The soldiers immediately started drinking, and because communism is all about sharing, they invited everyone in Saint Petersburg to join them. The then-capital was crippled stupid by weeks of drunken shenanigans so epic, the Bolsheviks had to put the war on hold just to deal with it. It was like a Purge Night at Caligula's house.
After the commissar of the Winter Palace, appointed by Lenin, ended up drunk on the job, they tried to cut the city off by flooding the wine cellar ... only to find people diving in for it. Russians likewise jumped in the frozen Neva River to rescue thrown wine bottles, and when the authorities just started dumping it out on the ground, people dove head first into the gutters to drink and fought one another for precious liquor-stained snow.
Then they'd pee on the ground and get drunk on pee-stained snow.
Saint Petersburg's insatiable craving for booze was so strong it collapsed in upon itself, creating a drunken singularity from which no sobriety could escape until all within the city's orbit had been sucked dry of alcohol. The party ended over a month later when the cellars had dried up, and Saint Petersburg awoke with the Tsar of all headaches. And that's how the Soviet Union was born: by violently and passionately confirming every stereotype ever uttered about Russians.