten in the morning it felt that it will be a hot day. When the military formations were made in the square, three hours ago, the blocks and then the palms shadowed them from the sun, but now as the sun shined directly on the soldiers, they could feel how it burned, even if the air wasn’t really that hot. A drop of sweat was disturbing Kostya. From his sidebar, it leaked on his cheek. He felt the need to scratch. It was horrible. He just wanted to start the march, at least in the movement, maybe this sensation will pass, but the formalities before the parade looked like it would last forever.

It was the third week since the academy started its classes. In the first month, they made everything from running and physical exercises, to language (Sarmatian and English) and military tactics, history and ballistic physics. Kovalenko proved to be a very relaxed going to bored man, while Al-Bishi proved to be a fanatic. While Kovalenko ordered his company to run and he stayed behind slowly smoking a cigarette, Al-Bishi ordered his company to run while having the full equipment on them and on top of that, he was the first in the line to run alongside them. After those exercises, Pavel, James, Jessie and the rest of the company were exhausted. Al-Bishi was exigent but began to be respected as he was doing the same exercises he asked for with them.

In the free time, the cadets from dormitory 26, especially James, Jessie and Pavel spent their time with their colleagues from dormitory 25, the Danish prince, the Potenzan, Kostya, Andrzej and Anka. They talked about everything and laughed when they helped Marisa, Constantine and the two Havenites to correctly pronounce the words in Median. No one observed, or at least pretended not to observe that in the first week Pavel and Kostya didn’t talk to each other. Andrzej was the only one who knew why. In the next week, Andrzej explained to Marisa and Constantine what was about the superiority ideas of Stepan Dabrowski regarding the air force over the land forces and how this started a sour argument between Tomaszewski and Dabrowski. Everyone was shocked when Pavel entered their dormitory hearing what they were talking about and after a few moments he was the one who denigrated the most his father. No one asked him what was his problem with his father, but that was the sign of a friendship starting between Kostya and Pavel.

As the formations in the parade began marching, Kostya was sweating more and more. He didn’t like the fact that thousands of eyes were looking at him from the tribune. The hot weather, the black uniform, the emotions made him discover after the parade that the uniform was damp because of his sweat. As the formation of the Vinokourov Academy passed the tribune, he saw his father standing behind the Premier, Alen Sidorenko and he also knew that somewhere in the tribune was also Prince Constantine. He couldn’t participate in the parade for diplomatic reasons, as a figurehead and also the second in line to the Danish throne, couldn’t participate in a Media celebration… or something like that. “Meh, the protocols don’t let you live a normal life; I can’t understand how people really want and even fight for such a life…” thought Kostya as the formation passed the tribune and was exiting the square.

From time to time, Marisa’s braids would draw his attention. The golden braids, part of the uniform, were bound to the back and front sides of the shoulder and were swinging as her arm was going to her chest and then back to her hip.

After the parade ended, the group of cadets decided to go to enjoy one of the last days before the rainy season at the beach. The Dara and adjacent beaches were one of the most important touristic assets of the country. The golden sand, the warm green like water, the palms and the tradition of using olive oil for getting a chocolate-like tan was what Media was proud of and hoped to attract more and more tourists.

 

[Havenshire]

The months had been interesting for the Dynamic Duo from Havenshire. The training itself had not been too difficult, they had been prepared well for physical routines and hardship, and they anticipated doing equally well in fire-arms training, as both had excellent marksmanship records. However, both now found themselves increasingly...alienated and confused by the cultural and social differences within Media, and this Academy in particular. They found themselves spending more time together, simply for the comfort and reassurance of being with a fellow countryperson. James admitted Jesse was quite attractive, but he would rather die than contemplate fratenisation in this way. However, he found it much harder to resist temptation around these...other, foreign female officers. Despite his best mental efforts, his body consistently betrayed him, rendering him rock-hard. Masturbation was encouraged as a form of stress relief in the Havenite Armed Forces, but he found it difficult to gain enough privacy to relieve his constant strain. Thoughts of Marisa, Anka and even Petra. Tiburan whore...so sultry, curse her.

Today, after a parade in blazing heat which had seemed almost soothing in its emphasis on rigid discpline and order in difficult conditions, they now found themselves required to go to the beach. James realised this would be the greatest test of all for him. What he didn't know was that it was equally difficult for Jesse, who had soaked her sheets almost daily, relieving herself pleasurably of the strain that thoughts of Kostya and Pavel brought. They were fellow cadets, but their eyes, their passion, their rakish ways... she applied Section 19 of the Havenite People's Army Field Manual(How to Relieve Strain on the Battlefield) relentlessly and ruthlessly to herself.

Now they were on a beach together. It was a paradise. And now both Havenites found their fortitudes strained. The sight of each other in loose short-sleeved shirts and shorts was almost a welcome relief. But then James caught sight of Petra, and he found himself trying to find ways to conceal his growing erection. Jesse saw Pavel and Kostya's golden tanned skin...and knew that tonight she would -have- to talk to one of them.

The banter was short, and light, and James found his thoughts constantly turning to Petra. He covered his nervousness by playing up his reputed terribleness with Median. The heat, the cool sea-breeze, he found himself desiring private time for some Section 19 more than ever. Suddenly he found himself next to Petra, her heaving, glistening...no, turn your eyes to the sea, man! "Uh, hello. I James Havenshire be. Helping you can I?" he mumbled. Stupid. She knows who you are and where you're from.
It was going to be a long evening.

For Jesse, she nudged herself in between Pavel and Kostya, and decided that she would now apply something she -didnt- learn from the People's Army field manual. She crudely batted her eyes and tried to force some confidence into her broken Median. "Oh my it is simply tooo hot on this beach in this country! These uniforms chafe no?" She gritted her teeth privately and steeled herself, imagining the situation ahead as a Battle. Your words are your mortar rounds. Score direct hits!

It was going to be a very long evening.

 

[Potenza]

The months had been interesting, indeed. Between the training - where Marisa's physical state was thrillingly exhaustive - and the classes - where Marisa's intelligence was thrillingly exhausted - the Potenzan was catching on to Median culture and language. When Pavel, Kostya, Andrzej and Anka taught them words - especially slang - in Median, Marisa would spend most of the day running them through her head, attempting to start thinking in Median. Eventually she could speak it fairly well, though with a tinge of a Tiburan accent. It got to the point where, laying in her bed one night, she actually had a dream entirely in that language. An interesting dream, too: two train conductors talking about whose dog could eat more cats, and suddenly a cat from Marisa's childhood appeared and ate both their dogs. No doubt the whole thing was a conglomeration of memories regarding men at the Altaisk train station, her childhood, and stories from scripture told at her catechism classes (no doubt it would have been interesting if Aaron's staff had turned into a cat...).

The training involved her being under the command of Lt. Kovalenko, who seemed even more droll than Marisa had realized. He would give them the basics of what to do, then smoke a cigarette while he watched (or passively observed, one supposed) them perform their drills and marches. A few times, when a teammate faltered or was in error, Marisa took it upon herself to give assistance or guidance. One memory that was still fresh in her mind was of a girl in another unit who did not do well with self defense, and Marisa found her in a shower stall one night crying over her difficulties. She invited the girl to meet her outside after the shower, and together they trained together, Marisa attempting to give her tips on how to improve (and how to take beatings). Within a few days Marisa could see from afar that the girl had improved.

The classes also interested the Potenzan. She enjoyed the discussions of tactics, which to her were like puzzles. It was a mind game - you have a set number of equipment in a set situation...what do you do? How do you resolve it? She likewise enjoyed the history lessons, as she knew little of Median history outside of what she had read in Potenzan papers or heard on Potenzan radio with recent events. She knew much of Potenzan history from the epic stories she read, including the famous The Three Duchies trilogy she had read in school. Some of the older students in her class took an interest in the tales of Gomberto di Mercurio and the Aren emperor Sven IV. Some of the more die-hard socialists especially took an interest in Duke Marco I, the Cremonan noble who willingly submitted himself to the authority of a commoner, and who was admired by his soldiers and people alike.

Then came the special parade, apparently regarding the eighth anniversary of the revolution. Marisa was in full uniform, following her orders as they began inspection. The heat itself was nearly unbearable, even more than she was used to. Her dark eyes rolled up to one side, feeling a ball of sweat roll down her forehead. It got near her dark eyebrows, and she pursed her lips in a strange way, trying to blow air up in that direction. After some effort the sweat drop rolled down her eyebrow, going down her cheek and avoiding her eye. Unfortunately, she was still looking up and blowing right as the Hetman came up to inspect her weapon. She caught his glance - with its raised eyebrow - and quickly returned her face to normal. The inspection went on, and the Hetman continued.

The parade was a thrill. Even though there were hundreds - if not thousands - of men and women in the parade, in some ways Marisa believed many were looking at her. In some ways they were - she was an important part, being at the end of the line, and if she messed up, the rest of the line might mess up as well. She glanced over as they passed the premier, and thought to herself, Mio Dio! È lui! She had seen his pictures in Il Ducato, especially when he visited San Salvo, but it was different to see him in person.

Now at the beach with the other recruits, Marisa had chosen to dress rather conservatively. She was wearing a black one-piece swimsuit under a large silken long-sleeved shirt, which went down and stopped just in the middle of her bum. This was rather intentional - that Havenite man had begun to disturb her just a bit with his attention. Marisa was used to receiving attention from plenty of men in Potenza (many of whom even became vocal about their thoughts), but this man was giving her clear...attention. Whenever he joined Marisa's dormmates in their room, he frequently looked in Marisa's direction, often at choice parts. In some ways he reminded her of a boy at her school who gave similar looks to women, and was later arrested by the Carabinieri for assaulting an under-aged girl. The last thing she needed now was giving him any more "fuel," at least more than what he saw while she jogged. She had even taken care to button the second-to-last button on her shirt, hiding the form her chest took in the swimsuit. While someone who looked at her could tell she was fairly well endowed, especially when the wind blew against the shirt and pressing it against her form, they couldn't see anything else. She wasn't one to try to display herself too much in public any way - at least not to just any man.

Some of her long dark hair blew in front of her face, and Marisa moved it away with a blow of air from her lips. She looked about to try to find someone she could spend the time with. That's when she saw Pavel and Kostya. They were two men she had learned to get along with: Kostya was a pleasant fellow (even if Marisa had overheard him making a remark or two about her rear end); Pavel especially seemed like someone near her maturity level, and she had been interested in what exactly it was that drove him away from his father. She was starting to head towards them...when the Havenite woman stepped in between the two Medians, giving rather obvious signals of flirtation. Marisa's brow furrowed, and a soft growl erupted in her throat. Those two men would definitely be...distracted...by her. With a sigh she turned and put her hands behind her back, starting to walk towards the edge of the ocean, standing still as the tide rolled in the cool water over her feet.

 

[Natal]

Pavel Dabrowski, or Pasha for friends, was born and raised in Noul Al A’raf. The Riffian capital had hot wet winters and hot dry summers. Either way, it was hot all year round. He was used to such temperatures, but he loved that from time to time the breeze from the Kharg bay came and cooled the air in the crowded city. The parade in such atmosphere was not a problem for him; his main problem was the march in front of the tribune. He acknowledged the fact that he had a low self esteem sometimes. He never could see himself talking in front of the crowd nor even march in front of the elite of the nation… with all their eyes turning towards him. That is why he sighted of relief when they passed the tribune and he didn’t do any mistakes which were observed. At least he hoped.

The beach. Given the date, it would be one of the last if not the last sunbathe this year before the rainy season. Of course in the wet half of the year there were days when the weather was sunny and it wouldn’t rain, but the constant concerns regarding any sign of sudden cloudiness signaling the start of the rain wouldn’t let you properly relax. He was tanned as all Medians, or at least the Slavic descended ones, as the others were jokingly called as genetically tanned. Pasha was happy that he was tanned; it hid some of his blushing. He hated it. He blushed for everything even if he wasn’t ashamed or felt some similar emotions.

He was talking with Kostya about like in the Riffian capital. Andrzej couldn’t join them as he went after the parade to the post to take a package from his mother. When they talked about Andrzej’s absence, they remembered last week the package Kostya received from his father. A raincoat and some cans with fish. Kostya was angry but he found an interesting thing to do with that low-quality conserved fish. He opened the can and put in on the window still. Few minutes later, the gulls were thanking him and since then, they have no better alarm than the gulls in the morning asking for more fish.

Talking and laughing, Pasha was also saw the scene with James, a thing that Kostya didn’t let pass and began to joke about it. In the same time, he was looking constantly at Marisa and every time she looked at him to try to make her believe that he was looking through her. He was happy to see that she was coming towards them when Jesse, the havenite, appeared in front of them. Kostya greeted her and invited her to come and join the conversation, Pasha saw that Marisa turned away when she saw the scene.

“I’ll leave you two alone…” he said as he rose from the large sheet they were sitting on, but even if in his mind the words went out hearable enough, he didn’t know for sure if Kostya and Jesse heard him or if they did really understood what he said. Kostya was occupied explaining the havenite about how much she will regret leaving Media when the studies are done, so Pasha didn’t repeat the sentences and went running towards Marisa, who was slowly walking on the golden sand near the sea.

“Hey, sorry if Kostya is too…expansive, should I say. As even if he tries to sound very… ferocious male-he said with a grin- he is just trying to hide his feelings. So, even if he sounds very idiot, he isn’t when you know him.”

The two walked along the beach, with the warm greenish waves toughing their feet. As they walked, he told her what the problem was with his father and about how he will soon disown him as he entered this academy, about his mother who doesn’t know what to do to please both him and his father and about his sister Laura who is now studying International Relations in Altaisk and hopes to get a job at the embassy in San Salvo, he also told her about him strange relationship with Ava, a girl who everybody saw as his girlfriend but actually was just a good friend and a confidante. When they stopped, the sun was setting, with the clouds taking an orange to purple color with the darker and darker blue sky in the background. From the other side of the dam which separated the city from the beach, sounds of a religious song could be heard from the Sultan Fariid Temple. The temple was dedicated the Kysa, the goddess of rain and water, the one said to have created the Ier river. Accompanying the melodious song was a slight smell of incense. He stopped looked around and then hoping that he won’t do any mistake, he asked her out. Maybe to diner and if she was as interested in history as she shown in classes maybe to the National History Museum.

 

[Potenza]

At the utterance of "hey," Marisa turned and smiled a little as she saw Pavel heading towards her. To be honest, she felt rather flattered that he had abandoned being with his friend and the Havenite girl to be with her, even if she didn't suspect anything romantic behind it. The Potenzan put her hands behind her back, smiling a little more as she listened to him speak.

"Sorry if Kostya is too…expansive, should I say. As even if he tries to sound like a very…ferocious male, he is just trying to hide his feelings. So, even if he sounds really idiot, he isn’t when you know him."

Marisa laughed a little, saying in Median with her soft Tiburan accent, "He doesn't scare me." With a sudden movement, she took Pavel by the arm, leaning in a little close. Admittedly it was a rather personal motion, one a woman shouldn't make with a man easily, but perhaps it was the fact Marisa felt closer to Pavel than the other Medians at the academy, and far more comfortable. "That Havenite man...by Saint Salvo, he frightens me!" She leaned in and whispered to Pavel, "He seems so desperate...he might try to rape you if he has a chance." She giggled a little, then let go. "Let's get away from them."

The two began to walk together, and Marisa let Pavel talk. She wanted to know more about him - she wanted all those questions in her mind answered. Her inquisitive, learning mind was taking over. With her ears she listened, with her mind she pondered and sought to remember important details. She listened about his mother, especially about his father, and even about his sister Laura.

"You know," Marisa interjected, "my father is very high up in a construction company, back in Turin. His company helped build the embassy, and he knows people in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs...he could probably put in a good word for Laura. If you want my help."

Then came the words of Ava, which caught Marisa off guard. What was Pavel's intent with going at lengths in explaining his bachelorhood? It was almost as if he was assuring her he had no female distractions at the time. As she listened, she tilted her head, her long dark hair cascading down over her shoulder, a few strands blowing in the wind, and her hand rose up to move some locks back. Absent-mindedly, or perhaps revealing her subconscious, Marisa's soft fingers glided down her neck, going to the top button of her shirt, fidgeting and playing with it a while before finally pushing it through the hole. Another button, and a gust of wind, and suddenly Pavel could see a greater display of her female form, which she had intended to hide from the others at the beach.

Somewhere, in the distance, a soft religious song was heard. Marisa smiled, remembering the sounds of the chants heard around Christmas, Easter, and Saint Lucia Day. A whiff of incense entered her nostrils, and she couldn't help but lean her head back, exposing her soft, thin neck as wind picked up again, moving her hair about in wonderful patterns. It was strange...an attractive foreign man she could be comfortable with, a lovely beach, beautiful weather, soft music, scent of incense...what could make this evening any better?

That's when Pavel suddenly popped his question. It took Marisa by surprise, and the Potenza lowered her head and looked at the Median with her wide, dark eyes. The poor man seemed to be fumbling with words, offering dinner, then perhaps the museum, as if that would suggest he wasn't being too forward. Marisa's initial expression probably shocked him, as if she was quietly saying, You have got to be kidding me! You?! Any fear, however, was quelled when her shocked expression changed into the soft smile she had before. Her tanned skin turned a little darker around the cheeks, and she looked away as her smile grew a little broader.

"The museum?" she finally said, turning to look at Pavel again. This time her eyelids were somewhat heavy, a rather mischievous look in their dark color. She took a step forward and bowed a little, "I'd be delighted. But only if you add that dinner with it too. I want to see a good restaurant here."

Pavel probably couldn't see it, but she had casually lifted one foot up, resting the tip of her big toe into the soft, warm sand. The body language was rather clear - she was very happy.

 

[Natal]

28[SUP]th[/SUP] of September

After the morning exercises were over and classes finished, the cadets returned to their dormitories and many of them started to prepare to change the uniform with civilian clothing. As he leaved the jacket on his bed in room 26, he went to the bathroom and quickly showered. When he returned, Jesse was sitting in her bed reading, and the other 3 beds were untouched. He went to his bed and quickly put some pants and a shirt on him. He never thought that he would see the civilian clothes so… strange, foreign to him and that he sometimes would prefer to wear the black-gold uniform of the academy, now being one of those moments.
As he exited the dormitory he met with Kostya who was going to shower.

“She is already preparing.” He said grinning.

“Wait, wha…” Pavel started to blush. He was taken by surprise by this. How did Kostya discovered? He didn’t told him and Andrzej said he won’t tell Kostya about it. This was mostly because Kostya had a certain way of… mocking everything, especially things one holds dear. And more interestingly if one tried to reverse this game against him, Kostya always managed to have the last word about it. That was why Pavel tried to keep this date secret from Kostya and told only Andrzej about it. I mean, it’s just a date, it’s now the end of the world, or a marriage or something like that to boast about it.

“She is waiting for you. Da-o pe spate!” as he was distancing himself from Pavel, going to the showers, the last sentence was actually yelled and could have easily been understood by anyone on the floor. “Da-o pe spate”, is a sentence in Parthian literary meaning “Throw her on her back”, it usually meant to shock or to surprise someone, but sometimes it was used also as saying ”to have sex with someone”. Pasha hoped that Marisa couldn’t understand the sentence or at least, if she understood, maybe she doesn’t know the other more sexual meaning of it.
He entered dormitory 25 and saw that she was already dressed up and ready to go?
“So, are you hungry?” he asked with a smile on his face.


General Osipenko closed a folder on which it was entitled “Project 530”, the title being written by marker. “It is… different. It resembles very much with what the Mezhist Union uses.”

“True, but this one is Parthian. It is developed by socialists, for the socialists…” said a man who was standing in front of the general’s office, enthusiastically.

“Or, for the people who will pay the most. “ the general interrupted him cynically.

“Even them. But look at it! It will be a breakthrough. It can be built easily and with cheat material. If we could give to everyone that, we will have a superior firepower over the Talemantines and if needed even over the Mezhist Union.”

“It may be so, but now it’s just a prototype and cost a little more than what you are presenting me.”

“True, but we are more developed that what you believed or what you have been briefed earlier. We are already testing it and we have talked with the General Secretary of National Defense, Maksym Tomaszewski. The Hetman said that he would like to see in a year or two all the Military ProNat divisions armed with this. But if the government doesn’t allocate enough money for it, he would like to arm the 1[SUP]st[/SUP] Division “Cherep”.
“Well, it seems that you are nearly done…”

“True. In the last week of this year we will start accepting orders for it.” Suddenly someone was heard knocking on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, Comrade General. I just came to take some papers from a drawer.” Said Kovalenko as he entered the office.

“Of course. Dan, you remember Mr. Lukashenko, Director of Commerce at the Dara Arsenal.”

“Of course.” Said lieutenant Kovalenko as he shook hands with him.

 

[Potenza]

As the water ran down her body, Marisa hummed a happy little Potenzan ditty, scrubbing her dark hair as she thought about tonight's events. A chance to have a greater sight of the city, to learn the history of the nation, and of course to spend time with an attractive young man, someone of her own intellectual level who she knew she could carry a conversation with. As soon as the water was off she was drying herself, trying to get ready as quickly as possible. She already had the dress she had bought earlier that day, hanging over the edge of the shower curtain, where she could keep an eye on it. She stepped out of the shower, taking off her towel and beginning to get dressed, looking in the mirror. She fixed her hair into a wavy sort of look, trying something new that she hoped would impress him. With a few runs of her hands, she smoothed out the gray pencil skirt and the black blouse with ruffles. She turned around, observing how the skirt looked from behind.

"Hmmm...still need to work out, still need to work out..." she said to herself, giggling a little.

She went back to her dormitory sitting on her bed and crossing her legs as she slipped on the high heels she had likewise bought. Not too long afterward, Pavel entered. With a quick motion, Marisa stood up and smiled, "Hello, are you ready?"

"So, are you hungry?" Pavel asked.

"Yes, very," Marisa said, walking forward - right past him - and down the hall. Suddenly she stopped and turned around, "How will we get there, hm?"

 

[Natal]

Before answering, Pasha looked her a little. She was beautiful, with that dress and the high heels. He was brought back to real life when she passed by him and asked how would they go to the museum.

"We can walk, as it isn't very far, but I believe that with those high heels it would be better to go with a taxi."

As the two exited the main building of the academy, they started walking towards the taxi station which was around the corner. The museum and the academy alike were situated on the Democrația Boulevard. The boulevard was a historical street in Dara, going in straight line for around 5 kilometers. On one end was the National Flag Square, where after the revolution there was a 40 meters high flagpole erected with the Parthian tricolor on it and on the other end, the boulevard ended on the Iwan Sidorenko Square. The image of the Iwan Sidorenko Square was iconic for the city of Dara. It featured apartment blocks build after the revolution, with 10 to 16 floors in height and most of them having a marble facade. The highest block also had a metallic structure representing a hammer and a sickle on it's roof. The boulevard was also known for being the core of a neighborhood where only the elite of the Peasant's Party got an apartment to live in.

The Democrația ran along the seashore and the beaches, so it would have been a nice walk with the sea and beaches on one side and the white bleached buildings on the other, but Pasha was attentive that Marisa couldn't walk so much in her high heels so, he approached a taxi cab which was parked in the station and asked to take them to the Museum of National History.

 

[Potenza]

"We can walk, as it isn't very far, but I believe that with those high heels it would be better to go with a taxi."

"Yes indeed," said Marisa, suddenly leaping to her feet on one shoe as she bent her leg back in a playful pose, "I would not be able to march well if you put me through such walking."

As soon as they had acquired a taxi and were heading down, Marisa crossed her legs and glanced out the windows, assuming a comfortable pose as she took in the sights of the city. As someone whose father was in the construction and architecture business, she took an interest in the newer buildings that had been built after the revolution, as well as the metallic hammer and sickle. She also had to muse herself, however, that only the "elite" of the Peasant's Party were given an apartment to stay in at this section of town.

"How late is the museum open?" Marisa asked, turning her head towards Pavel, doing so in such a way that made the strands on the side of her head wiggle and lean forward, exposing more of her face as her dark eyes caught a hold of Pavel's own eyes.

 

[Natal]

"Until ten o'clock." Said Pavel looking at her face. She had a beautiful face, with a certain something which made you to continuously look at her. He tried to look away so that it won't create any ideas that he was staring.

"So, how do you find Dara and Parthia?" he asked trying to start a conversation to fill the time needed for the taxi to arrive at the museum. After entering the Iwan Sidorenko Square, the Taxi want through the roundabout and entered the Victoria Socialismului Boulevard. The apartment blocks which were on one side and the other of the street were also 10 floor high, most of them having marble facades, this again showing that they were built after the revolution. The only neighborhoods where such blocks were found were this one and Democratia. Between the the high blocks, there could be seen smaller, 4 to 8 floors high blocks which were bleached or sometimes painted in beige. On the block with the marble facade, on one side there were socialists slogans going from "Land and Bread" to "The Peasant's Party is showing us the way towards the victory of the free peoples" and on others there were pained scenes from the socialist life, from soldiers liberating slaves and killing oppressors to peasants working the fields or proletarians working in factories.

The Museum of National History was built in the last decades of the 19th century. It was a large building that originally hosted the Parthian Academy. It was a classical building with big columns at the entrance. Pavel gave to the taxi driver twenty Reai, he bought 2 tickets at the entrance and then asked Marisa:

"So, from where do you want to start, the revolution or the ancient empire?"

 

[Danmark]

Christmas in Partherriget

For the first time in his life, His Royal Highness had spent it as a host of the Parthians. The royal family had hoped that he would have travelled back to Christiansborg to spend it with the family but it was a difficult proposition with some time needed to have been spent preparing for travel, travelling itself by ship with accompanying naval escorts, and then making the return journey all within a very limited official timetable. So the obvious decision was beyond his control - on this occasion he would spend it here in the Republic, a decision that his brother, the king, had accepted despite the obvious disappointment including from his mother, the Queen Dowager, who had wanted to see her beloved but misguided ~ due to his Tiburan faith ~ 'little rapscallion boy'.

The day of Yule itself had been spent with his wife, Princess Petra, in her Danish government paid-for apartment after getting some leave. He had not had the opportunity to see her in person very often, only now and again, due to the demands made on him as a cadet with even weekend duties, duties often tedious and below his station but quinessentially necessary, though he telephoned her regularly, so they kept some connection at least if even only by voice. The intervening months had seen her abode carefully and gradually kitted out in a style that made it a home-from-home. Beautifully decorated with in a mix of Danish tradition, royal paraphenalia ~ including the portrait of his brother, her brother-in-law, King Frederik III, resplendent in the uniform of Grand Admiral of the Fleet painted in oil colours and surrounded by a heavy gold-leafed and deeply carved wooded frame ~ along with Parthian tit-bits that she picked up on her daily jaunts. Upon inspection, indeed by obvious blatent obviousness as soon as stepped across the threshold, his dear wife had been having a good time on the 'spend, spend, spend' ~ a spendaholic if there was ever one ~ as if there were no tomorrow, money dripping through her fingers into the Parthian economy like water through her fingers. His previous daily presence with her and admonishments to her to keep her spending down no longer could take practical effect with his internment in the academy and her residence in her apartment, an obvious relief to her ~ no longer could he breathe down her neck everyday. To him, it seemed likely that she had spent a considerable amount of the money granted to them by the government ~ given to both of them ~ which rang alarm bells. Next, the thought ran across his mind, he'd have to be writing letters to Frederik asking for more money from the royal finances soon but he considered keeping that idea away from her. Clearly his wife could not be trusted with hard cash so he would bequeath money to her as 'presents' but not let her get full access to the coffers.

Poking through the wardrobes in her bedroom, he also noticed her continued profligacy which had irked him the last time he visited but he was somewhat surprised how she managed to acquire so much in such short time. Previously he had mostly kept schtum but he was increasingly and deeply concerned. It was an anathema to him and his belief in living within one's means and not to be showy. Countless beautiful dresses and light summer clothing of many colours, styles, and fabrics were hung up in the wardrobes. Whenever any of the local boutiques saw her coming they must have had a ringing sound of cash tills ringing in their ears and money symbols flickering up onto their eyes, Constantine considered. Clearly, Petra was enjoying herself but Constantine felt a little pang of resentment. Whilst he lived in a shared-room with modest surroundings and not-so-good but nutritious food and performed his duties, she lived a life of exquisite and care-free plump luxury. Getting away from her royal duties clearly suited her and she was letting her hair down and this was not to Constantine's clear liking. She was, after all, the Princess Imperial. Royals were supposed to be decorous, respectful and embodying majesty and not some star of the silver screen. She had responsibilities to uphold and she needed to be spoken to and reining in.

Despite her carelessness with money, Constantine still clearly loved his wife but there was a dimension that had never been shown before in this apparent outward expression of love. They kissed several times that day with displays affection but nothing came to pass in a more carnal nature and that was entirely of Constantine's making. The love was still obviously there but the increasing time spent away had also brought out a side of their characters that had not seen the light of day before. Despite the continued love, there was also an air of distance and tension. Thoughts raced through his mind and he felt his mind clouded by an unusual lack of dogmatic certainty. Was this an omen of something bad to come... a separation of the ways or was it something else, perhaps a greater deepening of their love on a more mature level? Why did she spend so much? Depression at the long periods from her husband? Exploration of experiences in a different country? He wasn't sure. But Petra felt her husband's disapproval in his eyes and facial expressions - she'd seen it last time and he knew that she knew his thoughts well enough. They both experienced an inward sadness for different reasons. But the clock could not be rolled back. What had come to pass, they both had to deal with it. This was the reality of marriage ~ for better or for worse.

Petra viewed Constantine as handsome as ever, with his characteristic slightly ruffled blonde hair neatly kempt as always, though the barbers here clearly did not have the panache that those at home did. He'd kept his figure well and had even beefed up a little with more muscle. Even in a few months she could see that. Indeed, he looked more handsome and rather sexual, but still wrapped in his deep intellectual bent. He'd even brought a book with him to read whilst he sojourned, however so briefly, 'Green and White' a classic Parthian novel that he had come to like and already read at least once and which he thought was an ideal opportunity to delve into again. He laid recumbent upon a rather nice chaise-longue near a window, the curtains gently wafting from a slight breeze coming through the windows, whilst he burrowed into the novel. He was hooked by the book as part of his exploration of Parthian literature. It was handy, cleverly-written, and suitably short.

Petra sighed a little and her eyes rolled. Although she loved Constantine, the obsession he had with intellectual pursuits, a personality trait that attracted her to him when they first met, clearly could be forgotten for once, could it not? It detracted with real time spent together and he seemed rather detached and indeed quite cold. In some ways, he seemed still within himself living in his own self-obsessed world of books and debates. Momentarily, she felt inclined to reach over, grab the damn novel and throw it flat out of the window in a fit of frustration. But she stopped short and bit her top lip.

Reclining there and leaving through the novel, Constantine's mind passed for a brief period to Marisa, the lady he shared his accommodation with in the Academy. He kept wanting to talk to her multiple times but his shyness got the better of him. In some ways, he was afraid to reveal himself for what he was, stifled by mindfulness of who he was ~ third in line to the throne ~ protocol, and his own personality, though he considered she knew well too well his make-up. She was, after all, a savvy lady, perhaps a soul-mate? He simply was entirely confused and felt a mixture of both idealism and desperation. His mind remembered that distant day, some months ago, when he happened to peer her laying there showing off her mid-riff looking so beautiful and that day not left his mind. For an instant, he felt intensely drawn indeed, there was a twitch between his legs, but he overpowered it. "No! my wife!". He could have simply let his male drive kick in and approach her... and those breasts... oh! But NO! chivalry to the ladies MUST come first. He also reminisced over his first days in the academy, like with eyes at the back of his head, her boring eyes at his body, to him at least, whilst he struggled intensely to put his feet through his underwear beneath his en-wrapped towel that surrounded his waist though he was sure she caught a glimpse of his royal posterior no matter how he valiantly tried to hide everything down there. In the following months, he'd viewed the dalliance between her and the Parthian, Pavel, whom he liked to some degree, with distance, suffocating distance and inward moaning. He had kept wanting to speak to her because he felt they had so much to talk about ~ she was a somewhat intellectual equal ~ but was somewhat put off by the apparent closeness between them, they even going so far as to go on visits together to the local museum of antiquities something he himself loved and he knew they both had so much scope to talk about. Chances for any closeness, even just mere talking on a deep level, seemed cruelly snatched away every time and he felt constantly inhibited, more a outward playing out of his mindset than anything but, he would not interfere. Absolutely not.

Prince Constantine sighed. A veil of lamentation descended and he felt inwardly kicking himself for not being bolder and surrendering his stifling shyness. So, he struggled onwards like a little soldier, familiar to those on the tins of Danish butter cookies, standing proud with their black uniforms and black bearskins and showing no emotion but inwardly being only too human and wanting to shed tears of frustration.

The inward frustrations he experienced also made him try to find a friendship with some of the other men as a defence mechanism to crush his lonesomeness - they who seemed more in tune with having a good time drinking and smoking cigarettes. But he felt somewhat cut off. They had no brains and it wasn't really him. Alcohol did not particularly interest him, but an addiction to nicotine had somehow gotten a hold of him and he had learned, in the company of male companions, to break down barriers even in a limited manner - but not with women. Indeed, that addiction to the odd draw on the illicit cigarette revealed itself whilst in the apartment, or to be exact, upon it's balcony as he sneaked out a crafty cigarette, thinking Petra was not aware and drawing and puffing the blue-grey smoke into the Parthian air. But Petra did know - she saw him behind the lace curtains sillohouetted and she could smell it. She smirked. There was a less stuffy aspect to her husband yet! She chuckled that he could go to desperate lengths to hide his smoking habit from her. Clearly he was afraid of her looking at him in lesser eyes, but she actually found it rather charming and sweet.

"Did you enjoy your time out there taking in the fresh air?" she enquired with a certain mischief as he re-entered the apartment-proper. Constantine had a look of embarassment besmirched across his face and he duly lied through his teeth.

"Of course, the air out there is quite refreshing... ahem... isn't the air here so nice?". But Constantine clearly still wanted to hide this side from her.

"Yes, indeed, quite..." Petra's eyes were full of mirth. Clearly too many months in the academy had brought out her beloved husband from his shell in ways she did not expect. Never before had she EVER seen a cigarette even reach his peachy lips.

To him, Petra looked still the rather beautiful lady he had courted but there was something about her he did not like. Not just the spend-mania but he increasingly saw her as not quite the companion he thought. He was interested in brains, she in clothing and homemaidliness, and despite her apparent joy at the 'loosening of the collar' of her husband, he was not sure she was the one anymore. She clearly wanted something more scandalous - like full-blown passion, but he did not feel he could do it. He also felt her beneath him. She did not read, she was intellectually far below him. She was given to pretty and cute things like lace curtains, draperies, carpets, and kittens (which he also noticed she had taken it upon herself to acquire ~ two kittens called Piffy and Smite. He hated cats, didn't she know that?). She was rosy-cheeked in features, no doubt a result of days imbibing the blazing rays of the hot sun here. But despite a love, a question crossed his mind. Was she the one, his life companion? Thoughts unprecedented clouded his mind in a confusion. Adultery? Really? Reading his novel and the thoughts that raced to his mind, he had huge doubts. Princesses, despite their breeding and etiquette could be frequently dull. Commoners it seemed, despite the lack of breeding, could be quite racy and far more intelligent. He loved is wife but he had somehow lost the essential spark for her. Would it be a passing phase?

After a day of occaisonal kisses, meals, inward admonishments, fond reading, and careful and deliberate avoidance at times, the day was short and thankfully not too long in coming. The call came upon him to leave, that or surrender his duties on returning to the academy which Constantine was not going to do. It was simply not in his character plus being here, in his wife's apartment, felt like a prison sentence as he grappled with his dilemmas. Petra indeed felt him unusually distant no matter how she'd tried to make careful advances.

The time had come - to bid farewell. They hugged but rather than meet her inviting lips expecting a similar reciprocation, he avoided it and kissed her on the cheek in a altogether begrudging manner with only a corner of his lips, not even a full-blown kiss. Princess Petra felt a hurt and tears welled into her eyes. Constantine, however, remained distant and seemingly unaffected. He sniffed and stood bolt upright.

"My dear, I must return", he glibly responded to her shiny eyes gradually welling.

"I shall visit you in a few weeks but in the meantime, speak to you on the telephone. Good night, my love and be careful not to spend too much!"

With that the Prince Imperial stepped into the awaiting army car that had been pipping it's horn for some minutes for him to get in - only he got a car due to an arrangement between the Danish and Parthian governments. Afterall, important royals had to be given some respect.

Whilst Petra blubbered in the doorstep to the condominium of apartments, Constatine drove off in the back seat of the awaiting car. He caught a glimpse of her waving an expensive silk handkerchief through the driver's mirror, but he did not look back and wave. He remained stoical like all Danes and would categorically not shed any tears. He was a man and a prince. But he felt a hard lump in his throat. Clear to many, this man was going through a profound existential crisis. A prince of the realm experiencing genuine crisis was unheard of and it would never be leaked out to the wider world. He could not wait to return to the academy if only to shut out the marriage he had with his wife and the inner turmoil it besieged him with.