William tightly gripped his rifle as he looked over body after body, checking that each of them was truly dead before taking their weapons. As he did he also checked the faces of every one of them. He was in search of a face he hoped not to see.
The unions had control of all the cities by now. What remained of the old government had fled to Canada with their tail between their legs. There were still, however, many small royalist groups still active in the countryside.
This band never saw the ambush coming. They had only numbered two dozen and the syndicalists had had a company of more than a hundred. In the end, two dozen royalists lay dead and only four syndicalists.
'Dumb bastards', William thought to himself as he searched another royalist's body, 'Like any of those rich pricks will care that you got killed for them.'
The body thankfully didn't have the face he was looking for. William grabbed the rifle and slung it behind his back
…
William met Leith in the army in 1917. William had volunteered. Leith had been conscripted.
Leith was a stern and quiet man. William talked too much. They ended up suiting each other just fine as friends in the trenches. When one had to take night watch, the other would always join them.
William wasn't affected by the trenches, or the smell, or the constant shellings by artillery. He often lightly joked that they would be home by christmas, it was only a question of which year's christmas.
Then the battles came. Most of their company was wiped out in a single battle. Men had been torn apart by machine gun fire, blown apart by artillery, or choked to death on gas.
William soon learned that his mother had died while he was off fighting the war.
William had been quieter after that, his jokes got darker, but Leith was always there and always the same. Sometimes he reminded William more of a dog than a man: supportive, quiet, loyal.
Then the war began to crumble. They barely made it out of France alive when the Germans broke through during their Spring offensive of 1919.
More died. More were mangled beyond measure. More were butchered.
But the Crown and parliament swore to fight on even after France fell into revolution and Civil war just like Russia. They were shipped off to Asia. They fought on for years in a pointless and hopeless war. All the while, the bodies continued to pile higher and higher.
Eventually, it ended.
William had cried in joy. Leith had looked ready to kill somebody.
When they returned home all they were met with was a people as tired and hungry as they were. Unemployment was rampant. People struggled to just put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads.
Leith never left his side through it all. They scraped by on their pensions as best they could.
They tried to never discuss the war. It only caused fights between the two.
"It was a pointless war!", William would scream, "So many died for nothing!"
"We were asked to serve and we served", Leith would say, never raising his voice.
They drifted apart after that. They hardly spoke or saw each other.
William had nothing left. Then a young lady had found him collapsed in an alley, stinking of cheap alcohol.
Her name was Victoria.
She cleaned him up even though she was no better off than him. She took him to a political rally held in an abandoned warehouse.
The man on the stage spoke with anger and passion. About the pointless war. About the countless dead. And about their destroyed lives. All of it only for the benefit of the upper classes who sucked at the common people's pain and suffering like leeches to sustain themselves. They had to break the chains.
William had found meaning. He had found hope.
He joined the Union.
When William had found Leith again and first told him about the union, Leith had looked nearly ready to beat him to death.
"They're fucking Republicans and Syndies", Leith said 'republicans' and 'syndies' like they were the most horrid curses to ever be spoken.
"Yes?", William said in confusion. He knew Leith wouldn't take Syndicalism as well as he had, but instead he seemed totally appalled by it.
"Bunch of traitors", Leith spat.
"Traitors to what?", William asked angrily, "A parliament who sent them to be butchered? The rich who steal from them? A king who doesn't care about th-".
William was lying on the ground. His nose was bleeding. Leith still held his fist out in the air from the punch for a few seconds like he was frozen in place. He glared down at William as he shoved his hands back in his pockets.
"God save the King", was all Leith said before walking off.
That was the last time William had seen him.
When the revolution began, William was one of the first to rise up.
…
William checked the last dead royalist. He wasn't here.
William headed back to the small camp the militia company had made.
'We've won', he realized that night as he restlessly laid awake in his tent, 'The Chains are broken'.
…
The Canadian air was cold as Leith stepped onto the dock from the ship.
All around him thousands more made they're way down the docks. They were exiles.
Lost. Betrayed. Defeated.
But they would not lose hope. They would not give in like the traitors had. They would fight on.
'We will take it back.'