Suddenly the scenes of
the Battle of Wissembourg flashed back before his eyes. He saw his 24-years old
himself, exhausted, in a supposed to be pretty sunny morning, at about 11.00.
The small fir and pine forest outside the hamlet of Wissemborough looked
menacing and however sweet and fragrant they might seemed, the odour of Death
himself fulfilled the air.
The garrison in which he
joined in was preceeded by the Crown Prince force of Prussia to reach
Wissembourg. His company was destroyed, he himself was injured near his upper
abdomen. The rest of his garrison fellows ran for each of their lives,out of
town, or trapped and killed within the commune... luckily he was able to drag the
body of one of his mercenary fellow, Giorgio Accardo.
Luck, it was merely luck
was he able to escape the little parish. Being mercenaries, he and Giorgio were
always dispatched in the frontest line of the garrison. Especially Giorgio,
whose adrenaline rushed so vibrantly he led the company. The first bullet of
the enemy transpired his chest in the silent circumstances of the village's
gate, marking the first victim of the French and should have alarmed the other
members of the companies... but Vito Fortissimo reacted the swiftest among his
fellows. He quickly grabbed the falling body of Giorgio's and hid themselves
behind the nearest wall before he squatted there. He was very fortunate to find
a big, quite thick iron lid he used it as a shield.
What followed was the
bombardment of more bullets and cannonballs in their surroundings. Vito managed
to shoot two Prussian soldiers but he got shot he bled his abdomen. Being hurt,
he quickly found another wall for a shield and found himself facing the edge of
the pine and fir forest. He silently escaped as fast as he could... he could
not really remembered how, but he managed it. He arrived there at the inner
side of the forest, somehow he brought along Giorgio.
Giorgio did not make it.
Vito Fortissimo could still smell the soil of that forest, where eventually he
fell down, Giorgio's body beside him.
***
Vito Fortissimo was
awaken from his thought. Then he scolded, for the third time tonight, as his
Russian fellow grinned while offering him his hand. For God sake, now that he
was able to forecast the last eleven steps of his checkmate!
I'm done, Vito sighed.
His Russian opponent laughed, swigging his last big drop of his eighth mug of
mead. Then kissed his Persian mistress.
Vito Fortissimo went
asilenced. To see the kiss, suddenly he lost in the land of mortal Goddeses...
where the creatures living were auburn-haired or blue-eyed, playing their
lethal harps to whoever heard it, that those who remain complacent might need
not know whether they play the dice between life and death.
Signore Fortissimo
observed the Russian. He said his name was Viktor Grigorovitz... such a
masculine name, yet his skin was such as he was freshly born, so smooth yet
fair. Yes he knew that he must be someone with high rank in his batalyon, given
his choice of mistress. He emerged from the Chamber of The Virgins, the highest
paid room and roomates one could get in Roses' Lair. And look at those pair of
sapphire blue-eyed miss he got...not to mention he was the first one for her.
Such a fine dawn,
Grigorovitz said. His blue sky eyes gazed sharply towards the depth darkness of
the forest outside. To had spent at least his one last month here, Vito fairly
memorized it so well all the cusps of the panoramic laid there. It was quite a
generous sight of the whole Caucassus mountains... the flat green hills of
local grass interspersing the vast, mighty white snowy mountains where
sometimes one could observe the horde of deers on their journey.
Master Grigorovich...
you said we will discuss my abacus lesson, the Persian mistress curled her head
on Grigorovitz' shoulders.
Vito flinched. He bent
his back towards Grigorovitz. You... talk abacus? he asked.
Grigorovitz laughed.
The Persian mistress
turned her head towards Vito, as though she had just realized that he was there
all along.
You seem to be really
surprise, my friend, Grigorovitz smiled thinly. It shall not be as special as
it might seem, actually.
My great-great
grandfather moved to America as an abacist! Vito said outloud, almost shrilling.
Why--- who are you actually?
Viktor Grigorovitz got
to his feet while igniting his pipe from his pocket. Interesting, he said. Not
many young men I have seen appreciate such a name came from hundreds of years
history. Allow me, my friend, to introduce myself, he offered his hand welcomed
by Vito directly, as it shall seem I to be your next commandant in battle.
Colonel Viktor Grigorovitz Braunsimov...
Vito Fortissimo did not
really recognize the name, but now he could see the face of his commander for
the next siege in Kars. He became so excited. Pleased to see you, Colonel, he
said.
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