The year was 1943, As the bitter and dreary cold of late winter settled over the Eastern Front during the waning days of the second World War. The cold was piercing and impactful on the German armies. This greatly hampered the Reich's ambitions but greatly benefited the Soviet Union. Somewhere near the Eastern borders, Soviet soldiers, weary from months of brutal combat, huddled around makeshift fires, their breath forming icy clouds in the frigid air. Among them was a Sergeant, seemingly trying to lighten up the mood by making jokes.

"Здесь, здесь... Why did the Cossack farmer bring a ladder to the bar? Because he heard the drinks were on the house!"

This definitely made a few of his comrades a chuckle, with some of the majors even cracking a smile. The Sergeant watched as the soldiers started to warm up a bit, now talking to each other in a more outgoing manner. He leaned against a wall and cracked open a Vodka bottle, putting his PPSh-41 over his shoulder before taking a long swig on the alcoholic beverage.

"Hm... Сегодня хороший день..."

The sergeant muttered with a light smirk, watching the troops banter in the camp.