"Hey."
Tapio was almost back to his hut's door. He stopped and sighed. The Nordic Soldier had not stopped pestering him the entire way back to his hut. At least, hadn't stopped trying to get his attention every few minutes. He lacked courage to upset Tapio, and instead had kept a few steps behind him and meekly attempted to get his attention.
However, this last one was slightly more forceful. And Tapio was close to his lodge and... and what? A good night's rest? A meal? Did he even keep his fish from the day?
Tapio turned to glare at the soldier. He couldn't even finish his full step forward.
"Y-you're going to read that?" he asked.
"Don't need to," said Tapio.
"It's... it's orders from the King."
"The king, my friend, has no interest in a washed up old sergeant like me. These," Tapio lifted up the scroll, "Are no more than a summons from an underling or some commander."
"Warchief Hugor Sorenson handed me that himself," said the soldier.
"Good for you," said Tapio.
"He speaks with the-"
Tapio had already turned around and walked to his hut. Next to his door was a small barrel of water. Next to that, was a gutter-system made of scrap metal what was collecting the melting snow from his hut's roof. It funneled it into a bucket lying beside the water barrel. Tapio moved the bucket aside, sloshing with water, and kneeled. He began to wash his hands and soon splashed his face with the cold water. Blood instantly stained the contents and he hoped he was washing it off his face.
"He speaks," said the soldier again, from somewhere behind Tapio, "For the king himself. There are invaders in the Kingdom!"
"I know. We have been introduced," said Tapio, "Very old friends of mine. Sounds like a job for the army."
"I think that is happening," said the soldier.
"What gave it away? The Warchief's interest in our visitors?" said Tapio.
"The outbreak of fighting along the eastern border," said the soldier, slightly more meekly, "I am sorry, are you yanking my beard?"
Tapio chuckled into the bucket of blood water before casting a glance over his shoulder, "You don't have a beard to yank, child."
"I am not a child."
Tapio rose with a sigh. The dampness of his face and hands caused the cold air to bite at him. But he was in no danger of frostbite. Never had been with his Nordic blood. Tapio turned to the young soldier.
"What is your name, Private?"
"Private Oscar Pederson, Sergeant Virtanen," said the soldier, "Messenger for the Nordic Armies."
"Is that it?" said Tapio, "No statement of title?"
"Title?" Oscar looked confused at first, before his eyes widened, "Oh, sir. Son of Matteo Pederson. Tribe... Scylding. I think."
"You think?" Tapio sighed, "Just what are they teaching in this military of the King's?"
"Sir... I'm from Anslo City," said Oscar, "Neither my father or I were very... traditional."
"Tradition?" Tapio shook his head, "Look, Private. I have already been drafted. I've survived a war. I cannot be drafted a second time. So you remind our Warchief-"
"It's not a draft."
Tapio sighed, "What?"
"It is a summons," said Oscar, "And it is addressed to you, Sergeant."
Tapio angrily retrieved the scroll, removing the ribbon and breaking the seal with more force than he intended. He hastily opened it and reviewed its contents.
"To Tapio Virtanen son of Roth Virtanen. You are summoned by Chief Skarsgard to attend an important meeting of Warchief Hugor Sorenson. This would relieve you of debts and obligations pertaining to: Skarsgard and a compensational purse. Make haste immediately."
The summons was signed by the seal of the Warchief as well as the mark of Chief Skarsgard. Tapio inhaled a bit, looking around into the woods for no reason in particular. He was drawn back by the young messenger suddenly whirring around defensively, his eyes scanning the woods around them.
"You are the messenger?"
"I am... assigned to you," said Oscar, "I am the messenger. However, I am to... accompany you."
"You are to ensure this summons is fulfilled," said Tapio, "Just you?"
Oscar met Tapio's eyes with hesitation. He winced.
"Do you think you could make me if you tried?" said Tapio.
"Sir, I don't have time to test that," said Oscar, "We have maybe two days to make it to the meeting place in the town of Byskaard. If we are to make it, we need to leave soon, Sergeant Virtanen."
Tapio sighed, before looking at the blood on his sleeve and blood on his clothes. Tapio looked up, seeing the worried eyes of the soldier.
"Alright," said Tapio, "But none of that Sergeant business. Call me Tapio. I need to get less bloodied clothes."
Tapio turned and entered his hut. Oscar let go of the breath he was keeping and went to follow him inside, but the door was shut on him too quickly. He looked around.
"Alright, then, Tapio," he said, then a little quieter, "And... Oscar. Than. Alright."
Tapio was inside a long while. When he emerged, he had changed his clothes.
He wore a fur coat he had been gifted after the war, and thicker pants he usually only wore when it was colder. He had changed into his rugged combat boots from his uniform, and had his pair of combat gloves sticking out of one of his coat's pockets. His satchel had been reorganized, filled now with food and provisions as well as some supplies.
Much to the surprise of Oscar, Tapio had also shaven. His gruff, scraggly, almost-beard had been shaved back, leaving only a long, walrus mustache that drooped past his mouth. His hair was also tied back into a loose pony tail.
He was also armed. He carried his service rifle, a bolt action of sturdy make. He also wore a weapons belt, where an actual service battle axe was holstered at his waist. It was slightly bigger than his hatchets had been, with an ingrained design and a longer wooden handle. He also had his Litenoks, a smaller axe-head that can be attached to the barrel of a rifle like a bayonets. He also had loops for grenades, of which he had none.
Tapio looked at the soldier, Oscar, who was just eyeing Tapio's rifle.
"Who were you talking to?" asked Tapio, "A moment ago?"
"Oh! Federick and Isilia," said Oscar, pointing to the road.
Tapio looked over to spy a motorized wagon, a very old model, with two people sitting at the driver's bench. They waved eagerly. Their wagon was ladened with possessions similar to what he had seen others leaving with for days, but they owned noticeably less leaving much of the back empty.
"They have agreed to take us to Hammakko," said Oscar, "I paid them a small fee. It will be faster than walking and we will need to rest less."
"Hammakko..." murmured Tapio.
"But we should get moving, they are eager to leave," said Oscar, "As am I. That patrol might not be a problem but their friends may. They would not have left the safety of Södomuonio if they had not already taken it. When they go looking for their men, they will be accompanied with armor."
Mechs, thought Tapio. That would not be good for them, at all. He looked back inside his hut, his mind seeing the pile of bloodied clothes he had left behind.
"We need to leave," said Tapio, "That was quick thinking, let's go."
Oscar eagerly turned to the wagon and walked swiftly toward it. Tapio took several steps that way before stopping and looking longingly back at his hut.
"Wait," said Tapio, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.
He hurried back into the hut, much to the dismay of Oscar. However, in a few moment he appeared again, struggling with the large, metal trunk. Oscar sighed before hurrying over to help out. They both grabbed handles on the side and walked it to the back of the wagon.
In passing, Tapio thanked the couple for their kindness and wished them the blessings of the gods.
"Honestly," said the mail driver, "We could use the coin, and having two soldiers watching our footsteps will help us feel better."
Tapio and Oscar wordlessly lifted the trunk onto the back of the wagon, pushing it forward. Oscar leapt up into the wagon and helped Tapio up as well. Tapio sat with his legs dangling off the side. Oscar saw leaning against the side of the wagon behind him.
Before they had settled the wagon's engine puttered louder, and soon they were heading down the road at a steady pace. Tapio watched with a sinking heart as his little cabin disappeared into the brush and was obscured. Soon he only had a spot on the road to look longingly at, and it was long until the road turned slightly, and even that was lost with distance.
And they were on their way. For a while, they were silent. Tapio held his rifle as if ready to use if at a moments notice. His eyes swept the road behind and the trees as they passed. He knew that if they were somehow in trouble of being ambushed it wouldn't be from behind, but still he watched ahead.
Oscar attempted to bring up conversation.
"So, Tapio, you were in the war?"
"That I was," answered Tapio.
"The Great War, huh? What was it like?"
Tapio groaned as he turned to look directly at the messenger, "You are quite young, yes? Too young to remember the war?"
"I was too young to fight in it," said Oscar, "But I remember the Great War. I used to watch as the new mechanized armor walked out for the first time."
"Oh yes," smiled Tapio, "All shiny and new, eh? That must have been riveting. You felt so much pride. You ever see the fighting?"
"No," answered Oscar, "I wanted to. I was a messenger during the war, but only for the local post. I never got close enough to see any fighting. Once I heard it."
"Than you are truly showing your age, child," said Tapio, "For I was there. I watched as iron giants fell and burned, trapping their crew inside to cook like a Yule feast. I watched as their metal warped and their oil bled onto the fields."
Oscar frowned in discomfort. His thoughts racing. Tapio felt a little satisfaction, putting this young man into his place.
"You do not wish to have partaken in the 'War to End all Wars'. What hog scum," Tapio patted down his coat, looking for his pipe, "I served my time for my King. I defended our lands, and invaded our enemies. I sought revenge on the lives of my brothers, and warded off revenge of my victims. I tasted blood of many men. I heard the cries of Valholl and the screams of the dying."
"I yield," said Oscar, his hands batting away at air, "It was not something one should wish for. I know."
"What is it? Your father a warrior?" said Tapio, "Do you have honor that needs quenching?"
"Honor? Valholl? You don't really buy into any of that, do you?" asked Oscar
Tapio shrugged, "I am unsure I have enough coins to buy into anything anymore."
"My father was a carpenter," said Oscar, "Built small boats sometimes. I always dreamed of... leaving. I did not want to be like him. I did not want to be like anybody. I just wanted to go. See the world. The Tundra North. The fields of Polania. The Deserts of Arabia. There are so many more wondrous sights to see in our world."
"Why didn't you go?" asked Tapio.
"What was I to do?" said Oscar, "Walk to Saxony? No, the war changed everything. For the worse... and for the better. As a messenger I traveled with newspapers. I saw all the wonders of the world come to life. Airships, Electricity, Giant Mechs, Nikola Tesla's inventions? Oh, if I could fly someday. To see the world in an airship or aerial plane."
Tapio shrugged at this, "It feels like little is keeping you here now. Haven't you heard? The war is over."
"Is it?" asked Oscar.
Tapio went silent for quite some time. He returned his attention behind them, and brooded on his experiences.
Oscar awoke the small wonder he, himself, had about one day owning his own ship and becoming a trader. Sailing the ocean to distant nations and having experiences. However what Oscar saw as fascinating, he could only see as weapons now.
Airships came later in the war, and were crude. However, the engines of an airship or the machine gun barks from aerial planes were enough to chill even a Nordic Man's blood. The electric hum of electrified barb wire haunted the dreams of many raiding parties. The massive mechs were both a gift from on high and the horrific nightmares of entire battalions.
It was not long until Tapio found himself back in a hospital wagon. He felt sick, and he looked down at the wound in his stomach. It was a scratch, but he would live. However the medic had said the scratches on his hands had gotten infected. Perhaps gangrenous. He stared out the back of the wagon, praying he didn't puke at the sight of the legless soldier they had stuck next to him.
Tapio was snapped out of it by Oscar, tapping his trunk behind him and saying his name.
"You there?" said Oscar when Tapio turned, "I asked what is this? Reclaimed scrap? It's nice."
"Yes, from a Rusviet mech," said Tapio, "When the Iron Harvest first ended there was not as much demand for the scrap as the Kingdom anticipated. Many villages and work crews were left with plenty of scrap. To assist, his majesty commissioned works to benefit the kingdom and those most affected by the war."
Tapio's eyes drifted to a far off farm, off the road they were on. A mech loomed in the distance, towering over the farmhouse. It was outfitted with a singular, massive scythe and had a cart behind it with complicated looking farming equipment. Tapio pointed out to it.
"Equipment such as those were commissioned and given to the people who were most affected. Some well off traders even bought them to loan out to the distant farms. In return, local demand for our oil stimulated the economy and we received much needed lumber and food from the immediate increase in production. Or that was what we were sold."
"I remember that," said Oscar, "Years of scraps and rations and suddenly we had feasts weekly."
"Yeah, well collectors also wanted their cut," said Tapio, "and that brings us to these chests. They were gifted to veterans. The survivors. We were told it was for our service. A trunk worth a great deal more than we made and made out of the shells of our enemies greatest weapons."
"So what is in it?" asked Oscar, "Why did you bring it with us? Is it worth so much to you."
"No exactly," said Tapio, "It is difficult to explain, I suppose. I, like many survivors like me, keep my second 'generous gift' from our king inside."
"Is it geld?" said Oscar, his eyes lighting up, "Are there riches inside?"
Tapio sighed, "The opposite, I am afraid. We were permitted our uniforms and equipment, including a small amount of supplies. It was less of a gift and more of an... order."
"An order?"
"It's not really a gift to give your former soldiers uniforms and equipment so if needed they can be dressed and armed for battle at a moment's notice," said Tapio, "It's less of a gift when you order them to accept the gift and take it home."
Oscar stared at the trunk for a long while with his brows furrowed. Tapio turned his attention back to the road. He frowned at a couple struggling with their wagon. Tapio's wagon passed them, swiftly, and barely slowed.
Tapio wondered if they had passed his hut earlier. He didn't recognize them. He noted how quickly they were going, impressed that this older motorized wagon was making such great time.
"Sergeant- urr, Tapio," said Oscar from behind, "If you have a uniform and supplies in this trunk, why are you not wearing them or outfitted in them?"
"Because I was not drafted," said Tapio, "I was summoned."
"You yourself just saw how close we were to the Rusviet," said Oscar, "Don't you think now is the best time to be outfitted to fight them?"
"Not if I can help it."
Tapio felt uncomfortable at these sorts of questions. He shouldn't have to defend his decision in clothing to who is practically a child. He shot a glare over his shoulder, then spotted the young man's heavy grenade launcher.
"Have you even reloaded that thing yet?" said Tapio.
Oscar looked confused for a moment, before his eyes shot down to the launcher in his hand.
"Oh, no," said Oscar, looking a little embarrassed, "I was never supposed to fire it, I think."
"What? Why would they give it to you?"
"Well, you see, I... had an accident," said Oscar, "With a sub machine gun. They gave me this instead. As a messenger, I should never be risking my message to fight an enemy on my own. They said I should only ever shoot if I really need to and if I really needed to I'd need a bigger weapon."
"You had an accident and they gave you explosives?"
"No. They gave me a heavier lesson. I've never fired it before."
"Yes you have. In close combat, too. I saw you take a man's leg off."
Oscar shrugged, "Well we're heading away from trouble, now."
Tapio sighed, before motioning for Oscar to come closer. Oscar was hesitant, but then slid over to the edge, legs dangling off like Tapio.
"Let me see this," Tapio took the launcher from Oscar, giving it a once over, "See this here? It's a lock to keep the weapon's chamber in place. Pull this out and then back like this.
The launcher clicked and the barrel dropped open. The grenade's shell jumped out of the chamber, falling to the road below and clanging off to a ditch. Tapio pointed inside the launcher to catch Oscar's attention again.
"You load the new shell in like this. Close and lock the launcher, and you are good to go. However this is one of the newer models. I bet if you-"
With a flick of his wrist, the large launcher's barrel was brought up and clicked into place. Now, without a shell, the launcher looked hollow in the middle with only the metal housing holding the barrel up.
Tapio gave the launcher back to Oscar, who looked it over, before opening it again.
"So in that trunk you have all that Nordic Warrior stuff?" asked Oscar, "A helmet, a sword, maybe a little seal leather?"
"The Spangenhelm?" asked Tapio, "Yes, they were standard issue during the war to most."
"A bit... old fashioned?"
"Very useful," said Tapio, playfully knocking on Oscar's visor, "What good is that going to do against shrapnel, hmm?"
"What good is any of it against anything else?" asked Oscar, "Sure, the helmet may protect against debris or an occasional bullet. Nordic men died to artillery shells, gas, and flames like any other."
"Wrong, young blood," said Tapio, "Nordic troops died exceptionally gloriously. I have seen it first hand."
"I just do not see what swords and armor can do against an automated gun or a wonderous, metal behemoth."
"It is because you have not seen what I have seen," said Tapio, "And you have not lived as I have lived."
"Gloriously?" asked Oscar.
"Haunted," said Tapio, "You mock the blade, but witnessed with your own eyes Nordic prowess with a simple hatchet."
Oscar smirked, nudging Tapio, "That was a tale to tell, yeah? You moved like a beast."
"That is because I am one," said Tapio, "Pray you never are forged by the fires of war as I have. May you never experience it."
Tapio took the opportunity to slide backwards, and take up Oscar's spot lying down. With a swift exchange, he took Tapio's empty launcher and thrust his rifle into his hands.
"I trust you know how to use this and there will be no further 'accidents'," stated Tapio, before closing his eyes, "Your watch is up. I will rest before the evening and watch through the night."
Oscar was stunned, but did not push further as Tapio sunk down further and his eyes never opened again.