To: Boris Volkov, Izh District, Northeastern Sector

Dearest Father,

I hope you are in good health. I hope that you receive this letter soon. I hope the censors do not black out too much of it. I have seen five fields of battle since you waved me goodbye on the train south. I fought three of those battles. The others I only saw afterwards. Your little girl is a real woman now. I have shot half a dozen of the enemy. Four of them were officers. It becomes a little easier each time.

I am told this makes me an ace. I am told I should expect promotion if I return home. I hope I do return home. Please do not tell the neighbors I have been promoted already. I am not sure I will be promoted. Our general is infamous for his erratic temper and fear of disloyalty. I am not certain his memory is better than his temper. We have also been running out of reliable officers lately. I fear if the general does not remember, there will be no other officers left who will know to promote me.

I wish I could have written you after the first time I shot a man. This has been my first stop in a town with a good army post since we started tracking the enemy. I am sorry I did not write sooner. But I will tell you the story now of the first time I shot a man. He was not an officer. I do not think he was a real soldier. He had little curls on the ends of his mustache and a light brown cloak with yellow stitching around the edges. He was just running away from the battle. We were ordered to let nobody escape, and he was the fastest runner. I was surprised how quickly he fell down. I dreamed about him the next night.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Last night I dreamed I was shooting targets at the range. Every time I knocked one down, a crow flew out. It flew up to the trees and cawed at me. I wanted to shoot the crows, but I could not. It was a strange dream. We have seen many crows.

I have met many soldiers now. Some of them are brave and handsome. Others are ugly and cowards. There is a little chatty rat of a man among the steam knights who the general said has been in the service for a decade. I think he is only still around because he toadies up to his squad leader. How else does an ugly little cowardly rat a hand shorter than me stay a steam knight?

The rat and his squad leader are an odd pair. The leader is tall, when the rat is short. Skinny, not round. Creepy and cold, not chatty and over-friendly. I cannot understand half of what the leader says. The leader talks all fancy and uses lots of long words. Sometimes, I think they are not even real words. He mutters the eeriest sounding things under his breath. The rat speaks plain. I can also only understand half of what he says. He uses short words, but is hard to understand because of his thick western accent. He is very vulgar and common.

I am in town trying to find one of the better soldiers from that squad, named Ilya. He is kind and funny. He is not vulgar. He is not creepy and is not a coward. I am certain of it. He has gone missing. The little rat says he deserted. I think he is captured by enemies. I will rescue him. I hope I make you proud.

With Affection, Your Daughter Katya