DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers Hidekaz Himaruya

THE CALL OF THE WILD


NOTES

EXPLANATION OF TERRITORY: The world in The Call of the Wild is based on early medieval Europe. There are no official countries, only territories belonging to each individual clan. A large territory has several clans. Depending on the territory, the clans may be unified under one ruler or not. The unified clans are called Empires.

I'll use the Isles as an example, since it was previously seen in "Renegades". The Isles as one large territory is the equivalent of the country, but within it there are several different clans and each clan is made up of several packs. It follows the same hierarchy as most historic European nations. The Clan Leader is the absolute ruler of each clan, like a king; the pack-leader is the Clan Leader's representative in each pack, like a lord; and the pack-members are the commoners of the clan. A single territory's clans might be allies or rivals.

There are three large territories on the Mainland whose clans are all unified under one ruler each, like three different kingdoms. Those territories are described below as being: the Western Empire, the Eastern Empire, and the Southern Empire. These Empires are generally better politically and socially organized than the independent clans of their neighbours, and each have a standing army that employs full-time soldiers, as opposed to a militia force. This is necessary because these three Empires are old enemies of each other and have been at war for generations. Unlike the clan rivalries of the Isles, when an Empire declares war on an enemy it effects every pack within it. (i.e. On the Isles, individual clans may have rivalries with each other without effecting other clans; in the Empires, however, once war is declared then every pack in the Empire is automatically at war.)

NOTE: The clan that Francis formerly belonged to was an independent territory in the south-west, but it had recently (fifteen years ago) been conquered by the Southern Empire.

GLOSSARY OF TERMS:

NORTHERN CLANS — Scandinavia

WESTERN EMPIRE — The Germanic States

EASTERN EMPIRE — The U.S.S.R. and Finland

SOUTHERN EMPIRE — The Roman Empire

THE ISLES — The British Isles and Ireland

THE LOW COUNTRIES — The Netherlands, Belgium, and Luxembourg


INTERLUDE

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This Interlude is set eight years after the events of "Renegades".

CAST OF CHARACTERS (in order of appearance):

PRUSSIA — Gilbert Beilschmidt

RUSSIA — Ivan Braginsky


WESTERN EMPIRE

EASTERN BORDER

Invaders!" shouted an Alpha-pup. He grabbed an iron-headed mallet and swung forcefully against a titanic bell, his sworn duty to the pack he served. Its voice was loud and long and it seemed to reverberate throughout the pup as he struck it over-and-over, sending vibrations up his wiry arms and into his clenched teeth. He stood atop a tall, wooden watchtower in the middle of a wet potato field, which faced eastward. "Invaders to the east! Everyone get behind the wall!" he cried as he pounded relentlessly on the bell. He struck it until he was deaf to everything else.

In the field below, dozens of pack-members ran for the protective stonewalls of the pack's stronghold. Alphas clutched dirty agricultural tools like weapons—scythes, hoes, pitchforks—and covered the retreat of the Omegas, who dropped everything, grabbed their pups, and ran. Dozens of frightened pack-members crowded at the gates, replaced by soldiers, who charged to the field in a defensive formation. They wore stark black-and-white tunics. The opposing force wore dreary steel-grey. They emerged from the forest like an angry torrent, howling a uniform battle-cry like a behemoth to instill fear. There were too many of them and they were much too organized for it to be a raid. It was a premeditated attack. The steadfast soldiers of the Western Empire growled in warning, but the Easterners didn't slow. They advanced steadily, crushing the hardy crop as they marched, destroying it.

The young bell-ringer leapt down from the watchtower and sprinted toward the defensive line. His heart was pounding madly as his legs worked fast, carrying him. His speed was the reason he had been given the prestigious yet dangerous job of lookout, despite his being only thirteen-years-old. The Easterners' howls chased him; so did their steady pursuit. It sounded like the swell of a wicked storm. He was the last pack-member to reach the stronghold and the soldiers closed ranks as he flew past them.

The pup's Alpha-father grabbed his skinny forearm and pulled him close. Without preface, he said:

"Find your brother and get out. Go west. Stay off the highroad. Tell anyone you meet to evacuate. Run as fast as you can to the Great House and tell them we need reinforcements. Now go." He pushed an unsheathed dagger into the Alpha-pup's hand. "Protect your brother," said the warrior, squeezing the pup's arm so tightly it bruised. "Protect the Empire."

The red-eyed Alpha-pup nodded bravely. He was terrified. He said: "Yes, sir."

"Good boy, Gilbert," said his Alpha-father, touching Gilbert's ghost-pale cheek. Then he shoved the pup back through the closing gates, and yelled:

"NOW GO!"


The young Alpha-pup's pale face was freckled with blood. He walked slowly, like a sleepwalker, through the carnage of the battlefield, dodging dozens of mangled corpses. His comrades stepped carelessly, disregarding the dead from both sides. One spit on the face of a Western soldier after pilfering his purse. He was a captain, a huge and mean-tempered Alpha who punished the younger pups for sport. The Alpha-pup waited until he had left, then snuck over, knelt down, and closed the corpse's sightless eyes.

He was eleven-years-old and, in accordance with the law, had been serving in the Eastern Empire's Army for nearly a year now. (Alpha-pups were conscripted at ten-years-old for ten years of mandatory service.) He had been at training in the Capital until recently, practising hand-to-hand combat and performing the tasks that none of the older Alphas wanted to do. As a result, he and the other hundreds of conscripted Alpha-pups spent most of their early years on their hands-and-knees polishing weapons, scrubbing floors, peeling vegetables, and doing the laundry: all Omega tasks, since Omegas were not allowed in the barracks. He had never set foot on a battlefield before today. Most pups didn't see battle until they had come of-age at sixteen. But the Tsar had been impatient. He hadn't wanted to wait for the more seasoned units—the Empire's main force—to return from the South. The Western Empire presented too good a target, left defenceless with most of their force in the South, as well. In truth, the Western soldiers were better trained, but they were few; the Eastern Empire had a significantly larger population that had simply overpowered the West. The Westerners had held out for as long as they could while the Eastern troops kept attacking, like a torrent of water crashing upon rocks. But eventually those rocks had eroded enough for the Easterner soldiers to flood into the pack's stronghold, slaughtering everyone: soldiers and civilians; Alphas, Omegas, and pups.

The Alpha-pup pressed a hand to his trembling mouth when he looked down into the bloodied face of a pup younger than he. He dropped his short-sword and stumbled back, shaking. He tripped over a corpse and fell. When he looked, he saw a young Omega—seventeen, or eighteen-years-old—clutching a toddler. Both of their throats had been cut. The Alpha-pup gagged, then rolled over and vomited, retching and gasping.

"Comrade!"

The Alpha-pup froze. The captain's shadow fell over him.

"On your feet, pup."

The Alpha-pup wiped his mouth as he stood, blinking furiously to dry his eyes. He faced the captain, but he didn't look at him. He stared at the stonewall behind him.

"Is that your sword, pup?"

He nodded. Seconds later, the captain's fist struck him hard, sending him to the ground. His head swam for a minute, then he found the short-sword's handle shoved back into his hand. Absently, he took it.

"It's clean," the captain said in disapproval. "Were you not ordered to leave no one alive?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then why is your sword clean? Are you a coward?"

"No, Captain."

The captain snorted. "I think you are. I think you're too soft." He spit on the pup. "I think you need a lesson in following orders." He grabbed a handful of the pup's hair and pulled his head back, looking down into violet eyes. "Who is your commanding officer? What is your name, Comrade?"

The Alpha-pup swallowed. "Ivan Braginsky."

"Well, Ivan," the captain grinned wickedly, "consider this a private life-lesson."