Looks like we're just about all ready to head out now. The whole basic training group is out in front of the barracks, everybody with a massive backpack stuffed to the brim with gear, food, drink... everything necessary for a long trip, and that's exactly what we're going on. With our training almost complete, the last part is the Red March, a group trip all the way across The State and back. It's not really so much a physical exercise thing or something like that, but rather an interpersonal relationship building exercise meant to bring us as soldiers closer together, in accordance with those teachings of the First Comrade they keep talking about. But as we wait for our sergeant to show up and lead us on this march, we are surprised when he brings someone else along, and a murmur goes through the crowd. That other guy... he kind of looks like... but no, that can't be.
The murmur quiets down quite quickly after a simple stern look from the sergeant, and he begins to speak. "Today, soldiers, is the day that you begin your final step before becoming true comrades of the Red Army. Today, you begin the Red March, a time during which you will grow closer than ever before. And on this march, we are very lucky to be accompanied by one of The State's elite. So please, give a warm welcome to Comrade Fedorov of the 3rd Support Battalion!"
There's a sudden burst of applause from the other soldiers, but I'm still a bit too shocked to do anything but stare. The 3rd had this mystical quality about them whenever they were mentioned by the higher-ups. I honestly half suspected they weren't even real and were just made up for the sake of propaganda, but no, here's one of them, in the flesh and looking just like on the posters. But at the same time, he looks so plain. His uniform is as basic as can be, so unlike what I would've expected an important military man to wear. And yet, there's something remarkably pretty about him, an ever so slight femininity in his face and gestures... wait, shit, what am I thinking? I'm staring! Crap, he was talking and I didn't even listen. Uh, damn, guess I better try and roll with it. Looks like everybody's lining up for the march, so I'll just get in line and act like I know what I'm doing, should be fine.
It's now been about eight hours into the Red March, and it's kind of rough. Everybody's carrying a whole bunch of gear for the trip: equipment, food, and water. At least only one person out of two is carrying a tent, and only one out of two a large sleeping bag, though I only now realize that that means we're going to be splitting a tent and bag between two of us. That's going to get tight. I've kind of naturally drifted towards the back of the column, mostly because the sergeant at the front is being way too enthusiastic and loud about how great this is going to be, but where's this Fedorov guy at? Is that him there on the side of the column, drifting to the back himself? He's not getting closer, is he? Oh no, he is. But he can't be looking for me, right?
And yet, despite my thoughts to the contrary, he just gets closer and closer until he's practically sidled up right next to me. "The State provides, comrade! Are you enjoying the start of your Red March? You only ever get to have one, after all!" he asks, a bright and cheerful expression on his face. "Well, I suppose if you're in the 3rd, like me, you get to have a couple more," he then adds, as if he just thought of that.
"It, uh, could be better. Not exactly excited about the prospect of marching all over The State. Oh, right, I've been meaning to ask, why are you here, anyway? I would have figured folks like you would be busy with more important stuff than marching across The State with rookies," I reply, somewhat curious.
In response, Fedorov lets out a chuckle. "Well, I could tell you some things about integrity of the force, spreading the word of the First Comrade, and such, but if you can keep a secret, I can tell you. Honestly, I just enjoy being with the new guys like you. It keeps me grounded, reminds me that despite my station, I am but a mere soldier that should not be any more important than you. As page 57 of the First Comrade's teachings says, 'Love those below you the most, for it is only for their shoulders that you stand tall.' That's why I'm carrying my own gear, too!" Sure enough, he's got a backpack with all the same things we're carrying around; I didn't even notice before. That's genuinely surprising. "Ah, looks like the front has reached the first sleeping spot, they're bunching up over there. I think I'll head up there and help with organizing the food. I'll see you later!" he then says before heading off. Man, I can see why he's so popular. There's some sort of effortless charm about him.
Setting up the camp for the night involves a lot of scurrying about and a lot of cursing, since nobody's really ready for it, but we do manage. Dinner primarily consists of rations, but I'm told that that will change over time, with the diet eventually becoming a lot of "whatever we can get", be it hunting, foraging, fishing, or getting stuff from villages we pass through. But when it comes to setting up the tents for the night, I find myself just standing around sheepishly with my tent, trying to find a partner with a bag. Most people seem to have already figured this out. "Ah, Comrade Kovalyov! You have a tent, but no bag, I see," then comes a chipper voice from behind me, and when I turn, I find myself face to face with Fedorov again, who is holding his large sleeping bag. "Shall we combine our forces, then?"
Things went quite quickly after that, and before I know it, I'm stripped down to my underwear in a tent, currently in the process of slipping into a large sleeping bag that is already inhabited by Fedorov, who shimmies back a bit, making room for me. The bag is, in essence, large enough to fit us both, but I am absolutely not used to being so... close to someone. Even if there was a lot of talk about closeness between soldiers, we stuck to one soldier to one bed back at the barracks. But now, here I am, practically chest to chest with another guy, my face so close I can smell him. And... oh, oh my. Now, I've smelt my share of sweat, I'm a soldier in basic training, that just comes with the territory. But something about this situation just makes the smell of Fedorov here, his hair tousled from repeatedly running his hands through it throughout the day, the clean-cut look from this morning replaced with relatable exhaustion, so... intimate. I can't resist taking a few rather intense sniffs before realizing what I'm doing and shying back—as much as I can with the two of us in this sleeping bag. "Ah, s-sorry, I, um, I didn't mean to..." I stammer.
However, I am stunned into silence by his hand reaching up and caressing my cheek. "It's fine, comrade. 'The sweat of your comrade's brow is the sweetest nectar this world has seen. It tastes of a job well done, of victory.' The First Comrade's teachings, page 24. So go ahead," he says, such a soft tone in his voice.