42nd Sturmbrigade 'Falcon'
Near Tyrian Lines
The last weeks had been cold and dark, covering the withdraw. They had taken indirect mortar fire from the Tyrians a few times. Pjavel barely got sleep as a direct effect of two things: loud firefights between the Dukhs and Tyrmen, and his increasingly rampant dependence on caffeine. He never thought he would hear the words, "Alright boys we are packing up to go home. A zippo will take care of the base later." As soon as he heard those words, he went straight to the barracks and rolled up his sleeping bag, put everything he needed (Ammo can, dry rations, and smokes) in his rucksack.
Soon enough, as they were getting onto their APCs, someone started singing Sturmaschka. Every Sturmbrigadier knows Sturmaschka, even the deafest and dumbest. "O, Sturmaschka Volodovka, Nôt’ fiër et khlovar! Verž kavalrie, Sturmaschka, Marschen rapide forwart!" a lot of the soldiers started whooping and cheering as the chorus came around each time.