Seongnam Base, Empire of Kokuria, Diarchy of Kokuria-Yamatai
January 26, 1932 EC
Warrant Officer Batory Dmovski
707th Special Weapons and Operations Reconnaissance Detachment, KISHIN
"… Let the Heavens bear witness…
… That as long as I still live…
… And as long as I wear the black of the Raven…
… None mortal or divine shall endanger the Diarchy.
… In the name of the Heavens…
… And in the name of the Two Houses…
… Dmovski Batory swears eternal fealty.
… May our nations last ten thousand years."
/
Fort Amatriain, Principality of Gallia
March 2, 1935 EC
Private Batory Andrzejevski
Gallian Militia 3rd Company
"I swear upon my honor
That as long as I live and I wear this uniform,
I shall not falter in my duties as a member of the Militia
In defending blessed Gallia.
In the name of the Valkyrur,
And in the name of House Randgriz,
I, Batory Andrzejevski, pledge to fight to the end.
The Valkyrur shall be my witness this day."
/
Northern Atlantic Ocean
July 15, 1933 EC
Batory Andrzejevski
KISHIN had handled the logistics of his long-term operation well. They had drafted documents for him to use in Gallia ahead of time, producing visas for entry into Gallia and even going so far as to draft a letter of recommendation with the cooperation of the University of Hwando to urge the Gallian University of Yuell to accept him as a student.
As he lay alone with his thoughts in his second-class cabin onboard the Eastern Star, an Edinburgher-operated passenger liner ferrying travelers between the Edinburgher city of Appledore and the Yamataian port city of Chiba, Batory reviewed the logistics of the trip in his head. He had lost count of how many times he had done this while onboard the liner, but this was a habit that had been drilled into him in his youth.
First, Batory was to disembark at Appledore and secure a cabin with funds provided by KISHIN onboard another passenger liner traveling between Appledore and the Gallian port city of Anthold. If the trip remained on schedule, this new ship was to be the Polaris, also operated by an Edinburgher company.
Second, Batory was to use his documents to solve the problems that were the Gallian customs officials and then enter the country. He was to find transportation to Randgriz as soon as possible and link up with the Diarchic ambassador in the embassy – whether it was Sugihara or the one he was to replace was irrelevant, as both would be informed about the operation. From there, Batory would receive any other data or equipment as needed before being sent on his way.
Third, Batory was to find his way to Yuell and present his letter of recommendation to the local university to be admitted into the Class of 1937. He and his handlers explicitly chose Yuell as his final destination due to its strategic location in central Gallia. It was close enough to Randgriz to join the Gallian war machine (or in the worst case scenario, link up again with the Diarchic diplomatic staff for an immediate evacuation), but also close enough to the Imperial border to routinely make trips into enemy territory to observe Imperial military assets.
Fourth, Batory was to use his vacations between each quarter of studies to venture into the Empire to gather direct data about the Imperial forces in the vicinity of Gallia, as well as data regarding the Gallian military itself by sneaking into Gallian bases. While KISHIN's human agents in the Federation and Empire would continue feeding the Diarchy information about the troops arrayed in the main expected battle lines, the warrant officer would cover the entirety of this minuscule country retrieving data regarding troop deployment plans, force readiness, and other factors for both Gallia and the Empire.
Fifth, Batory was to join the Gallian Militia if at all possible with the assistance of the Diarchic embassy in case of an Imperial (or Federate) invasion. This was ultimately chosen due to the fact that the diplomatic mission wouldn't have enough military equipment on hand for extended military operations. Leeching off the Gallian stockpile was simply more economical and allowed for more plausible deniability for the Diarchy if the worst came to pass and Batory was killed in the line of fire; and seeing as the Gallian regular forces very rarely allowed foreigners to enlist, the next best option was the Militia.
Regardless of whether he could ultimately join the Militia, the Crow was to cause as much damage to any invading force as needed until the five-year deployment expired or until the Diarchic diplomatic mission in Gallia was forced to permanently evacuate, and to continue updating the KISHIN attaché in Gallia on enemy military assets. The logic was that if the Empire (or the Federation) was able to find the time and resources to commit heavy vehicles or otherwise unusual military assets to this small country, odds were that it would have similar vehicles elsewhere against larger foes – such as the Diarchy. How he caused said damage and how he sent the attaché said updates, KISHIN left to his imagination.
As little of it as I have, Batory thought.
Finally satisfied that he had thoroughly reviewed this course of action, Batory sat up in his cot and dressed himself to head to the promenade deck. Augmented or not, he needed fresh air and a wide-open space to clear his mind. Even with all of this planning, a horrible thought clawed at him from deep inside.
Am I doing enough planning and preparation? Even with me inventing ad hoc solutions on the spot, am I doing all I can to guarantee success now?
Yes, he really needed the fresh air.
After checking to make sure that nothing was out of place and that he would be easily able to tell if something was when he came back, Batory quietly exited his cabin, locked the door behind him, and made his way to the upper levels of the Eastern Star.
A fierce sunset greeted the incognito warrant officer as he finally reached the open air, the air as pleasantly salty as could be expected from the ocean breeze and the Atlantic itself placid and shimmering. Batory made his way to the edge and took the opportunity to lean on the railing outlining the promenade deck. The Atlantic stretched to the horizon before his eyes – never-ending, brilliant, and absolutely mesmerizing.
Batory didn't know how long he remained standing there, still and unmoving as a column at the edge of the deck and staring into the horizon. Frankly, he didn't care. Scenes like the Atlantic at twilight reminded him that despite everything he suffered through and everything he would ever reasonably be expected to amount to, the world was still out there to be admired in full. Batory knew he would perhaps never truly be able to take advantage of it all – not necessarily because he was dumb, but more because he simply didn't expect to live that long.
But all of this was out here for him to see, right now. And that was enough for him.
5:00 Non-Combatant Range 5 No Action
Batory sensed movement behind him to his right long before he heard the footsteps. They were slow and methodical, and betrayed motion toward him.
He did not move a muscle in response. After all, he trusted his inner voice, the thing that had kept him alive through the Border War and before. If the inner voice said the contact was non-hostile and that no action was required, it was going to be harmless.
But if it wasn't, Batory found it highly unlikely he was in any danger. Even if he were, it wouldn't be too much work to throw the danger over the side.
"Beautiful sight, isn't it?" A gravelly yet kind voice spoke to him from the direction of the non-hostile entity. "Someone should take a picture."
Batory looked behind him to see a man over 180 cm in height, roughly his own height; unlike the Crow, this man seemingly had the muscle to match. He sported a closely cropped head and a wide jaw, and was dressed in the manner of a working-class man. Must be third class, Batory surmised. I haven't seen him in second class, and first-class passengers wouldn't be caught dead dressed in that manner.
"… Yes," the Crow replied quietly. "… Not too many opportunities to see such things."
The other man smiled. "No, there aren't. Not unless you're a sailor and find an excuse to keep working this line."
The man finally approached the railing to Batory's right and also leaned on the railing. Batory still sensed no hostility in the slightest from this man, and allowed him to strike up a conversation. The man identified himself as Jerzy and was a man of Edinburgh. Born to a Viszevaric family and still able to speak the Viszevaric language, he had been working as a shipyard machinist for almost two decades by this point, and was returning home from the Diarchy after spending some time in Kokuria gathering information about Kokurian shipbuilding techniques on behalf of his company.
Being able to speak to another Viszevar did wonders for Batory's mood that day, regardless of whether anyone knew it – such was Batory's passive ability to almost never betray any hint of outward emotion on his face. Before he knew it, the conversation had flowed to the point where Batory "admitted" that he was going to Gallia to "study" after a brief service in the Diarchic Army.
This first part technically was true, if one considered "keeping an eye on Europan military activities" to be studying. The second part was also somewhat true – he was more of a liaison than anything else, but spent the vast majority of his time during the Border War being attached to the 1st Mechanized Brigade.
"I've noticed," Jerzy remarked in Viszevaric, "That you're awfully quiet for a man of your age. I've seen other combat vets barely out of their teens that are more lively than you."
Batory shrugged. "… I suppose I am… I have many things to think about."
Jerzy laughed. "Everyone does, Ur-Andrzejevski (1). Everyone does. But this doesn't seem like you have much to think about, and more like you have much to be worried about."
Batory remained silent for a moment. This man was much more perceptive than his appearance suggested.
"… You are correct," the Crow admitted. "… I have many things to think about and worry about."
"So what do you worry about?"
Batory exhaled slowly. "… I worry about failure, Jerzy-ur… I worry about not making my life count."
Jerzy slowly shook his head with a smile. "Concerns that plague the best of us as well."
"… That may be so…" replied the warrant officer in an unbroken low volume. He returned his gaze to the horizon. "… But in the end, only I can say whether I have done all that I could, after all I have done in my life to prepare for everything."
He turned his fact back to the giant man beside him. "… If I cannot do something, I consider that to be a personal failure I've failed to address properly."
Batory saw Jerzy give a sigh. "There is a difference between being a reasonable critic of yourself and flagellating yourself for failing to do things that are impossible in the first place, fiu (2)," said the other Viszevar.
Jerzy now looked at him, his smile still intact on his rugged face. "You have to be totally at peace with yourself, with who you are. Know what you can do, and know what is beyond what you can do. Let go of the things you can't change. That's how I've lived my life so far."
Jerzy grinned wider as he gave the younger Viszevar a light slip on his shoulder. "The wife and I've been very happy because of it. Set your expectations at a reasonable level, and your life becomes that much easier."
Batory looked back at the Atlantic and processed this advice. Yes, he was at peace with what he was, or so he thought. He knew that he would never be a regular human being, and that he was more or less a weapon of the state to kill and ultimately be killed. He was simply different from regular people, and would perhaps always be.
But… to think about what was out of his reach in the course of his duties and to make peace with the fact that he could not change that? That was foreign to him. Batory was indoctrinated to achieve the best outcome at all times – to let go of things, to admit defeat, was something that he struggled with. He would most likely continue to struggle with this thought right until he shuffled off this mortal plane of existence hopefully in a way that mattered.
Batory abhorred the thought at the time. To admit that something was beyond his power to change in carrying out his missions was to admit that he was not the best he could be. And after all that he had suffered and achieved, often at the expense of the others at Seongnam for which he still never entirely forgave himself, it seemed to be a lasting insult. He did not claw his way up to where he was, one bloody, painful grasp at a time, just to admit that something he needed to change was beyond his power to change.
Still, the Crow had to admit that Jerzy was right. He needed to focus on what he could do, instead of trying to do everything well. He only had so much time and energy.
Batory never could stop being his own worst critic. He'd been molded into something surpassing regular humanity, and he couldn't break free of the thought that being unable to do something in the line of duty was tantamount to him being flawed more so than he ought to have been.
But he could try to break free. He could try while he had the chance.
Batory looked back at Jerzy, still looking at him and seemingly waiting for a response.
"… I will try to put that into practice… Not sure how well I can do so, but I will try."
The giant nodded in satisfaction. "Sometimes, to try is enough."
The Atlantic continued to stretch out beyond the horizon.
/
Fort Amatriain, Principality of Gallia
March 9, 1935 EC
Private First Class Batory Andrzejevski
Gallian Militia 3rd Company
It had been a week since Batory had formally joined the Gallian Militia as Batory Andrzejevski. The entire swearing-in ceremony had disturbed him on a fundamental level. He had already sworn at age 16 to serve the Diarchy without fail or die in the process, but now he had sworn allegiance to another nation that officially had no close ties to the Diarchy or had any officially shared strategic objectives.
Batory had to actively remind himself that KISHIN explicitly sanctioned such actions. To be so inflexible as to stop at taking oaths of loyalty of other nations when it came to completing objectives would have meant a considerable loss in the operative's effectiveness. As such, as long as the Crow still upheld the Diarchic oath higher than the others, they would be considered as having done nothing wrong in the pursuit of serving the Houses of Valhae and Izumi.
All of this is still so wrong, shuddered the Viszevar internally as he had stepped away from the place in which he gave his oath to Gallia. It cheapens the oath that I made to the Two Houses. I've given up too much to turn my back on them.
I can't serve two masters. Can I?
That being said, the rest of the recruitment procedure was about what he expected and presented no real difficulties. The Gallian Militia, as with other Europan military institutions and the Diarchy's own, broke its infantry into combat specialist roles. Scout. Shocktrooper. Lancer. Engineer. Sniper. Medic. All the men and women funneled through the meat grinder that was the series of mustering stations were ultimately without exception given a role based on initial aptitude and personality tests, as well as extremely basic physical examinations.
Batory had to restrain himself in these examinations. In fact, he almost found them fundamentally insulting. Even with the excuse of having to mobilize potentially hundreds of thousands of fresh bodies to send to the front that was all but inevitably going to coagulate within the week, these examinations were far too basic and arguably far too lenient. Batory had encountered many individuals standing before the recruiting officers who were too old, too young, too physically frail, or too corpulent to be reliable soldiers, but who were inducted into the Militia anyways. The average non-Viszevaric Diarchic soldier was several centimeters shorter and several kilograms lighter than the average Europan, and even he would have found these Gallian entry tests nothing particularly difficult.
The number of women being processed through the Gallian recruitment system surprised the Crow as well, even with almost two years in the country under his belt. The Diarchy was nowhere near as egalitarian in terms of gender as were Europans, the Western cult of the so-called Valkyrur never reaching particularly far into East Asia. While Viszevars and some Kokurians practiced a heavily watered-down version of the cult, Asia as a whole never had an entire indigenous religious system built on the worship of superhuman warrior women, and by extension never followed through with comprehensive gender integration in society. Batory himself had been put through KISHIN's training program with many girls, and the Diarchy did officially have a small number of women in their own dedicated combat units and the paramilitary, but the level of co-ed integration he saw in Amatriain was beyond anything in Kokuria and Yamatai.
At least they're bothering to segregate the tents by sex, noted Batory to himself during the tour of the military installation. Quartermasters don't need any more problems. I think.
Even with his prior knowledge regarding Gallian culture and the Gallian armed forces from his multiple (uninvited) trips to their outposts beforehand, Batory at that point in time had wondered whether Gallia was already desperate, and by extension whether he had signed his own death warrant on that snowy day in Yuell. For Heaven's sakes, he saw a damned 12-year-old girl fighting for her right to be recruited, as well as a man easily in his sixties clamoring for a chance to fight. Both should have been turned away, especially the older man who would apparently experience several bouts of back pain during simple combat exercises.
But both of them had made it into the Militia. Batory knew this because he saw the little girl serving in the Militia 3rd Company's "Squad 7" (actually a platoon, seemingly called so along with its sister Militia platoons due to the lower experience of the Militiamen requiring platoons to be their most basic tactical-level unit). The old man would later show up in Batory's own platoon after a stint in 3rd Company's Squad 2. The Crow had to keep his mouth shut – the first of many times he had several major issues with Gallian military standards.
Some of the other less serious issues that Batory had identified regarding the Gallian manner of war were mainly over his uniform. While he still had no idea how well blue uniforms were going to blend in with the environment – the Empire and their Tatar lackeys at least having the excuse of providing their rank and file with brown field jackets, and the Diarchy and the wider PAC equipping their men mostly with khaki or green ones – he was willing to accept this. He was also willing to accept the sheer luxurious nature of these uniforms. It wasn't every day that even enlisted men regularly received fur-lined boots and gloves. The Viszevar didn't quite find an explanation for why Gallian military manufacturers thought providing such luxuries for the rank and file was a great idea in the face of total war, but he rolled with it.
What Batory was not so willing to accept, however, was the body armor. Quite simply, their drawbacks literally outweighed their benefits. From his perspective, all that the body armor did was make much unnecessary noise and weigh down the bearer for no real protection against incoming fire. Batory did not even want to think about the design choices that led to the chest plates that the heavy infantry used – small circular slabs of steel to be placed directly over the breasts as if they were mockeries of the new scandalous Europan brand of swimsuit tops. How they were supposed to provide any sort of ballistic protection to offset their weight, Batory had no idea and no desire to find out. Even the Crow helmet used for foreign operations, with its bulky bulletproof structure and air filters, was more practical than this set of body armor.
There was also the deal-breaker that was the armor disrupting the act of aiming the battle rifle Batory would be issued. The steel shoulder armor issued to most Gallian infantry became the target of his ire in short order, after one too many instances in which the plates caused his rifle to slip out of position or simply not move to the point on the shoulder he needed it to be in. Being contemptuous of the shoulder plates but being too disciplined to "lose" them, Batory settled for keeping them in his marching pack along with the standard-issue gloves, out of sight and mostly out of mind.
All in all, Batory had several concerns with the Gallian Militia, concerns that he had somewhat expected from the army but until now did not have much opportunity to see first-hand due to the Militia's exclusively wartime existence. He was not even sure if the wider Gallian military was combat-ready at all, and if instead it was more of a vanity project propped up by the government in Randgriz more to fool diplomats than actually fight. After all, even with its performance in the First Europan War… much can change in two decades. In the end, Batory begrudgingly kept quiet and accepted it all.
Again, what exactly could he do to change any of this? Knowing the alleged nature of the overall commander of the Gallian armed forces, a certain General von Damon, it was certain that no amount of enlisted grievances could have changed anything, let alone those from a foreigner.
All Batory could do at the moment was to secure a position that would maximize the odds of significantly contributing to the many, many firefights that were surely to occur very soon. And by extension, what he could do was to extend his own miserable life that much more to maximize the odds of fulfilling his mission. Dead men make for great role models but terrible soldiers.
To that end, the Crow let his enhanced senses, combat skills, and augmented body take over albeit under heavy restrictions. He had no desire to make people suspicious of him more than they already were; foreign volunteers were highly uncommon in Gallia. To be fair to the Gallians, Viszevaric names were typically associated either with the Federation or the Empire – neither of which was particularly trusted at all. The basic medical exams, the multi-kilometer marches, the weapons training – all of these he passed with flying colors. Whatever test the Gallians pressed on him, he passed with contemptuous ease, although he had to make it look as though it was not as easy as he actually found it to be.
With his physical stamina, skill in weapons handling, and extreme talent in spotting and designating targets, Batory found himself with the rank of private first class and the emblem of a Scout on the back of his uniform almost a week after taking his oath to Gallia. This was the role he had hoped he would receive. His training back in Kokuria was designed for long-range reconnaissance, rolling skirmishing, infiltration, assassination, sabotage, and the occasional shock-and-awe action; none of the other roles particularly lent themselves to all of these tasks.
Being a Scout and expected to move quickly and quietly with intent to provide precision fire support, Batory secretly felt satisfied. He would have a very good opportunity to exploit his skills to a much greater degree than he had hoped while still keeping some level of plausible deniability.
The Viszevar had secured a role that would best complement his abilities, and would begin intermediate training soon. Now he prayed to the Heavens or whatever deities actually existed that he could secure a reliable unit assignment.
If I am to die in this hellscape, at least let me die having done something useful, he had once muttered to himself. Based on what I've seen in this army… I don't know anymore.
/
Fort Amatriain, Principality of Gallia
March 11, 1935 EC
Private First Class Batory Andrzejevski
Gallian Militia 3rd Company
Gallia was a nation that took considerable pride from its self-reliance. With little more than sheer grit, surprising tactical ingenuity, and blind luck, the small coastal nation had held off the giant East Europan Imperial Alliance at least twice in the past 150 years. It was a fact the court at Randgriz was more than happy to remind everyone of.
However, this overwhelming pride did not come without drawbacks. Gallia was not particularly fond of foreigners; the higher a man was in Gallia's socio-economic hierarchy, the more likely it was that he had a marked distaste for non-Gallians. Many Gallians were at best indifferent to those of different backgrounds, and at worst rabidly contemptuous of them as could be seen by some of the nation's most outspoken military commanders.
Batory had always expected this to be a perennial thorn in his side. It took official letters of recommendation from the University of Hwando and the Diarchic embassy in Gallia to convince the deans of the University of Yuell to accept him two years prior. But even at a college town like Yuell, Batory found fitting in to be more difficult than he would have liked. He could only have imagined how worse the military was.
The Viszevar didn't have to ponder on this question for too long. It answered itself in the form of a brunette woman in her late twenties with a penchant for aggression.
Brigitte Stark rarely approached him directly, no. The worst she ever gave Batory during this time of disintegrating peace up to the previous day were sideways glances and haughty scoffs. But one could have easily accused Batory of having his brain permanently replaced with pickled cabbage had he not noticed "Rosie" doing the same thing for everyone else she suspected of being from outside Gallia.
Anyone suspected of being a foreigner, Stark immediately seemed to mark down as an unreliable and worthy only of varyingly minor degrees of disdain. Even worse treated than simple alleged foreigners, however, were the Darscens. Easily identified (at least in Europa) by their blue hair, blue eyes, hexagonal-patterned shawls, and lack of surnames, the Darscen members of the Militia oftentimes ran into Stark and her small cadre of like-minded citizen soldiers. Sneers of "dark-hairs" were lobbed around Amatriain as liberally as the Imperials had slammed 380 mm siege artillery shells into the Nord Republic's capital only a fortnight prior to finally shatter the Federate member state's resolve.
I never expected Gallia would be easy to deal with, thought the newly minted Scout as he began to take his Gallian-1 carbine off from around his shoulder at the firing range. Even the Diarchy still struggles with lingering issues between Kokuria and Yamatai, and that's not taking the PAC overall into account.
But I do wonder, he continued to think as he pulled out a fresh magazine from his webbing, just how much patience I'll have for Stark and the rest of her ilk.
Suppressing his muscle memory once more and stopping himself from shoving cartridges into the carbine from the top of the receiver, an act made physically impossible given the ejection port's layout, Batory slammed the magazine into the weapon from the bottom and racked the protruding bolt handle with a fluid sleight of hand. The Gallian-1 was fundamentally different from the Y3/16 rifles or even the KISHIN auto rifles he was so used to back under direct agency command. It was enough for him to make an error once in handling his new rifle and attract the rage of the seemingly pitiless drill instructor.
Funny how that is, quietly snorted the Viszevar in self-chastisement as he swiftly shouldered the Gallian-1 and brought it to bear on the paper targets downrange, roughly a hundred meters out from his shooting station. The position of drill instructor is arguably always one of the most egalitarian in any army.
They hate all men and women equally on paper. The man never even bothered to give us his name.
The shots rang out crisply across Amatriain's shooting range, one after another, with the first five rounds of the magazine hitting the target in a tight group just to the lower right of the bull's-eye. Whatever issues the Gallian-1 had as a weapon, precision wasn't exactly one of them.
Adjust upper left, confirm accuracy issues, noted Batory to himself as he steadied his breath once more with practiced ease, adjusted his aim, and emptied the rest of the magazine. As he expected, the shots clustered tightly around the center of the target. The Gallian regulars for some reason never did hand out even minor things such as sight adjustment tools to the Militia – the Scout would have to make do with applying very minor adjustments to his aim on the fly.
We still didn't even get helmets, did we? Not even field caps. The Gallians were underprepared.
Or maybe they hold their Militia in that much disdain.
Batory gave a faint, resigned smile to no one in particular as he unlatched the magazine from the Gallian-1 and returned it to its pouch. Having to deal with empty magazines as opposed to the Y3/16's disposable en-bloc clips would be another annoyance to add to the growing mountain of grievances he had with the Gallian military, but it came with the job.
5:00 Ally Range 10 No Action
"Hey, excuse me," a voice rang out from behind him. Batory felt someone closing the gap quickly, although he detected no malice from the other party. He slowly turned around, carbine left on the booth and still unloaded.
Batory saw a young man with blond hair and the gear of a Shocktrooper approaching him, even though the range was not even close to being fully booked. With a tuft of dark orange hair on the left side of his temple and with a standard-issue Mags submachine gun slung over his shoulder, the boy bore a curiously friendly face. Under his left arm were several rolled-up paper targets.
"… Oh, it's you," murmured Batory as the Shocktrooper got within five meters of him. The Viszevar recognized him from basic training, a lad even younger than he was but quite eager to close in with the Imperials. It impressed him. "… What is it?"
"Oh, not much," quipped the Shocktrooper, shaking the sling on his weapon with his right hand. He finally approached within an arm's length of the Viszevar. "Wanted to make sure my gun works properly before we get sent out on another training run."
Batory gave an appreciative hmm. Here was a man who understood the value of maintaining his weapon without being told all the time.
"Name's Alex, by the way," said the man with a grin as extended his right hand abruptly to Batory. "Alex Raymond. I'm from a small mountain town near the Diebals."
The Scout took the hand to be polite, even though the matter of sighting his gun seemed more pressing to him. "… Batory Andrzejevski, from abroad."
"I'll just call you Batory if that's OK," laughed Raymond. "I'm not quite sure how to say that last name."
"… You are not the first," flatly stated the Viszevar. "… But my given name is also technically a surname, so I suppose there is that."
Raymond raised his eyebrows in puzzlement. "Can't say I've ever heard anything like that, but as long as the name works, right?"
"… My parents were nationalists so I am stuck with the name," intoned Batory as he gave a shrug. "But yes."
Or so I was told. It still seems like a strange name. Why couldn't they have just called me something simple like Mateusz?
"Gotcha," laughed Raymond. "Anyways, wanted to drop by and say hi. Heard from some of the guys that you and I would be put in the same platoon together."
"… I see," replied the Crow, genuinely intrigued despite his tone. Raymond was like most of the recruits for the Militia under age 35 he had encountered at the drill grounds – entirely inexperienced in battle no matter how eager they were for it. Gallia had not seen war for roughly two decades; based on what Batory had glimpsed of the Gallian Army as a student and as an illegal intruder, it had evidently entered a state of complacency after beating the odds back in the First Europan War. Most of the younger population remained blissfully unaware of the demands of war even with the entire educational system being geared toward training soldiers and veterans of EWI still roaming the land in large numbers.
But something about Raymond made Batory more comfortable about having this greenhorn be put in the same platoon as he. Raymond had to be a total novice, but he seemed somewhat more competent overall during the few times Batory saw him during drills. Raymond had a faster understanding of his weapon, a faster grasp of how to find and exploit cover than others. Perhaps he would become a highly dangerous infantryman if given enough time, luck, and unaware Imperials to whet his blade.
And so Batory decided to humor the young Gallian, mainly out of curiosity for this Europan's career.
"… I think having someone like you covering my blind spots would be good," he offered. "… You seem to know what you are doing in the drills."
"Yeah, you too," remarked Raymond as he pulled out a small canteen from his pouch and took a swig. "I'm pretty sure you're not new to any of this given the last round of PT. It looked like you and I were the only ones who didn't give a damn about that hike up that stupid hill."
"… I lived in the mountains as well," said Batory, relying on a half-truth as he fished out a fresh magazine from his pouches. The greater Seongnam area was, technically speaking, buried within the hills and mountains of the southern half of the Han Peninsula. "… It tends to do good for one's stamina."
Other things do that as well at varying costs, but let's just move on from that.
"Well, good thing you're a Scout," smirked the blonde as he shook the sling of his Mags SMG again. "You get to do all the running and I get to follow up, huh?"
"… Something of that sort, yes."
1:00 Unarmed Enemy Count 3 Range 25 Stand By
Batory felt her before she even appeared in his direct line of sight, her appearance completely ruining whatever comfortable feeling he may have just started to develop. From around the corner of a shack just behind the firing stations appeared Stark, complete with a hairstyle and heavily customized uniform that even the Diarchic Army with its rather pragmatic policies would have found appalling. Right behind her were two other Militiamen, with no outstanding features that embedded themselves in the Viszevar's brain.
The three froze briefly at the sight of Batory and Raymond at the shooting station. Evidently, they simply didn't expect to have this encounter.
"Aww, look at that," spat Stark with some surprise and a cold grin as she saw Batory and Raymond at the shooting station. "We have here the orange kid and the burnt potato, just my luck."
Batory saw Raymond instinctively flinch and immediately turn around to face her. "Oh, for Valks' sake, Rosie," retorted Raymond, "Aren't you tired of being such a nag all the damned time?"
As Stark alone bore closer to him and Raymond, Batory realized to his silent irritation that Stark still had not even bothered to attach any sort of rank insignia on her modified uniform. As far as he was aware, the woman had not been promoted to a non-commissioned officer's rank since the last time he had begrudgingly discussed the matter with some others in Amatriain.
Batory decided to roll the dice. Stark was beginning to wear down his patience against all expectations to the contrary.
"Say that again now that I'm closer, yeah?" Stark's smile was now completely gone, replaced with a face that easily betrayed her irritation. Apparently, she hadn't anticipated Raymond to push back. "Come on, tough guy."
"… I believe he said that you were a nag, Stark," answered Batory instinctively to draw her attention away from Raymond, not entirely for altruistic reasons. He began moving toward her slowly, keeping an eye on Stark's two accomplices behind her for any sort of aggressive intentions. Raymond may have been a promising soldier, but the Crow had no intention of putting it to the test in a 1 vs. 3 against Stark's party before Raymond had the chance to shoot Imperials and before Batory got to see him do so.
After all, Batory was a Crow. One Crow against three regular humans in hand-to-hand combat was an impossibly unfair proposition… for the humans. He almost looked forward to it even with his self-imposed restrictions on his reaction speeds and physical strength. Despite this, Batory sincerely hoped that the three would simply give up and leave him alone; he had no desire to endure the ensuing investigations from an actual fight.
Stark whipped her head around and up to face Batory with an icy stare. "Oh, the burnt potato wants to say something, too? Got anything to say, hero?"
Batory took care to not show any external frustration as he approached closer to Stark, towering over the brunette and looking down literally and metaphorically at her. "… I have fought with heroes, and you don't deserve one to put you in your place," quietly sneered the Viszevar with as uninterested a face as he could manage. "… That is why I will ask you to walk away, Brigitte."
Raymond immediately moved to stifle a laugh, and Batory saw from the edge of his vision Stark's two male companions immediately widening their eyes and pursing their lips at the call of her given name. Stark's face instantly grew pink and then rapidly into other shades of crimson in what Batory could only assume to be a show of embarrassment and incandescent rage. As he had discovered off-hand during his training at Amatriain, one curious way to make Stark flustered and disarm her was to call her by her actual given name.
Finally, her face returned to the status quo of mild contempt, her jaw unclenching and her eyes opening up from their furious squinting. Batory could not help but feel a glimmer of disappointment that she did not snap, and also a bit of grudging respect for the fact that she still remained before him without a trace of visible fear.
May the Gods show mercy on any Imperial crossing her path, because I doubt she will, he thought to himself. At least there's that.
"Huh, so you do know how to fight," conceded Stark, maintaining her ground against Batory and Raymond and retaining that scowl. "Better than those dark-hairs, I'll give you that."
"… If you want an actual fight, Stark," responded the Viszevar, still maintaining a mildly uninterested visage and waving his arm toward his firearm, "Then let me know later… I am busy right now."
Stark gave a dismissive sniff. "Hmph, I'll keep that in mind," she said as she turned around and stormed out of the shooting range. Her companions, by now having completely wiped any expressions they may have had off their faces, soon followed her out.
Batory contemptuously tracked Stark's group as it left the range and went beyond earshot, before finally turning to walk back in utter silence to his shooting station to pick up his Gallian-1 and resume reloading. Behind him, he heard Raymond exhale in relief.
"Thanks for that," whistled Raymond. "Didn't want to throw hands with her so soon before the war, whenever that might be."
"… Of course," replied Batory as he tugged the bolt handle back to charge the first round in his new magazine. "… Just don't actively pick a fight with her."
"Nah, I won't," promised Raymond as he unslung his Mags and set it down on the booth, followed by his paper targets. "For the record, I probably won't pick a fight with you, either."
"… That will be best," was Batory's reply as he finally brought the carbine up to his shoulder to resume his weapon's accuracy test. "… Save it for the Imperials."
The firing range began to grow louder once more.
/
Fort Amatriain, Principality of Gallia
March 15, 1935 EC
Corporal Batory Andrzejevski
Squad 1, Gallian Militia 3rd Company
For the newly and hurriedly promoted Corporal Batory Andrzejevski, March 15 was only notable for two events.
The first event was that he was finally assigned to the Gallian Militia 3rd Company's Squad 1, commanded by a certain 2nd Lt. Faldio Landzaat. From what Batory had gathered, Landzaat had already received basic platoon command training at the University of Randgriz, and so Batory could at least rest assured that his platoon commander had some idea of what to do.
The fact that Landzaat was somewhat lax in his behavior did not bother the Scout too much, as by this point he had resigned himself to the realization that the Militia was always going to be an entirely different beast from the regular Gallian Army or the Diarchic military. As long as Landzaat commanded properly and took responsibility as befitting a platoon commander, Batory would accept that.
The second event was that the war which Batory and the Diarchic government had been anticipating finally broke out. On the fifteenth day of March 1935, the East Europan Imperial Alliance formally declared war on the Principality of Gallia and launched an armored assault. Four armored divisions and at least the same number of infantry divisions in support would charge over the borders, and reports of inconclusive skirmishes between the Imperial and Gallian navies would begin to trickle in. By the end of the day, the Empire would manage to capture Gallian territory up to the border town of Bruhl, although it would be reported that the Imperials encountered a highly unusual delay in trying to take over a town of a mere 8,000 souls.
Regardless, the war was here; the war was very real. Batory secretly found himself relieved at the realization. The time for planning was over. The time to act and kill was finally at hand. And Batory was very good at acting in this particular capacity.
Or so he hoped.
/
(1) Viszevaric for Mr. The Kokurian dialect of Viszevaric also appends titles to the end of the name.
(2) Viszevaric for boy.