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The Slavic Marines


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A young Russian Slav looked up from a pamphlet he was reading, looking somewhat annoyed. "What?" he asked snappishly.
"No need to be a prick," the speaker said. He was a friend of Alexei's, Vanya Gerasim. "I got some good news."
"Vanya, I swear to God, if this is about your last piece of tail, I will tear off your head and shove it up your $@!."
Vanya shuddered. "Pleasant picture, dick. And for your information, that's not what this is about." He paused perceptibly. "But while on the subject, she was unbelievably flexible-"
"Alright, alright, fine." Vanya handed Alexei a pamphlet. Alexei looked at the title.
"Slavic Marine Corps Platoon Leader's Course?" he asked.
"Yep," Vanya said, beaming.
"Why are you showing me this? I already have one," Alexei said, holding up his own pamphlet.
"Really? Why?"
"I'm signing up for Officer Candidate School," Alexei replied. "I got an application this morning."
"No !@#$?" Vanya asked.
"No !@#$," Alexei confirmed.
"I just got one myself," Vanya said, fishing it out of his pocket and showing it to Alexei.
"Cool. When are you turning it in?"
Vanya shrugged. "As soon as I fill it out, I guess."
"We can head over to my apartment and do it there," Alexei offered, rolling up his pamphlet and standing up.
"Fine by me," Vanya said.

*Five hours later*
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" Captain Yuri Andriy, SFMCR asked the two young Russian Slavs entering the recruiting office.
"Yeah, we're turning in our OCS applications," the one on the left said; he was a tall man, a little over six feet with black hair, and a matching black goatee, blue eyes, and pale skin that had only just begun to tan; he was obviously from the northern part of the Slavic Federation.
The other man was about 5'11", with brown hair, brown eyes, a thick mustache, and tanned skin, probably from somewhere in the southern regions.
"Ah, good, hand them here," Captain Andriy said, holding out his hand. The northerner handed him the two papers. Andriy looked over them passingly. "Alexei Iriney?" he asked, looking at them.
"That's me, sir," the northerner said.
"This says you were born in Moscow, during the era of Nordlandic occupation, but obviously you didn't stay there?"
"Yes, sir. My family moved into the countryside during the Fall of Nordland, and when it calmed down, we moved to Arkhangelsk during the rule of Slavic Novak."
"Why not return to Moscow?" Captain Andriy asked.
"My father was a staunch supporter of the Nordlandic ruling party; he and my mother feared persecution by members of the Coalition, namely Slavorussia, Finland, and Lübeck, so he headed for a stable, neutral nation. The Novakians were a good choice to them, for they weren't particularly hostile to the Nords, and the vast majority spoke Russian."
"And you lived in Arkhangelsk for how long?"
"Ten years. We went through Novakian control to Grøenlandian to Caucasian. Shortly after the formation of the Federation, I moved to Tbilisi after graduating from Arkhangelsk State Technical University."
Captain Andriy dropped his eyes to the application again. "You're more than qualified, but you'll have to wait while the bureaucracy that plagues all modern nations does it's work."
"How long is the wait?" Alexei asked.
Andriy shrugged. "About a week, I guess."
"You'd think this would be faster with a war on," the other man muttered.
Andriy locked his gaze on this one. "Vanya Gerasim, obviously?" he asked.

Vanya met his eyes. "Yes, sir."
"You strike me as a slacker. Are you a slacker?"
"No, sir."
"Good. I gave Mr. Iriney here the chance to talk about himself. It's only fair if I give you the same chance. Shoot."
"Sir, I was born in Odessa, in Ukraine, about five years before the Nords established dominance over the majority of Europe, and lived there through the many nations that existed there. I went to college in that massive supercity the Distopyans built on Crimea, then moved to Batumi for a few years."
"That explains why you look like an Arab without a beard," Captain Andriy said.
Vanya frowned, confused. "Sir?"
"You strike me as an idiot," Andriy said. "Are you an idiot?"
"You're !@#$ting me, right?"
"Sure," Andriy said, not very convincingly. "I'll get your applications sent in, and get back to you soon."
"Thank you, sir," Alexei said.
"And a few words from the wise?" Captain Andriy offered.
"Sure," Vanya said.
"Iriney, wash the oil off your face-"
"Oil?" Iriney asked, touching his face.
"Don't interrupt me," Andriy said, "and Gerasim, wash the mud off your upper lip."
Vanya touched his mustache, obviously offended.
"Now get out of my office, there's a war on, and we have recruits to deal with."
"Yes, sir," the two men said, turning to leave.

As they left, Alexei looked at Vanya and smiled smugly. "You're on a captain's !@#$list before you even joined up," he said, grinning.
"I realized. Now go $%&@ yourself," Vanya replied, pushing him as they exited the building.

OOC: No IC replies. OOC only, but no spam.

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A week after turning in his application for the Slavic Federal Marine Corps, Vanya Gerasim was sitting on a couch in his apartment, watching a news special on Operation: Pacific Star II and sipping a glass of scotch. "Those $%&@ers have balls," he observed, taking a swallow of his drink. As the commercials came on, he started to get up to refresh his drink, but was interrupted by his phone ringing. "Gaaah, $%&@," he groaned, leaning over the couch and answering. "Yello?" he greeted.
"Hey, Vanya, it's Alexei," the caller said.
"Oh, hey, Alexei, what's going on?"
"Nothing much. I just got a letter from the SFMC HQ."
"Did you get one?"
"Uhhh...I dunno. Haven't checked my mail."
"Then go check, you lazy Ukrainian son of a !@#$%*."
"Go to hell, Rusky," Vanya said. "Hang on a sec." He set the phone down next to the holder and walked out his front door, down the stairs, and to the management desk, got his mail, and flipped through it on his way up. "Bills, junk, ad, !@#$%^&*, ad...letter," he muttered to himself, discarding the junk, ads, and !@#$%^&* as he reached his living room. The letter was from Headquarters, Marine Corps. Vanya picked up his phone again. "Back."
"You got it?"
"Read it?"
"No," Vanya said, opening it and unfolding the letter.

[code]HQ SFMC
1645 17 APR 2010

Officer Applicant Vanya Gerasim
Shalam District, Tbilisi, Georgia, Caucasia, SlavFed

1. Review Jury, SFMC, has informed the undersigned of the qualifications of OffApp Vanya Gerasim
2. Undersigned has approved entry of OffApp Gerasim into SFMC Platoon Leader's Course
3. Officer Candidate Vanya Gerasim will proceed to Officer Candidate Schools, Baku by 21APR2010
4. Failure to report to OCS will result in court martial
5. AAA Priority Air Travel Authorized
6. Delay en route not authorized

Krikor Levon
Brig Gen SFMC
Director OCS Baku[/code]

"Hell yeah," Vanya said, punching the air.
"I know, it's sweet. We need to be in Baku in three days, though. We should pack up and get to the airport."
"Yeah, might as well. Too much chance of there being a plane $%&@ up in the next couple of days. I'd rather be in Baku early than in Tbilisi when we should be at OCS."
"Yeah," Alexei said. He paused for a second. "Actually, it might be better to take our cars there; it's not too far, and we'll be able to drive places without cabs when we get leave."
"Good point. How about you get packed and meet me outside my apartment complex, and I'll follow you to Baku?"
"Why can't you lead?"
"Cause I have no idea in hell how to get to Baku."
"Get a GPS."
"$%&@ that, those things try to kill you."
"You're an idiot."
"Well, $%&@ you, too."

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