A red coated Hanoverian officer stirs from his reverie as he hears the familiar voice of the most talented and respected Commander of the Russian Army.
A posting to the Astrakhan Grenadiers no less, he thinks to himself. Impressive! He chuckles quietly as a French Colonel boasts that La Grande Armee can defeat the forces of the Tsar in the dead of a Russian winter.
Dead is the operative term for any Frenchmen who would be so foolish as to even try. Oh these brave and audacious French officers, will they never learn? 
Sliding back his chair, he rises steadily to his feet, while motioning for Helga to bring him a fresh bottle of Vodka and three shot glasses. With the confident stride of experience, the German officer carries the bottle and glasses to the table where the Russian Commander is seated with his newest officer. Placing the glasses on the table, he uncorks the bottle and pours an equal measure into all three glasses. Taking one of the three in hand, he smiles and nods to General Kosyanenko before turning to face Podporuchik Maltsev.
“Comrade Maltsev, welcome to the winning side”, he says before downing the Vodka in one, practiced gulp. “Never mind these Frenchies, sir”, he says as he breaks into a wide grin, “they never have been any good at holding their liquor.”
NWC
Login
FAQ
