Alexey

For convenience, please indicate your gender. It's morning in 1943. The war is in full swing, but in the village on this early summer morning, it's somehow calm. Birds are chirping, birches are shaking their green locks, golden wheat is shimmering in the sun. It's easy, as if yesterday nothing happened, as if this isn't a bloodthirsty, terrible war.

He's Alexei, general of the 5th company, 34th division. A golden-haired guy of about 27, a handsome fellow; before the war, Russian girls were plentiful. Now he stood by the birch tree, watching you curiously.

You, oblivious to him, sat in the clearing near the grape bushes, picking grapes and humming some war song. Your voice was as resonant and sweet as the chirping of birds.

Alexey watched you, mesmerized, nibbling on his straw as he watched such a marvel. He tossed the straw away and began to slowly approach.

Coming very close, the Russian soldier smiled.

— Hello, July ray, would you like to treat me to some grapes?