#telogreika

[sovietpostcards]

New models of cotton padded jackets for countryside workers. Photo by Valentin Khukhlayev (1953).

[pattern-recognition]

Verseshi needs to come back to tumblr, they’d do numbers here. it’s a rife demographic for cigarette smoking, morally-dubious women

[ambasingresident]

"Talking After Chores"

Drew Vasily and Ellio talking about their past after being done with peeling potatoes for the commune in Kansk. Ellio talked about his time in the Toppats while holding his bunny Yuki and Vasily talked about his time in an NKVD death squad while making something out of a potato sack.

Aftermath:

Vasily made a small telogreika jacket and pants out of a potato sack and some cloth he found for Yuki.

Ellio and Yuki belongs to @yunaisky

"Minor" lore drop: after some funny dming with yungaisky, we decided to uhhh.. make Vasily Ellio's boyfriend because one, I "accidentally" made Vasily look like as if he's in a relationship with Ellio. Two, according to her it's cute for Ellio to have a boyfriend to comfort him. And three, it's accurate in the TNO lore (for Vasily) because of society in the Siberian Black Army (one of the two warlord states in Russia where LGBT are either legally protected or socially accepted).

[safarpublishing02]

Unveiling the Essential Components of the Russian Winter Uniform in World War II

In the unforgiving landscape of Eastern Europe during World War II, the Russian winter posed a formidable challenge to soldiers on both sides of the conflict. However, the Red Army was well-prepared for the harsh conditions, outfitting its troops with specialized winter uniforms designed to withstand the freezing temperatures and maintain combat effectiveness. In this article, we delve into the intricacies of the russian winter uniform ww2, exploring its key components and the role they played in the Soviet war effort.

The Great Patriotic War and the Need for Winter Uniforms: When Nazi Germany launched its invasion of the Soviet Union in June 1941, it underestimated the ferocity of the Russian winter. As the campaign dragged on into the colder months, German soldiers found themselves ill-equipped to handle the extreme cold, while their Soviet counterparts, clad in specially designed winter gear, gained a crucial advantage on the battlefield.

Components of the Russian Winter Uniform:

Telogreika: At the heart of the Russian winter uniform was the telogreika, a quilted jacket with a distinctive checkerboard pattern. Insulated with cotton, wool, or sometimes down, the telogreika provided essential warmth without sacrificing mobility. Its design featured a button-up front and a high collar to protect the neck from icy winds.

Valenki: Keeping the feet warm and dry was essential in the harsh winter conditions. Russian soldiers wore valenki, traditional felt boots that were thick, durable, and insulated. Valenki were designed to be worn with thick wool socks and could withstand snow and mud, providing reliable footwear for winter warfare.

Ushanka: Perhaps the most iconic element of the Russian winter uniform was the ushanka, a fur hat with ear flaps that could be tied up on top of the head or fastened under the chin for added warmth. The fur lining provided insulation against the cold, while the ear flaps could be lowered to protect the ears and cheeks in extreme weather.

Sharovary: To cover the legs, soldiers wore sharovary, wide trousers that allowed for ease of movement and could be worn over other layers of clothing. Sharovary were typically made from thick wool or cotton and provided additional insulation against the cold.

Shinel: Over the telogreika, soldiers often wore the shinel, a long overcoat made from heavy wool or fur. The shinel offered added protection against wind and snow, making it an essential outer layer in the Russian winter uniform.

Conclusion: The Russian winter uniform played a crucial role in the Red Army's ability to withstand the harsh conditions of the Eastern Front during World War II. By equipping its soldiers with specialized gear designed for extreme cold, the Soviet Union gained a significant advantage over its adversaries and ultimately emerged victorious in the brutal conflict. The telogreika, valenki, ushanka, sharovary, and shinel were not just garments; they were symbols of resilience and determination in the face of adversity, embodying the indomitable spirit of the Soviet soldier in the frozen battlegrounds of the Eastern Front.

[youreaclownnow]

just occurred to me, if i do this, i should totally get a telogreika to go with it. will probably have to save up to get one though, those jackets arent cheap. but thats okay, no good jacket is! its worth it if it keeps me cozy

saying fuck it and when i get paid im purchasing a soviet ushanka for winter since i have no good hats and im a total slut for soviet military clothing

[proudtoehaver]

kyberfox >>>>> jewishcomeradebot

because this bot is actually being run be five jewish comerades in a telogreika

[oleskyfm]

i have a coat somewhat like this and it’s very big and poofy padded and comfy but also since i live in texas obviously there are limited times i can wear this. i like the look of these things, telogreikas, but i fear most assume im larping some old soviets like maybe these ladies

[fuzethehostagehater]

SHARK RAW (it’s face of fuze),LKPW 101 or soviet copy equivalent ,SN-42 plate vest, SSH40(M40) helmet,  USN AN6530 Flight Goggles with Green Shadded Lenses(land lease ?!),Telogreika (top only most likely matching ) ,M35 trousers (bottom),RG42 grenade pouch ,Mosin nagant pouch x2 (give it to glaz lel),SVT40 pouch x2,jack boots,leather map bag (sekrit dokuments bag)

Now point pistol up in the air and be part of propaganda film

[diaries-shop]

. ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ 1ST PAT-RNのデザイナーでありパタンナー、シルヴィア渾身のレディースジャケット。第二次大戦中にロシア軍で使用されていたキルティングジャケット「Telogreika」を元に作られたものです。ボタンを全て留めた状態ではユニフォームのように見えたり、襟を寝かせればジャケットのように見えたり。ウエストのバックルでシルエットに変化をもたせることもできます。 今回の生地は1stpatrnオリジナル生地。コットン×ヴィスコース×リネンの混合。1900年代初頭のトレンチコートの生地を再現していますが、ヴィスコースが混合されているので、しっとりと柔らかな風合いに仕上がっています。また厚みのある生地ですが、通気性もあります。 メンズのミリタリーウェアをレディースに落とし込んでいますが、パタンナーが女性のためか、体にフィットしつつもとても動きやすくなっています。 またレディース服のように甘すぎず、メンズ服そのままでもない。ちょうど中間のような服。細身のパンツもワイドパンツも、ロングスカートも合い、様々な着こなしが楽しめます。 . ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ . 詳細はプロフィールのリンクにある、オンラインストア、BLOGにてご覧いただけます。 @diaries_official 商品に関しての質問は、DMかメールにてお気軽にご質問ください。 . ＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿ . DIARIES 〒305-0031 茨城県つくば市吾妻3-8-17 TEL:029-875-7754 12:00-20:00 ※ただいま自粛中につき、短縮営業しています。18:30閉店です。（19時までは割といます。） （木曜定休・その他） https://diaries-shop.com #diaries #tsukuba #ibaraki #japan #ダイアリーズ #つくば #茨城 #日本 #セレクトショップ #1STPATRN #FirstPattern #madeinITALY #Jacket #ladies #military #ファーストパターン #イタリア製 #ジャケット #レディース #ミリタリー (Diaries / ダイアリーズ) https://www.instagram.com/p/CM7Jo5jjOCw/?igshid=1kvi9ee2t6sna

[pattern-recognition]

plausibly, you could just follow the recipe i concocted

6 tbs Jacquard Procion MX cobalt blue

6 cups non-iodized salt

3/4 cup soda ash

9 gallons of water for the primary bath

Synthropol detergent for pre and post washing

iDye fixative for the first rinse

and these instructions for immersion dyeing

i dyed my telogreika dark blue and despite it sitting in the sun all day in 90° heat it’s still not completely dry; all that padding soaks up water like a sponge. i really enjoy the final color though, it’s more of a deep cobalt than a plain navy and has a green undertone that’s only tangible in darker lighting

[nihilistlover]

Splinch

(Thanks to @ladyoftheshrimp for all the poking and prodding. Her beta-ing. Her ideas. And her AU. You’re amazing! Triggers: Fucking Nazis (but they’re dead) POW, descriptions of injury, warfare, and mentions of the holocaust)

December 1944: Eastern Front, After Soviet Liberation

Status of The Second War: Active

Status of The Greater Good Revolution: Active

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Theseus was in the silent, pillaged streets of Romania when the Soviet soldier appeared. He was on the last line of a telegram, and then, his unit heard the crack. The privates rustled out their rifles, and they all stood still in the dry air.

A terrifying and complete apparition approached them. The soldier had flashed into existence suddenly strapped on his dark horse, a riding crop at his side, rifle across at his back. He cantered towards them. The hooves hushed in the layer of ash covered snow, faded gun smoke from artillery lashed at the lean legs of his Budyonny steed. In his high mount the Soviet soldier approached them in a frame of rubble and exposed supports. Closer, and the hollowed husks grew in size around the phantom.

Theseus handed off the telegram to a medical officer in the Field Division of the Graves Registration Company. He felt pulled, footsteps slow, an absence of constant gunfire enveloped him.

“Scamander, are you daft?” Theseus’ Chief of the detachment asked, his arms full of curtains and tablecloths. He passed them off to a Romanian soldier, who returned to cover the spread of lined-up bodies. All the while the Chief watched Theseus drift away, his heart heavy for the officer.

Theseus wasn’t daft. Not entirely. He was compelled, and transfixed. The Soviet soldier had stopped just under the branches of a lamp post, his Budyonny whinnied. A message for him and only him.

The Soviet soldier pressed the tip of his wand into his neck. “Lieutenant Theseus Scamander, would you come with me?”

He then quickly switched to the wand being at his temple, and waited, blue eyes a tired gaze. His ushanka pushed low, and telogreika synched tight. The horse shuffled, its breath huffed out in wisps of condensation from its nostrils.

“And how do you know I’m him?”

The Soviet’s eyes narrowed at the translation. He moved the wand back down to his neck.

“No bullshit, Scamander,” the Soviet brought his wand down. He took out a picture. A moving image of Percival and Theseus. He pointed to Theseus with a stubby mitt, it completely covered Percival. The Soviet soldier stashed the image, tugged on the reins with his left hand, and returned the wand to his neck. “You were a war hero once.”

“Once,” Theseus said, his breath wheezed out of his nostrils.The frost nipped at every inch of his exposed face. He pulled his scarf up higher over the bridge of his nose.

The Soviet pushed a heel into the Budyonny’s side. The horse turned, and exposed its chestnut neck to Theseus. The Soviet tossed the reins over towards the officer and patted at the horse’s shoulder. The soldier twisted his hand in the reins, and made a fist then let the black leather drop. He stared at Theseus. Theseus twisted his hand in the reins. They disapparated.

Theseus stumbled away when they re-appeared. He tugged at the reins at first, but he heard the horse. It keened and clacked at its bit. He let go, and fell into a post. He watched the the last few inches of hair cascade down from the horse’s tail. They had been splinched off.

“A whole horse, why would you apparate a whole horse?” Theseus pushed off the post. The greatcoat of his battledress snagged on gnarled barbed wire. The wire twisted around the post. It punched through the splintered network of holes. When Theseus pushed away; he saw how it created an unforgiving barrier at the edge of the camp.

At his post, the barbed wire was tangled up and around a support beam. It jutted straight out, like the branch of a light pole. On its end, a cut noose dangled. Barbed wire thorns gleamed in the braids of the empty noose, ice crystals collected on the metal points and rope hairs.

“Where are we?” he asked. But the Soviet soldier didn’t answer. His horse’s head dipped low. He looked down at the shrivelled and snow-covered bodies by the entrance of the long sheds. Theseus saw them too, and quickly came to an inevitable conclusion. The bodies were in striped gowns. They showed through the layer of gray snow that blanketed them.

Two men walked towards them, between their grip, hung a white stretcher. They placed the body on the pile. It was a child. Small, too small, her wrists bird-like, skin paper thin. Sewed onto her gown was a flipped purple triangle, right over her heart. Theseus stared into the black-edged bullet hole between her eyes.

He felt anger. A kind of anger that becomes misplaced, and in its wayward path, falls to the nearest conceivable entity of blame.

“After you liberated them, what did you do? Did you kill them?” he asked, and looked up at the Soviet soldier high on his perch. The Soviet soldier didn’t have his wand out. He just shook his head, and sighed. His breath turned to feathery tendrils.

One of the soldiers at the body pile tugged the white sheet from under the girl. She rolled away. He gathered and tucked the dirty sheet into himself. The silent soldier in front of him pointed towards the Soviet and Theseus. He turned. Theseus recognized the familiar fatigues that peeked out under the soldier’s long coat.

“Theseus,” said the soldier, his hands still clutched in the sheet. “Theseus Scamander.”

The Soviet nodded to Theseus, and pushed the side of his Budyonny with his heel. They turned to the left and sauntered off into the camp.

“You’re American,” said Theseus, looking back at the American soldier.

“Yeah, yeah, I am. I’m Cooper.” Cooper paused. The other man, the silent soldier, nodded, but didn’t say anything. He just bit his lip, his green eyes searched Theseus. Cooper continued, “we’ve got to show you something.”

“What is it? I have a unit waiting for me-”

“It’s pretty serious,” said Cooper. “We found both of them in one of the lower compounds. Underground types, down in the Nazis’ Mole Hole. I just.”

Theseus felt it. That tug again, like he was supposed to be somewhere else. “Who?” he asked, but it was quiet, sucked up by the cold air.

The silent soldier waved for him to follow. Cooper nodded, hands knuckle white on the sheet.

There was a series of compounds, connected in a long U-Shape. The double doors at the straight belly of the U were open. Three men drank cups of steaming coffee, cigarettes in-between their teeth. They cast jokes and asides at the Soviet who waited, still atop his horse, at the cusp of the two forks of the sheds.

The horse scuffed a hoof at the ground. It kicked its head back, eyes white and wide, directed at Theseus. He, Cooper, and the silent soldier approached along the Budyonny’s side. The Soviet calmed the horse, and watched them. His eyes on their boots, and hands. He looked to the doorway. The three men had stopped. They all looked at Theseus.

In the silence that rained down on them, soft and subtle as the snowfall, Theseus heard it. Whiplash voices that echoed into his ears, but held no present meaning. He needed a connection. A determination that things weren’t what they seemed, and the drawn faces that watched his reaction weren’t testament and witness to reality.

A spell, lightning quick, and just as strong as the comparison flashed bright white in the doorway. It fizzled out. Smoke, grayish-black curled out, and one of the three men stepped away. He took a sip of his coffee.

Theseus stood in the yawning doorway. His hands twitched. It smelled, overall, like the rest of the camp, but his sinuses were barely catching the full array of scents. Unable to smell the flowers. The shit, and piss, and blood. One descriptor in his head for the smell: dirty. He wiped at his mouth with his scarf, and finally tugged it down. The smell was stronger.

“Are there still Germans down there?” he asked.

“No, they all,” one of the soldiers with coffee gestured to his head. He mumbled around his skinny cigarette, a gun symbol to his temple.

Theseus looked to the wet stairwell, snow dripped down into the dark entrance. A desk was pushed to the side, right before the head of the stairs. On the table top there were abandoned logs. Stamps were kicked to the side, a pen still in an inkwell. Serving as a long dried up remanent of the near past.

“Right, I-” but Theseus didn’t finish. A butcher bird, somewhere on the trails of barbed wire, let loose its horrible cry.

Cooper put a hand on his back, “They’re down there. We finally got their names. From your brother, Newt, he’s the one who talked. I don’t know, P-”

“Merlin,” Theseus hissed out, interrupting Cooper. He looked back. The silent soldier had taken the Soviet’s horse by the reins. He lead him away. The three soldiers by the door started back up their chatter with one another. One kicked at the wooden door absently. It creaked. Theseus blinked, startled. He could hear Cooper again.

“I don’t have much for consolation, but you can go down. They’re the only ones we haven’t evacuated yet.”

“Are they hurt?”

Cooper breathed in, “Ah.”

“How bad?”

“We don’t know yet. Theseus, we can’t get a single god damn man close.”

A coffee drinker slipped into the conversation, “Yeah, the shorter one tried to hex my face inside out.”

Smoke puffed out of the soldier on the far left. He snorted, “Love to see that.”

Theseus shook his head, “Any medics?”

Cooper nodded, “I can work my way around a field dressing, sir. The Soviets too.”  

“Right,” said Theseus, and he toed towards the steps. A paper from the desk’s log fluttered in his wake. The icicles along the doorway dripped. A relentlessly cold drop wormed its way in the gap between his collar and scarf.

“Good luck,” he heard tagged on behind him as he descended.

It wasn’t all darkness in the hole. The farther he creeped down the steps the colder it got, and the closer he came to a light. A light that provided no warmth in the arid air, but instead softly lit the center of the Mole Hole.

There were tables. Rooms dispersed around the hollowed out setting. All of it concrete and cold. Filled with dirt, and grime, and the old smell of German roaches. A single candle flickered, too bright, and luminous. It dripped yellow wax on the long bows of wood. It cast a bright and strict halo of light.

Once Theseus hit the ground floor he functioned just outside of it. He traversed in the packets of light that tumbled over the boundary.

Then he stumbled across his first body. His boot hit it first, and he paused. He sniffed deep, and threw his scarf back over his nose and mouth. He gagged and coughed, and bent down close. The man had shot himself in the head with a rifle. Half his face was gone.

He stepped over it, and right up the next body, his foot just knocked against this one too. Ants crawled around the eyelets of Theseus’ boots. They had crawled out of the dead man’s nostrils, disturbed from their crowded hibernation inside the headspace. Little ants dripped over the dead man’s lips. Down over the green uniform, and swarmed slow and curious at the intruder.

This one had used a Mauser pistol.

Theseus saw the blood dried on the floor. The reddish species of Formica marched about in it and trailed back to their temporary residence in little lines. An Edible Dormouse petulantly squeaked, its little hands rubbed at the man’s cheek. Its dark eyes watched Theseus. It licked up a few ants before it hurried away.

Theseus looked, there were more shapes on the floor. Shapes and shadows, that twisted themselves into corpses. Iron crosses and silver eagles glimmered on all their chests. All of them glassy stares in the soft candle light. The bygone wardens’ weapons of destruction still next to their bodies.

Theseus stepped into the halo. His hand relaxed on the scarf.

Next to the candle sat an otherworldly, illuminated version of Newt. His ass on the table top, feet on the bench seat, he leaned forward. His eyes and lips and cheeks all hollowed out by the light shining by his side. The jacket on his shoulders too big. It was unbuttoned, and just draped there. The white gashes of the SS bright at the collar.

Theseus could clearly see the ways in which Newt was injured. The scratches and greening bruises, some purple, others yellow. Newt’s left eye was puffy, the lid pink and inflamed, pus leaked out. Theseus dropped his scarf entirely.

Newt squinted his eyes. Theseus could no longer see his blue irises, just the shadow of Newt’s lashes, and the way his hands twisted into one another. Newt’s shoulders shook minutely. Little rattles, like he tried not to show that he was cold. But Theseus clearly saw the jolts in his knees.

“Newt,” said Theseus quiet, very quiet. Whisper soft. If he spoke too loud and too soon the mirage in front of him would melt away in the candlelight.

“Theseus,” said Newt, he smiled, but his lips were so dry that blood dribbled out.

Theseus stepped forward, he shouldered off his frock coat. Newt’s eyes widened again, stark blue, his head tilted up.

Theseus’ boot rolled over a thin line of twine. The toe pulled at it, and he followed it with his gaze. It lead somewhere off behind him, running parallel to the tables.

Theseus heard Percival before he saw him. The quick gasped snarls and pried growls from the depths of a shattered ribcage. His voice bubbled, the nuances of a punctured lung.

Theseus turned, and met bared teeth, blueish fingers already clawed at him, and he tried to take a step back. But Percival fell onto him entirely.

They both collapsed onto the floor. Theseus’ head cracked against the bench of the table, his hair now pushed up against its foot. Newt sat and watched from above. Theseus’ hands flew out for purchase on the splinters and stained floor.

Newt spoke, his voice unshaken, flat and direct. “Percival, Percival, no, this one isn’t a trick.”

The candle flickered on. A hoarse backdrop to Theseus’ desperate scrabble for escape. Percival ripped and pulled at every inch of him. When Theseus felt hands at his throat he scrabbled for for his side holster.

Percival stared right at Theseus. The whites of his eyes red. His eyes distant, but very much close.

Theseus felt his own movements stutter, and sputter to a dead stop. He wheezed out a counter-spell, and ripped at Percival’s cold fingers.

He bent a few back, he cracked at the thumb, he pushed with his elbows. He was relieving some of the pressure. He craned his neck back. His boots made a too loud noise when they kicked out. Percival, who straddled him at the hips, turned to stare at Theseus’ boots.

Theseus pushed his head all the way back till he saw an upside down image of Newt. The golden version of him. The one entirely revealed by light. Bruised and maudlin, unmoving. A passive by-stander. Newt’s fingers were still clasped together in a firm embrace over his knees.

“New-,” said Theseus.

Newt just stared. Theseus mouthed a spell towards Newt’s direction. The candle went out. Newt disappeared.

“Accio,” Theseus held his hand out and away. Percival’s grip changed on his neck. The hands shifted down in the dark.

Percival made a noise that Theseus only registered as a yip.

A leg completely braced over his thighs, another twisted over his shins. Percival was laid down on top of him in the dark. His weight rushed down on Theseus’ ribcage, just when he could get a breath.  

Theseus felt the combat knife hit his hand. It cut the corner between his thumb and fingers. Percival had a sloppy grip at his lower jaw and pushed up against Theseus’ chin. Shadows and non-existent colors of the dark painted themselves into partial images of the scene.

After Percival had released his grip, Theseus had thrown his right arm in front of his neck. The combat knife held out and away in his other hand.

Theseus waited to strike, Percival did not.

Theseus heard a growl and hissed out a, “motherfuck,” when he felt Percival bite down hard. He kept his arm still. Percival twisted, he ripped into Theseus with his teeth.

Theseus moved then, swung his arm down. Percival didn’t stop the knife. So, Theseus rammed it into the nearest piece of the man.

Percival finally let go.

Newt climbed off the table calmly. The candle pulsed back to life.

Percival held the space where the knife was, blood trickled out around it, his arm limp. His eyes still red-rimmed, but his attention too divided now to care. Newt was there to console Percival. Theseus scrabbled out of Percival’s range, and from underneath his legs.

Newt looked over at Theseus then, cheekbones a skeletal memoir in the candle glow.

“What? What, Newt? I’m here to save you,” said Theseus.

Above ground Cooper and the silent soldier helped him heal the two. Percival and Newt didn’t say much. Newt at least said, “Thank you.”

No one said anything back.

Theseus gritted his teeth. The Soviet returned on horseback. With Percival and Newt’s wounds erased from the surface of their bodies, they were evacuated from the camp by disapparation.

Cooper smiled in the aftermath and took a cigarette from the silent soldier. Their work was done.

Newt and Percival waited with the Soviet under the four-crowned lamp post. A blanket wrapped around both of them. The dirty sheet from the camp placed over it for extra padding.

Theseus’ Chief was still on the same street. The unit had gathered more bodies. They would have to bury them close-by. Spades were already in Romanian and British hands.

The Chief took one look at Newt and Percival at the corner of the square. Then patted Theseus on the shoulder, his eyes as gray and placid as the ash on the street. “Thank you for your service, my boy.”

“Wait I-”

“Kent, write up a wire.”

“For what?” Kent had the fabric canopy of a parachute draped over one forearm. It trailed down his front.

“Lieutenant Scamander is to be honorably discharged.” Kent paused. The Chief continued a hand to his neck and said, “For medical reasons.”

“They just have to be evacuated, Sir.”

The Chief smiled, “Alright. You’re alright. Go help your brother,” he made a closed, “m,” with his hand, the thumb poked through.

Theseus sniffed in, quick and sharp, he nodded.

“God Speed,” said the Chief. He let his spade slide back down to his hand and called for the company to start carrying bodies to the burial site.

Theseus returned to the Soviet’s side. Percival’s eyes were locked on the snow. A foot peeked out, encapsulated by a delicate yellow heel. The rest of the body unfound. She was just an addition to the collection of rubble.

Newt blinked, and stared at Theseus. His hands twisted in the twined rope held between his and Percival’s hands. Together they were trapped underneath their thick canvas wrap, two thin spectres connected by twine. The horse shifted, and the rope tugged a little where it was knotted to a saddle bag. Newt’s eyes lingered too long on each and every footstep of Theseus. He tried to hide the gun-shot flinch when Theseus gripped his arm.

Theseus nodded to the Soviet. They disapparated again. He didn’t mention that he was no longer a soldier for the King.

They took the Floo Network to a stationary hospital on the mainland. It was a trail of back channels to England. One lead them to southern France.

There was fighting further to the south-west, but they were far enough out of the brunt of it. The flag of de Gaulle fluttered outside of the evac hospital. It was placed at the tail end of the Vosges mountains.

Theseus lead Newt and Percival inside, there was no door, barely any walls. It was just a permanent foundation and half a ceiling. The building as a whole was still strong.

Tarps were strung up in the blasted out vignette of a Lorraine villa. They overhung the filled cots. Medical engineers with clamps and splints milled about.

The low front walls of the hospital allowed some of the patients to peek out. “Soviet, Soviet,” they whispered past bandages and bullet holes. And the Soviet disappeared.  Slowly, away on his horse, into the mist and soft purple flowers of the far mountain’s edge.

A confined fireplace burnt low and steady inside of the hospital. It was at the back wall. The cots all lead back to the hearth. A nurse lifted the grate aside and walked off to a bedside. A radio, at the end of a cot, hissed out white noise when she passed.

Theseus was surprised the fire existed openly. It was cobalt, red edged and dim. It gave off no warmth. They were ushered towards it and given a scoop of floo.

“Bon Voyage,” said a healer. He nodded to them bent over a soldier blinded from an exploding bullet. They stepped into the flames, and left behind the blanket and sheet.

The healer would later take them out to better cover the bodies arranged under the shadow of the flag.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Discontinued: Operation Ys-Specialized Unit: MIA /KIA [insert status change] POW

Members of Unit Evacuated list cont.:

Graves, Percival G. 0-062-697

Scamander, Newton A. F. RAF Nr. 0-101-016

Camp: Dulag 0-5 / Outside of Geneva codes

Camp Status: Inactive

[brakoff]

Aaaa telogreika

[entropygrapple]

Ah! I am the bear You're cutting my fur. My teeth grind against bones, and marrow flows freely from the broken tree branches. My hair becomes a wraith, curling around me and becomes my coat and one day it will trail by my ankles my legs clad in native telogreika and face wrapped in scarf of flax and cotton like the immortal fireman, clad in his hi-vis jacket he rushes into the flames. With zeal and a sea of storms behind his eyes he howls into the orange and red surf and dashes through the other side triumphant How he towers! This immortal giant, who strides so easily through this petty fire As if the indomitable spirit of humanity was incarnate The innumerable lost souls and sacrifices in his bones, A hundred vagabonds in his march, the long walk down the Royal court to be sentenced, and yet his head is thrown back as he laughs off the singed corners of his beard, the red sparks are in his eyes too, and the humanity howls through him in every vein and breath he burns the flame of Prometheus A grinning defiance, for a man to stand as stone against the gods. This, now, is truly who I admire, for his humanity is mythical, and burns smoke off of him at every second. As I curl against the eternal snows I think of his carefree charge into that sea of sparks and pain and even if only for a second, If I can summon his strength then I can do anything. I could write forever, pouring fire and saltpeter onto the page until my skeleton crumbled to dust. To breathe in and have even a strand of the humanity that he has would be glorious. I curl into my coat, dreaming of this maddening thought.

[walterkov]

cotton wool-padded pants. typical soviet army uniform. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Telogreika http://toparmy.ru/armii-istorii/krasnaya-armiya/voennaya-forma/voennaya-forma-sovetskoj-krasnoj-armii-1941-1943-g-foto.html

THIS IS A CALLOUT POST FOR JACOB WHY DO HIS PANTS LOOK LIKE A POOL RAFT

[onejamtart]

MAHARISHI AUTUMN/WINTER 2018 COLLECTION LOOKBOOK

From Maharishi, “In an age where the privacy of an individual is bought and sold as a commodity by tech giants, and governments are both increasing their surveillance of their citizens and unwillingly having their own secrets exposed, maharishi explores the double-edged sword that the internet has provided us with; the serpent within the core of the information age.

The internet has proven to be both a democratising force for good and at the same time a tool for pernicious corporate interests and governments seeking to surveil their citizens. maharishi explores this dichotomy with redacted text and graphics representing the current intensive surveillance we are all held subject to, and the vast amount of information that is both taken and withheld from us. Wireframe landscapes are used in t-shirt graphics, in embroideries and in stitching details — reminiscent of the movie Tron and the early days of the internet. These are often used in combination with Ancient Japanese artworks to further express maharishi’s perennial interest in the dualities between Eastern art and Western technologies.

Artworks show mythical beasts breaking out of these wireframe landscapes, illustrated with serpents or dragon-headed snakes for tails. Inspired by the Greek Chimera - a hybrid beast and omen of impending disaster — this expresses the dualist nature of the universe whilst also foretelling of the dangers inherent in a brave new digital world. Ancient Komainu - often referred to as Lion or Foo Dogs in the West - can be found in embroideries to celebrate the Chinese Lunar year of the Dog.

Relaxed silhouettes, dropped shoulders and oversized fits are found throughout the collection. maharishi’s reinterpretation of vintage military jackets this season includes the USAF B-15 flight jacket, Naval A-2 deck jacket and the Soviet Fufaika - or ‘Telogreika’ jacket.

maharishi’s traditional offering of organic cottons and hemp is augmented with a lightweight sand-washed silk twill, reinforced Japanese ripstop nylon, and melton wool developed by British heritage mill Abraham Moon & Sons. Bomber jackets, liners, kimonos and accessories utilise a 3-ply Italian nylon fleece developed by Italian mill Majocchi, consisting of a waterproof and windproof membrane fused between a microfibre initially developed for the military and a super soft fleece — an ideal expression of maharishi’s ethos of utilising technology whilst respecting tradition.”

To see the full lookbook, please go here.

Peace, JW

[foroelgrancapitan]

Stalingrado, diciembre de 1942. Johnny Shumate. Una patrulla de reconocimiento retorna a las líneas soviéticas, teniendo como telón de fondo el elevador de granos y el silo de cereales. El líder de la patrulla, un francotirador, lleva un rifle de francotirador Mosin-Nagant M1891/30 equipado con una mira telescópica de 3,5. También tiene un subfusil PPSh-41 de 7,62 para el combate cercano. El segundo francotirador del par, una mujer, lleva un SVT-40 de 7.62 × 54mmR un rifle de carga automática equipado con mira telescópica. Los rifles de carga automática erán preferidos por las mujeres por su reducido retroceso y que erán menos extenuantes por su armazón más pequeño. Ambos francotiradores usan trajes de camuflaje con patrones de amebas. El tercer miembro de la patrulla lleva una carabina Mosin-Nagant M1938 y lleva la gorra ushanka al contrario de los cascos M1942 de sus camaradas. El cuarto miembro de la patrulla lleva una ametralladora ligera Degtyaryev DP-27 de 7.62 × 54mmR y lleva un traje de combate acolchado telogreika y botas de fieltro valenki. http://ift.tt/2nYaxAX http://ift.tt/2CawFvf