African Entrepreneurship Record

The city of Vinnytsia along the Southern Bug River.

The Southern Bug River is one of Ukraine’s important rivers, originating from the Podolia Hills and flowing southwest into the Black Sea.

Originally fertile and prosperous lands, the banks of the Southern Bug River in the western plains of Ukraine have now, due to the outbreak of World War I, become the battleground frontline between Russia and the Allies by July 1916.

With the defeat in June, the Allied troops entered Russian territory, causing the situation on the Russian southern front to deteriorate rapidly, forcing them to retreat to the east coast of the Southern Bug River to regroup.

The city of Vinnytsia has become the new headquarters for the southern Russian troops, currently gathering nearly a hundred thousand soldiers who have retreated from the frontline.

The entire outskirts of Vinnytsia have been surrounded by barbed wire and trenches. These hastily constructed defense works seem rather shabby, but with the aid of the Southern Bug River, Russian commanders are confident of turning the tide.

Of course, in contrast to the confidence of Russian commanders, the "grey livestock" of the Russian army is already overwhelmed.

In the camp southwest of the Southern Bug River, the atmosphere could be described as gloomy. Situated right by the river, this protruding part of the river saw a large Russian force deployed to establish a new position here.

Karchichev was mindlessly wiping his Mosinka-Nagant rifle, with a brown, patina-covered wooden pipe in his mouth.

Next to him was his fellow villager, Royaevsky, lying on a wooden box, chewing absent-mindedly on a stalk of grass.

A gray bandage wrapped around his head, passing below his ear, showed its original white color through the blood and mud stains forming gray patches.

"Karchichev, do you think we can return alive to Buriat Village after the war ends?" asked Royaevsky.

Karchichev was oiling his gun, using a cloth to wipe the barrel, and said to Royaevsky, "I guess only God knows the answer to that. But looking at the current situation, it seems unlikely, as we’re nothing but cannon fodder in the eyes of the officers."

"Yeah, I remember when we first arrived at the frontline, there were our companions Cherkayev, Eureka, Kurka..." Royaevsky listed a dozen names as if ordering a meal, then said, "But those people aren’t here anymore."

"Right now, in the entire camp, the only fellow villagers we know are probably just you, me, and Maxim next door."

At this point, Royaevsky’s tone turned a bit somber.

"Last week, a bullet pierced this ear of mine. It was just a hair’s breadth from my head. If it had been slightly off, I probably wouldn’t be here talking to you right now."

Karchichev saw the situation more openly. He told his fellow villager, "In war, there’s no avoiding death. From the moment we arrived at the frontline from the rear, I knew our fate was just like drawing lots. Each day, someone unfortunate would be chosen."

"Many units have been wiped out, and the fact that we’ve survived is already destiny’s favor."

"What’s more, we are still physically intact. If we were to become disabled, there’d be no hope for the future. We can only hope for good luck to keep protecting us."

With that, Karchichev set down his weapon and began to pray, as if this could truly maintain divine protection.

Watching Karchichev’s devout prayer, Royaevsky laughed self-deprecatingly, "If God really existed, I suppose He wouldn’t have let this war break out. After all, many in the army are His faithful followers. Some people live kindly all their lives, yet they are not rewarded."

"Take me for example: although I haven’t done any great deeds in my life, I can say with a clear conscience that I’ve never done anything bad either. I used to often listen to priests’ teachings in church, but those priests are just like you, always advising us to stay calm but never teaching us how to escape suffering."

"Heaven is just an illusion created by the priests. After all, the Austria-Hungarians across from us have different beliefs from ours, yet it’s clear God favors them more..."

Karchichev seemed not to hear Royaevsky’s complaints and continued polishing his rifle after completing his ritual.

Seeing this, Royaevsky felt somewhat annoyed and told Karchichev, "All you know is to keep polishing that broken gun of yours, but it can’t ensure your survival. The enemy now uses saturation artillery attacks; you just happen to have escaped the impact area by luck."

It was only then that Karchichev responded, "What exactly are you trying to say? Or what do you want to do? We’re just insignificant figures who can’t change anything. All we can do is maintain a sincere heart and have a clear conscience; every hardship is merely a test from God."

Royaevsky retorted mockingly, "Only someone like you would gladly accept such tests. This war could’ve been completely avoided, after all. We used to be allies with Germany, but the Imperial authorities chose to turn such a formidable enemy into our foe."

"These big shots are only interested in their own benefits, never caring about whether we live or die. And as for your claim that small figures can’t change anything, I disagree. Without us charging in, the Germans would’ve reached Saint Petersburg by now."

Listening to Royaevsky’s blasphemy, Karchichev hurriedly stopped him, "Royaevsky, it’s better not to discuss these topics right now. After all, we’re on the frontline, and if someone overhears us, you’ll face severe consequences."

Royaevsky said, "The problem is that I don’t see any hope of survival. The end of the war seems distant. You and I are just a bit lucky, but such luck obviously can’t last."

"So, facing death far from home, what’s wrong with me complaining? And I’ll ask you one final time: do you really not plan on taking control of your destiny?"

"I’m only saying this because we’re from the same place; otherwise, I wouldn’t talk so much."

Karchichev replied, "In the end, you’ve shown your true intentions. Is it that organization that’s been seducing you? It’s not too late to turn back now, before a grave mistake is made."

Royaevsky sneered and said, "The grave mistake you mention is just a definition set by those big shots. We’ve already sacrificed enough."

"While national loyalty itself is not wrong, if the price is us risking our lives on the frontline, eating moldy bread, while commanders live indulgently and make all the wrong decisions, wasting soldiers’ lives, then such loyalty is just false propaganda. Karchichev, if that’s what you aspire to, then I have nothing left to say."

Hearing Royaevsky’s words, Karchichev’s brows twitched. After all, anyone serving as a low-ranking soldier in the Russian army might harbor resentment.

But some people choose to self-hypnotize, like Karchichev. He, as a typical example, faced his fellow villager’s instigations, took out his pipe, and flicked off the ashes.

"You make some valid points, but I won’t take the risk with you. After all, such situations aren’t unheard of before."

"On the contrary, listen to me: the battlefield might have a high risk of death, but there’s always a chance to survive. If you follow your path, it’s surely a dead end."

"The organizers behind you are no different from those officials. They just hide and instigate from the shadows. If it’s about dying, I’d rather choose the least risky option."