4447 Miles

Hum along if you don't know the words. It's a long way to Vladivostok, it's a long way to go--no? The temperature as I write this post is 14 in Vladivostok, a city in the easternmost reaches of Russia, 4447 air miles from Kyiv, where it is 37 degrees and raining.

On my mind is a father-soldier, or son, brother, husband-soldier from Vladivostok perhaps killed in the Ukraine while serving his master's self-delusions of geopolitical grandeur. Maybe his family mourns his loss and cheers his sacrifice. My instinct tells me otherwise, but I certainly have no up close and personal insight into the political spirit of--well, anybody really.

Perhaps his body will be trucked to Moscow and then shipped to Vladivostok via the Trans-Siberian Railway, a seven-day journey. After all, it's a long way to Vladivostok.

Alexander the Great--I'll let the historical epithet stand--died roughly 1760 miles from home. It was a long way back to Macedonia.

I guess the dead Russian's family would be notified before the return of his body. Maybe the word remains etches a deeper and truer picture. 

Pity a French soldier serving as part of Napoleon's assault on Russia in 1812. Even if he survived the Battle of Borodino 1600-plus miles from Paris, a successful escape home was unlikely. 

Ah, the fodderland, the mudderland. You know.

The German soldier killed at El-Alamein, 2860 miles from Berlin.

The Japanese soldier killed at Midway Island, 2500 miles from Tokyo.

The Roman soldier killed at Hadrian's Wall, 1460 miles from home.

Man, it's a long way to Vladivostok. It's a long way to go.