June 28, 1914
Sarajevo, Bosnia
The large crowd made Roderich uneasy. The brown-haired Austrian didn't like the noise and the jostling. Once again, he turned to his Archduke, Frans Ferdinand.
"Franz are you sure this is a good idea? I sense that not all those screaming are in your favor." The cheerful, slightly pudgy man's face darkened for a moment, then cleared.
"Roderich, Roderich. You worry too much."
"That is what it means to be a nation. Caring for our rulers, or soon-to-be rulers."
"Oh, relax. No one will hurt me. Like the mayor said, terrorists wouldn't try twice in one day. Besides, no one died anyway." The Archduke pulled at the neck of his military uniform. "And I have you, at any rate. I can hardly die when the country himself is around, can I?"
Roderich winced. "Please, Franz, not so loud. Only you and your uncle know. Oh- I left Elizabeta with him for the day, is that fine?"
"Yes yes of course." Franz made one final adjustment to his hat, then walked through the doors to where his wife was waiting. Then, together, they descended the steps of Sarajevo City Hall. Roderich followed behind, acting the faithful attendant.
As the motorcar drove off, Roderich tried to take Franz's unspoken advice and relax a little. But a feeling of unease remained firmly lost in his gut.
Vaguely, Roderich heard Franz tell the driver to head out to the hospital, so that he could see his wounded men. The driver nodded.
For a couple of minutes, nothing eventful happened. Then the driver, being unfamiliar with the streets of Sarajevo, took a wrong turn. This didn't alarm Roderich; it had happened before in history. But the feeling in stomach grew worse.
It was then that Roderich saw the young man.
He couldn't have been more than nineteen or so. Short hair, small mustache, nothing unusual. Until you got to his eyes.
They burned with hatred.
Roderich opened his mouth to yell the moment the gun was drawn, but he was too late. The two shots rang out, echoing in the alleyway.
The driver had by that time turned around. Franz and Sophie sat, poised as ever. Nothing was wrong.
But the pain Roderich felt, the pain so intense it blocked out almost everything else, stated otherwise. Franz spit out blood. Roderich watched as his wife cried, "For heaven's sake! What's happened to you?" and then collapsed. A bullet wound on Roderich's leg began bleeding.
"Sophie, dear. Sophie, dear, don't die! Stay alive for our children!" The Archduke, distraught, attempted to ignore his retainers, all of whom were pressing in on him, trying to see where he had been shot.
"It's nothing," Franz Ferdinand gasped. "Nothing." Even more people began to crowd, as the young assassin was being dragged away. Everyone was trying to assess the damage. Roderich was heading the other way as fast as his wounded leg would carry him.
He didn't need to see, not what he already knew. The newest wound, a hole in his neck, had already begun bleeding. Roderich's hands were stained red.
*O * O* O* O* O*
The next days passed in a blur. Roderich couldn't full remember what had led up to this moment. Many letters, and bargains. Treaties signed.
He had talked to Ludwig, and Francis, and Ivan. Arthur, too. Elizabeta had been there to comfort him. But none of that mattered.
It all boiled down to this moment.
They had asked for it. They had murdered the Archduke and his wife, goddamn Serbs.
The proud nation stood, back to his men- men who didn't know who or what he really was, but who would follow him, even into war.
The bullet-hole scar on Roderich's neck twinged, sending a spasm of pain down his body. He gritted his teeth and raised one blue-grey clad arm.
They would pay, those Serbs. Pay for the suffering and pain of a nation and all its people. And Roderich wanted to be the one to make that happen.
His hand swung downwards. The bombs behind him were fired, and across the Danube, Belgrade burst into flames and clouds of dust.
Austria stood, watching the city burn. In his eyes was reflected the glow of war- a war that would never be forgotten.
The War to End All Wars.
WWI had begun.
~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~
And now, what you've all been waiting for….. author's note time!
So, in case you hadn't gathered this yet, this story is set at the beginning of WWI. one of the main catalysts or this was when the Archduke of the Austria-Hungary Empire was murdered. Most countries in that era were already armed to the teeth. Austria had an alliance with Germany, while Russia, England, and France held another alliance- the triple entente. Austria, determined to crush the Serbs, opened fire on the capital, Belgrade, on June 23, 1914. the book I used for reference was
The assassins were from the recently annexed and taken over Bosnia, which had close ties with the Serbian empire. The assassins (there were 5) were given weapons and training in Serbia, who wished for the independence of Bosnia from Austria.
Before the Archduke and his wife, Sophie, were shot, one of the assassins had thorn a bomb in front of their motorcar, which injured two of Franz Ferdinand's attendants. They were taken to the hospital, and the mayor of Sarajevo promised that the terrorists wouldn't try twice in one day. After delivering a speech as per plan, Ferdinand and his wife went down the steps of Sarajevo City Hall, and were going to the hospital to check on Ferdinand's injured men. However, the driver took a wrong turn.
One of the assassins, a nineteen year old, stepped forward and shot twice. He was then taken away by the police. At first, as the driver of the car was going in reverse, no one thought anything had happened, because Sophie and Franz were still sitting upright.
As soon as they had begun to move, the dialogue in the story happened, and both of them died. Sophie was shot in the groin, and an artery was ruptured so she bled to death quickly. Franz died more slowly from a wound in his neck.
