(Taken from my 2013 Archive. Originally, the story was about Alexandrov Ensemble artists are getting conscripted in Belarus just for the drama. But I decided to change and edited it as normal concert tour)
[Particle 1]
[January 1936]
After hours of composing for the choir, Alexandrov rose from the piano bench upon seeing the clock hands pointing to twelve. "Alright, let's take a break for lunch. See you later!"
Before the choir members could ask a single question, Alexandrov smiled in farewell and left the room, carrying his yellow folder. Instinctively, they all shrugged in unison before filing out of the rehearsal room.
Even at lunchtime, it was unusual for Alexandrov and his three sons not to be in the hall joining the ensemble members. They remained in the office, likely discussing the very matter that just announced before lunch...
"So... the civilians has to graduate from music school or conservatory, eh? No more accepting from random civilian... What do you think, Dima?" Vasily said, tilting his head back. He had completely forgotten to eat the soup, fruit, and bread sitting before him for five whole minutes, forcing Alexei to snap his fingers to snap Vasily out of his reverie.
"Well, I wonder why wouldn't those rules applicated to the ensemble in the first place?" Dmitry asked, tearing off a piece of bread with his teeth before sipping his soup. Vasily lazily tore up his bread before dropping it into the soup, looking at Dmitry as he did so. "Well, maybe because back then Comrade Alexandrov rushed by the uppers? It’s hard for actual Red Army personnel to get in here because of all the annoying bureaucracy, even though plenty want to join. The only choice is to accept anyone at first. And boom, turn out civilians make up a huge chunk of the members; two-thirds, even. It’s dilemma for him too, you could say..."
"And then?" Dmitry intrigued as he munched the cabbage chunks inside the soup.
"And by the time the soldiers manage to get out to join the ensemble, its quota is full, and they have to wait six months before Comrade Alexandrov opening more vacancy. My guess is they might tighten the civilian enrollment rules to make room for Red Army personnel..." Vasily guessed, taking his first bite of soggy bread and soup.
"Oh, aren't you the know-it-all..." Vadim laughed.
"And why do you announce it to us like that? You talked as if afraid for suddenly some of us got laid off," Alexei asked, ending with a dismissive chuckle.
"I told you, it's just a guess... There's no telling if it's true or not," deflected Vasily with red ears simmer, while Dmitry can only rubbed his forehead in silence.
"There could be thousands of guesses about why Alexandrov put those new rules. But your soup, bread, and fruit... that’s still just one set meal," Vadim remarked dryly. Vasily sighed heavily, acknowledging that he had no business speculating about things that hadn't happened yet... especially at the cost of letting the hot meal in front of him go cold. He went back to eating his bread, which had turned soggy from soaking up the vegetable soup.
Lunch ended, and Vadim and Alexei parted ways to head to the orchestra room to retrieve the ensemble's instruments, while Dmitry and Vasily made a quick stop at the restroom.
"Of course they mocked. They have at least experience in music world first before joined the ensemble," huffed Vasily.
Then Dmitry smiled a bit, "I doubt we will get laid off. I guessed Comrade Alexandrov rather train everyone harder and filter those who lazy to quit soon."
Vasily look at Dmitry after he zipped his trousers, "Huh, if so... I won't give up."
"But hey, if we did get laid off, let's go to Stalingrad. My neighbour has bakery there, and you can work together with me as baker," offered Dmitry, though Vasily shook his head politely.
"Thanks for the offer, though I rather have more adventure. But thanks for listening to me..."
As Dmitry and Vasily were about to turn back toward the hall, Dmitry accidentally bumped into a chubby man with a short red buzz cut, who was walking briskly out of the room.
"Ouch! Sorry!" said the man, whom Dmitry knew as Semyon Isayev. It was an open secret within the ensemble that he loved discussing a topic most people found bizarre: the supernatural.
"It's alright..." Dmitry and Semyon exchanged a calm look; they weren't particularly close, given that the redhead wasn't in the choir but played the bayan in the orchestra. The man then continued his brisk walk toward the rehearsal room. Once they saw the man move far enough away and enter the room, Vasily said to Dmitry, "Weird that Sema say nothing further..."
"Like how Sema suddenly blurted about you wanted a tall lady?" Dmitry joked, then burst into loud laughter. Vasily jumped to smacked Dmitry on the head and swore, "Fuck you!"
====
[Particle 2]
[May 1936]
"Attention, everyone! Fall in! Drop your body over there immediately, then head straight to the parade ground for the ceremony!" someone suddenly shouted at the ensemble artists who just arrived at Belarus' military base. Judging by that man's uniform, he held the rank of Otdelyonny.
The artists obeyed and filed into the military base. The columns obediently set down their rucksacks near the grounds before marching onto the field, which was guarded by dozens of other junior sergeants. The ranks then broke up, and everyone moved to their respective sections (tenors, baritones, basses, orchestras, dancers). Dmitry glanced around and saw that he was in the same group as Oleg. Just beside him; Vasily, Anatoli and Fyodor flocked in baritone and bass ection. Vadim, Alexei and other orchestra members were nowhere to be seen.
The Otdelyonny guarding the tenors had a strikingly handsome yet arrogant face. His bright blue eyes gleamed and he held his head high, as if he were superior to all the other starshina, occasionally grooming his thick brown mustache. Yet, all the supervising Otdelyonny were doing the same thing, prompting a thought in Dmitry’s mind for the first time: acting like a big shot.
Then a Starshina’s shout rang out; "Attention!"... and the artists immediately obeyed. The Starshina walk back and forth in front of the artists, and his boots' thrum echoed in the field. He delivered a rather long, weird speech about ensemble's mannerism before performing in the military base. Of course, the ensemble artists look at each other. They thought their job is to perform for 3 days in each 6 military bases. Unless, that Starshina just love to get attention as if going to conscript the artists...
"And that hair... yes, messy hair means a messy fighter! Get it cut later!" The Starshina clenched his fist as he roared. Dmitry can imagine shoulder-lengthed hair Vadim will rolling his eyes, out of sudden.
Then, Oleg who stood in front of Dmitry whispered to Anatoli, with his mouth to the side, "And those teeth... yeah, messy, blackened teeth. You are a messy leader. Have them pulled later..."
Dmitry, Anatoli, Fyodor and Vasily were so amused that they lowered their head, pressing their lips tightly together to avoid making any sound other than a sharp exhale through the noses. The Otdelyonnys glared at them, but this only dampened their amusement slightly; smiles still lingered on their faces, masking them with expressions of feigned innocence.
====
[Particle 3]
[June 1936]
Dmitry decided to stroll around to get fresh air and calming himself before another concert. He looked for any spacious or tiny spaces, then explored there carefully. So far he goes, he doesn't get caught by any Red Army personnel... And when he reached the northern area of the base, he spotted Vasily digging into a mound of earth. Curious, he approached that bald dwarf.
"What are you doing?" Dmitry asked. Vasily was startled, but upon seeing Dmitry’s face, he broke into a grin.
"I'm making cheap vodka. Well, at least it’ll have a bit of alcohol in it..." Vasily explained.
"And what are you making it from?"
"Two weeks ago, I found small berry bushes. It was loaded with fruit that no one seemed to know about, so I picked some to flavor the vodka I’ve been fermenting since we first got here," said Vasily.
"Vodka... Wait, you brought vodka here??"
"You think I’d survive a year without vodka? Ahahahahaha! Just a week without it feels like hell! But don't tell anyone, because I only brought three bottles. Okay?"
"I’m not interested in telling anyone anyway..." Dmitry said. He then left Vasily...
Only at the end, his steps halted. Something is gnawing his guts and tongue. Therefore, Dmitry tuned his back. He found Vasily just putting his hands on his hips with mocking grin.
"You’re tempted," Vasily chortled. "A true Slav always comes for the vodka... I guess that saying holds true!"
"I haven't even said—"
"Shhh... no need for excuses; your face gave you away ages ago! It’s no use pretending you aren't interested," Vasily interrupted with a mischievous laugh. Dmitry smirked, conceding defeat to his friend.
"Well, I’ve got a sour taste in my mouth. It’s been ages since I tasted a bit of vodka," Dmitry admitted. Vasily then pulled a bottle out of the hole in the ground and handed it to Dmitry.
"Give it a try. I had a little taste earlier, but it looks like I won't be able to drink it properly until tomorrow night. Hehehe," Vasily chuckled.
"The whole thing?" Dmitry teased. Vasily gave him a mock scowl.
"If you could buy me some Finnish vodka, I’d give it to you right now! Oh, just take a swig!"
He reluctantly downed a mouthful of the bootleg brew. Well, still better than nothing. It tasted just like the cheap vodka sold in back alleys for less than a ruble. There was a berry flavor (which Vasily had mentioned as an additive), giving the moonshine a tartness that Dmitry found surprisingly palatable. The sensation did a decent job of calming his nerves, helping him stop dwelling on his troubles. He handed the bottle back to Vasily with a satisfied smile.
"You make good stuff. This would sell like crazy in the back alleys; nobody there has ever seen bootleg vodka with a berry tang like this," Dmitry said.
"It's only because I found berries around Belarus. Well, we gotta enjoy it while it last!" agreed Vasily.
In any case, now that his nerves had settled, Dmitry resumed his stroll around the Belarusian military base...
====
[Particle 4]
[June 1936]
"I miss the life at Moscow..." Vadim lamented. He, Dmitry, Alexei and Vasily were standing near the military base's perimeter fence, gazing out at the steppe and forest, now completely brown from drought. Vasily quietly produced a small bottle of bootleg vodka, took a swig, and then passed it to Alexei, who had asked for a taste. Dmitry clenched his hands inside his trouser pockets. Perhaps... it was simply because they got homesick...
As the four of them contemplated their fate to stuck in Belarus for another week... Fyodor, an accordionist Semyon, double bassist Stepan, and ensemble's photographer Anton walked by. Fyodor and Anton waved while smoking, whereas Stepan and Semyon walked straight over to join the group.
"What are you looking at?" Stepan greeted.
"Looking at Moscow from a distance," Dmitry replied casually. Fyodor offered cigarettes to the four of them, but only Vasily accepted. Fyodor then lit the cigarette using the one he was already smoking. Vasily nodded his thanks and offered the bottle of bootleg vodka he was carrying. Fyodor put a small smile and took a swig of the drink, taking turns with the just-arrived artists. Eventually, the eight of them remained by the fence, gazing blankly into the distance while wondering what was happening back in Moscow...
... Then thirty minutes passed. Their reveries were broken when other artists approaching them. Oleg, Anatoli, a percussionist named Ivan, a trombonist named Maksim and a dancer named Andrei strolled by behind the barracks.
"What are you all doing?" asked Andrei.
"Gazing at Moscow from afar," Dmitry and his seven companions replied in unison.
Anatoli was startled at first, but then he chuckled. "I miss it, too. But we still have one week to go. Please be patient..."
Nobody answers. At the end, there are thirteen pairs of eyes had vacant stare at the spacious area of Belarus' military base.