Massacre at Tripoli: The Ambush
40 years after the Great War
Londinium
After the capture of the port city of Turus, the Southern campaign entered a period commonly known as the mobile war. Although there were a great many skirmishes during this time, there were few major engagements. Instead, both sides engaged in a cat and mouse game in which they tried to outmanoeuvre each other in order to gain a decisive advantage over their foe. During this time General von Romel proved his mastery at this type of conflict, later being praised by De Lugo as "the top authority on manoeuvre warfare of his generation."
Romel, with his supply lines stretched, launched raids on Commonwealth and Free Republic supply depots in order to alleviate some of the burden on his troops. He initially had success in this regard, as he struck out in all directions making it difficult for De Lugo's forces to properly reinforce these beleaguered positions. However, as he ventured further and further from his base at Turus he soon found that the Free Republican forces were slowly tightening the net. And soon it was the Imperial forces that were being forced to hastily redeploy and fall back for fear of being cut off and surrounded by the approaching Republicans.
It was during the mobile war that it is thought that the Saint had been assigned to protect an official sent to help expedite the transfer of imperial supplies. It was at the end of his tenure in Tripoli that the first dark stain on the Saint's character was seen, during an incident that lives in infamy for the Libyan people. Indeed, most scholars point to this incident as proof that the figure known as the Saint was multiple actors rather than one mythical being, as the figure acted differently than previously documented.
I speak of course, of the massacre at Tripoli.
—Andrew WTN special correspondent.
December 3rd Unified Year 1925 13:50
Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Russy Federation Conference Room, Moscau Kremlin, Moscau
For as long as Josef Dzhugashvili could remember, treachery had been an ever-present companion in his life. He'd learned that while others have ambition, they will only ever ally with you until the time is right to remove you as a competitor. Such is the folly of the human condition; humanity requires a society to survive and prosper, yet each person within it will turn their backs on their fellow man to further their own interests and greed.
That had been how the bourgeois had maintained their power, they knew the truth. Humans, at their very core, are selfish creatures. That was why force was necessary to achieve the lofty ideals of a true socialist utopia.
In his youth, when he and his comrades had been liberating funds for the coming revolution, there had been some that were more than willing to sell him out to the Tsar's agents. They would prefer to put the revolution that would aid all loyal men and women at risk in order to make their own lives slightly more comfortable. Willing to sacrifice the many for the good of the few. In those days he had dealt with these traitors himself, leaving the Tzar's agents nothing but a corpse to give them the information they so desired.
Things were simpler then.
Later, under the rule of his predecessor Vladamir Ulyanov, there had been the threat of others in the party betraying him to grow their own power and influence. They too were not true adherents to the communist ideology, but he could no longer simply round up the traitors and dispose of them. They were too powerful, and they had friends supporting them. Instead, he had to bide his time, make his own allies and position himself and those most loyal to him into places he could use them.
Now he had risen to the position of General Secretary, and he'd quickly made sure that these old rivals got what they deserved for their schemes against him and the communist creed. However, he soon found there were new threats all across the federation. Minorities wanting independence from his benevolent rule, Tzarists wishing a return to the oppression of the previous regime and disloyal military officers hungry for power to name but a few.
The Party itself was not free of these threats either, despite his best efforts to cleanse it of those who disagreed with their policy of isolation and enforced confiscation of wealth and property. There were still those who wished to gain power and influence by undermining him and his great socialist utopia. Some may even be in this very room.
Suspicion was a natural state of mind for a great man like himself; he had learned to be wary of everyone who might stand against him. He had accepted that he would always have enemies, and he was willing to do whatever he needed to in order to coerce them into loyalty or remove them entirely. He had decided that even treachery would be his prisoner.
However, he had never expected to be betrayed by his own mind.
For months now he had been plagued by strange dreams as he slept. Night after night he saw visions of an avenging angel leading an army of crusaders from the west; much like the Papist knights that had been sent against Jerusalem and the Baltics many centuries ago. The creature shined brightly as it approached, blinding him as he tried to make out anything more than the silhouette of the small winged figure. As it and its army approached, he saw the earth scorched in front of him and his own people again began to betray him and flock to the angel's side until he stood in front of this creature alone and unarmed.
All the while a choir sang: "Fear God, and give Him glory, for the hour of His judgment has come." It seemed the Angel wished to tear down everything he had built.
At first, he paid the visions little mind. He'd learned long ago during his time studying at the seminary that there was no God, no angels, and no prophets. All religion did was allow corrupt men to use their faith to exploit their fellow man. They were enemies of equality, seeking to use their scriptures to enforce their own personal power on the pain of eternal torment. There were no miracles, just conmen and bullies trying to horde the wealth created by the labours of the working people. They were traitors to their fellow man; nothing more.
These visions were just dreams; perhaps it was his subconscious telling him he had been too lenient on the surviving theists. He'd encouraged the people to embrace atheism as the only scientific truth and allowed the more militant members of the movement to persuade those who resisted in their own unique way. However, there were still many of these corrupt men left in the Federation; could the communist ideal truly be achieved while so many of these men still preached to the masses?
He'd ordered another purge of the bishops and leading priests. A message needed to be sent that their corruption would no longer be tolerated. Once he heard the news of their arrest, he'd assumed his subconscious would be soothed and the nightly visions would cease.
They had not.
Since then, the dreams had become more frequent, visiting him every night and preventing him from managing a full night's rest. Part of him thought it ironic, sleep deprivation was a torture method he had favoured himself in the past. A lesser man might have broken down under such treatment, but not him; he had suffered worse during the revolution. Still, he could tell it was beginning to affect his day-to-day activities.
"…Wouldn't you agree Comrade Secretary?"
Dzhugashvili's thoughts were broken as the face of Viktor Pavlovich, the Commissar for Trade and Industry, stared at him expectantly. He hadn't been listening to the meeting, he'd been too lost in his thoughts and now the council of commissars stared at him looking at him for guidance.
Dzhugashvili allowed his gaze to sweep across the room. He sat, as always, at the head of a long table so that he could properly keep an eye on his council. The room itself was dominated by white marble pillars and walls, a leftover from the days of the Tzar. However, the old symbols of imperialist power had been replaced by the worker's emblems of the star and anchor as well as weapons used to liberate them during the revolution. Along the table sat each member of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Russy Federation, the ruling council of the nation.
He was again reminded that the men in this room were potential betrayers; even the more trustworthy might turn on him should they sense weakness. Jackals, waiting to strike as soon as they thought he was vulnerable. He had to be careful, he had to keep them cowed into loyalty with fear.
"You think this to be satisfactory, Comrade Pavlovich?" He rumbled glaring at the man through steepled fingers as he leaned heavily on the desk, sparing a quick glance to note the reaction of the others. "Do any of you think this is enough?"
He didn't have the first clue as to what the minister had been asking him about, but that did not matter. He'd learned it always prudent to demand more; the revolution had no time for half measures. If those listening to his demands were smart, they would find a way to deliver. If not, there were plenty of opportunities in Silberia. Such was the fate of those who could not fit into the new order of things; if he were feeling generous enough to allow them to live that is.
Fear was important if he were to retain his position, and he had managed to create a system where even the smallest hint of a threat would ensure obedience. The NKVD had found wonderful ways to motivate people and his purges had made sure that everyone knew that no one was irreplaceable. They said that in the Russy Federation, people grew on trees; if you could not perform better, then they would find someone who could.
"C...Comrade Secretary, I don't understand." Pavolovich stammered fearfully, looking to his fellow council members for support. "The five-year plan was your idea, surely the boost in our industry is to your liking."
Dzhugashvili almost smiled as the other committee members looked away as each subtly tried to distance themselves from the man. Only Loria, the people's Commissar for Internal Affairs, seemed unaffected, instead taking a moment to scribble a few notes regarding the industry minister's words. As head of the NKVD, he had probably concluded he would be seeing more of the man later.
"That plan was meant as a guide based on our capability five years ago." Dzhugashvili began, injecting further threat into his voice. "Are you telling me we have not improved at all since then?"
"N..n..no, I mean yes, Comrade Secretary. We improve day by day." The industry mogul stammered, unable to keep his cool under Dzhugashvili's cold stare.
"It is not good enough Pavolovich. I expect more, and soon."
"B…but—"
"If you have trouble with your workers, I'm sure Comrade Loria can help motivate them. He's very good at that." Dzhugashvili cut in while the secret policeman nodded thanks to what he no doubt saw as high praise.
Dzhugashvili did not particularly like Lavrenti Loria, by all accounts nobody did. Although this was not uncommon for anyone in charge of the nation's secret police, people had disliked the man long before he had attained the position. Dzhugashvili did however respect his abilities.
Much like himself, Loria possessed a pragmatic approach when it came to shaping the great communist nation. He was untroubled by sentimentality so he was able to perform the more onerous and unpleasant duties necessary to rid the state of those who would spread counterrevolutionary ideas. He was an undeniably effective administrator who had already arranged the assassination of his once rival Lev Davidovich and orchestrated the purges that had neutralised many of his enemies.
Since assuming the position as the head of the NKVD, Loria had run the organisation with ruthless efficiency. His organisational talent meant he could sniff out any threats to Dzhugashvili or the Federation in a manner far more effective than his predecessors. There were some unsettling rumours about some of his private activities but as of yet, he had heard nothing concrete. So for the moment, while Loria continued to get results, the secretary was content to let the man continue in his role.
Did Dzhugashvili trust him? Not for a second, but the man's lack of popularity left him isolated from the rest of the committee members. This meant that although he was in a powerful position, it was entirely the General Secretary's goodwill that kept him there. It was in Loria's best interest to keep him happy and while this remained the case, Dzhugashvili could trust he wouldn't betray him. Besides, his presence helped keep the others in line.
Yes, Loria was very good at motivating people.
"Y…yes of course Comrade Secretary. Comrade Loria, I appreciate any advice you can offer." Pavolovich stammered with a bow. He would be working with Loria, but not in the way the man thought.
"Now leave, we are done here for today." The secretary ordered waving the committee away. "I expect to see you back at the Kremlin later. I have some movies from the Unified States to watch and Vodka from the Moscau state wine warehouse to enjoy."
And I can hear your true thoughts when your tongues are loosened by alcohol. He added to himself. He regularly invited the committee members back to his home to keep them off balance. A man might keep his cool in an official setting, but things often slipped when you put him somewhere less formal.
As the committee members began filing out of the room, Dzhugashvili returned to his earlier thoughts. The dreams plagued his mind. They were so vivid; almost too much so. It was unnatural. Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he could even see them during the day. Now the others had left, the room had fallen silent and he could hear the choir in his mind again. It was almost as if they were in this very room.
"Fear God, and give Him glory, for the hour of His judgment has come."
Was he going insane? No, it could not be, there must be some logical meaning behind these visions. Something he'd missed. Science would solve this, not superstition.
It was then he realised one of the committee members had not yet left and stood patiently in front of him holding a bundle of papers. Dzhugashvili's frown deepened as he brought his gaze to meet that of the security chief.
"Is there something else Comrade?" Growled Dzhugashvili as the choir continued to wail in his ears. You had better have a good reason for disturbing me, Loria.
"The next list for your approval Comrade Secretary." Loria said warily as he proffered out the bundle of papers, even he knew to be careful when the secretary was in a foul disposition. Dzhugashvili's mood lifted a little as concentrating on the papers helped distract him from the infernal hymn in his head.
The list was long. It was depressing, if not unsurprising to see how many names he recognised. It seemed they would never run out of traitors needing to be dealt with, but such was the price to pay to achieve his communist utopia. There was one name he did not see on the list, however.
"Pavolovich. When were his loyalties last tested?" Dzhugashvili asked reaching into his pocket for his pipe and tobacco, the familiar movements helping to calm his temper and further distract him from the singing in his head. "His research for the five-year plan had him meet with representatives of both the Empire and Ildoa did it not?"
"Indeed, my agents say he was very well treated by the ambassadors of both nations during his visit." Loria began, taking a moment to clean his glasses before returning them to his face. "I believe he brought back several delicacies for his family; an abuse of his position of course but not entirely unexpected. We have found no particularly strong signs that he is a traitor to the party, but he is still under observation."
Dzhugashvili did not ask why Loria knew this information without needing to reference any of his extensive files. Loria's near eidetic memory was well known; this, as well as his enthusiasm for casual brutality, were what made him so good at his job.
"Add Pavolovich and his family to the list." Dzhugashvili said eventually as he lit his pipe and sucked deeply at the tobacco. The Industry and Trade minister had angered him today, a sure sign of sedition. Evidentially he had been corrupted during his time amongst the capitalists.
"If I may Comrade Secretary. Pavolovich is very good at his job it would be a shame to lose him at this juncture." Loria smiled conspiratorially showing his yellowing teeth while Dzhugashvili narrowed his eyes at the man. Was Loria questioning him?
"And you suggest what?" Dzhugashvili replied carefully studying the secret policeman, perhaps he had been mistaken about how much he could rely on this man.
"Pavolovich has a young daughter that he dotes on very much, I believe if she were placed in the care of the NKVD, he would become much more compliant." Loria's grin widened and his eyes twinkled slightly making Dzhugashvili wonder about the veracity of the stories surrounding Loria once again. It was hardly surprising such rumours persisted when he made such obscene expressions. "This would allow him to continue his work without threatening the timetable of the industrial plan."
The general secretary sucked on his pipe as he considered the man's words, pushing the thought of the rumours aside for now. Until they were proven to be more than hearsay, he would not allow such things to cloud his judgement.
Loria's suggestion had some merit, the industrial plan was reaching its final stages and removing its chief organiser would likely push back the completion date. Leaving Pavolovich in place would be more efficient and if he cared for his daughter as much as Loria claimed, he would not dare spread his sedition any further. After all, they'd had success ensuring the loyalty of other party members by sending their family members to the lageri or other NKVD installations in the past.
"Very well, do what you must but kill him at the first sign of disloyalty. Take his family before tonight, let's see if he cares for his daughter enough to denounce her in front of the others." Dzhugashvili replied eventually rubbing his temples. He could still hear that damnable singing and his head now throbbed with a painful headache. He was becoming frustrated and increasingly felt ready to smash something.
"If I may Comrade Secretary. Is something amiss? You seem troubled, it is my job to see that you are not." Loria said carefully, his tone showing even he feared falling foul of his wrath.
Dzhugashvili scowled at the secret policeman, feeling a small pang of satisfaction as the little man staggered back slightly under his steel glare. For a brief moment, he wanted to lash out at the man and unleash all his pent-up frustration caused by the dreams and lack of sleep. He wanted to castigate the man for believing he was required to do anything more than carry out his orders and he wanted to see the man soil himself as his own men took him away for his execution.
It was then he noticed that the choir had fallen silent.
He felt as though his mind had begun to clear again and he realised that Loria had been right. He was the man responsible for removing threats to him, perhaps he could use him now. Perhaps he could trust this man with the secret of his dreams, no matter how insane they might seem. Not because he was trustworthy, but because he could destroy him if he turned against him. Loria's very survival relied on keeping him safe and happy.
He smiled and took another puff from his pipe thoughtfully before pouring a glass of Vodka for them both and bid Loria to sit.
"Tell me, Comrade. What do you know of dreams?"
December 4th Unified Year 1925 10:00
Piazza Illdoa, Tripoli
Omar al-Mukhtar felt the young boy squirm slightly as he pulled the little one close to shield him from prying eyes as he glanced over at the pair entering the government building to meet with General Gassman. They were now deep inside the stronghold of their colonial oppressors and although Omar knew it was unlikely the Illdoans would harm the young orphan; it would be better for everyone if the boy were not seen with him.
"Quiet Hamid, wait a moment." He hushed the seven-year-old as he surveyed the square in front of him.
Omar despised this part of town, their Illdoan colonisers had stamped their mark here more than anywhere else in Libya. Where once there had been beautiful polylobed arches, intricately carved decorative motifs and wonderfully minarets adorned with gold leaf. There was now the ugly replicated architecture of their Illdoan persecutors, all built using the local sandstone to mock the people they had enslaved.
Even one of the great mosques dating back hundreds of years had been demolished and replaced with a cathedral dedicated to their own God. It was an insult to both the people and their faith, even if their religions shared similar routes. It proved that the Illdoans didn't care for their so-called subjects, they simply wished to remove all trace of their identity and culture. Omar feared that one day they would try to remove all trace of them completely.
There was one good thing to come of their oppressor's careful removal of all things Libyan, however. For the moment at least, most of the Illdoan's most important facilities were located quite close together. They were building a new governor's palace on the outskirts but for the moment all business relating to the administration of the province was done in this area. This made it much easier for the resistance to observe what their colonial administrators were up to, particularly since they had left them an exploitable weakness.
"Now little one, you remember what to do, yes?" He whispered, glancing down to the boy at his side who returned a determined nod. "Good, off you go now. God protect you."
He watched with a smile as Hamid rushed off towards the Cathedral sat opposite the government building and set up a place begging at the steps of the temple. He had blessed the child for good luck but knew he would not need it. One thing that could be said for their colonial oppressors was that while they were in sight of their God, they made a show of obeying their tenants and being kind to the poor was one of them. Even if they chose to ignore that the reason for the boy's poverty was due to their soldiers taking his family away from him.
Hamid would be perfectly safe while they waited for the target to reappear. Until then, they would have to wait.
Omar leant against a nearby pillar in the hopes of shading himself from the morning sun and found himself wondering about the wisdom of trusting the Albish. They had promised much for the resistance in exchange for their assistance spying and harassing these new Europan interlopers. Including helping free themselves of Illdoan tyranny and recognising them as an independent nation, something no other power had allowed for centuries.
To accomplish this, the operative from the Allied Kingdom had provided them with powerful, if a little unwieldy, weapons. These large rifles were strong enough to penetrate the armour of vehicles and even the shields of the heretical mages that all the Europan powers had brought to the continent. Although it was difficult to hit such fast-moving targets, they'd scored some hits against these powerful foes and he was confident that if caught unawares, even a mage could be felled in an instant.
However, some of the things the agent Mr John had asked for in return for all this help puzzled him.
Aside from help keeping tabs on the Imperials now rampaging through the desert, the mysterious man had provided his organisation, the Senussi, with a list of targets he wanted quietly removed. Since most of these were either enemies of the Libyan people or interlopers in the country, they had been quite happy to oblige. They'd already discovered that guerrilla warfare was their best way to fight against the colonial powers for the moment.
However, some of the targets seemed nonsensical to him. Perhaps it was simply the confusing and often barbaric way that these Europans conducted their affairs, but to Omar, it was more proof why they should be governing their own affairs rather than slaving under colonial masters. If it were up to him, he would refuse to harm this particular target. However, their exiled leader had agreed to attempt to neutralise all these enemies. Omar knew better than to jeopardise the agreement and future of his country. As much as the idea revolted him, they must do this deed to earn their freedom.
He looked back towards the Cathedral as he heard the bells strike twelve o clock. He blinked in surprise; he had been so lost in thought that several hours had now passed. Hurriedly he looked for his young charge and was relieved to see he was still in position, patiently waiting. However, he noted the boy's expression change, he had noticed something; their target must have been exiting the building opposite him.
He adjusted his position so he could get a better view and watched as a boy, older but not too much taller than Hamid, descended the stairs of the government building. This was not the first time Omar had seen this foreign child, but he never ceased to be amazed by his unusual appearance. He always seemed to wear a small version of the military attire that Omar had observed high ranking Europans wear and carried a sword and pistol at his belt. It seemed to Omar he was just a small boy playing soldier, however, he had been assured that all the great powers held this child in high regard.
Following at his heels as always was a woman, her head uncovered as was usual in the strange traditions of the northern continent. She was tall and lithe, and walked with a sense of purpose and confidence that Omar found at odds with his views on the role of the opposite sex. Especially since she appeared to be some sort of servant to the uniformed boy. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, he had to admit that the woman was beautiful, although he knew it was disrespectful and sinful to think of her in such a way.
Flanking both were a pair of Illdoan soldiers sent to guard the two VIP's. Good, only two. They will be easy enough to deal with. Now we need only know where they are headed, good luck little Hamid.
The little orphan rushed towards the foreign boy just as he had done several times before, calling the name of this Prince Wilhelm as he approached. A spasm of fear ran through his body as he saw the guards tense as Hamid ran towards them, but the little prince soon admonished them as the two children began to talk happily. It had been a blessing in disguise that the young prince was so skilled with languages, it meant that someone as innocuous as Hamid could quickly earn his trust.
Meanwhile, the woman at the prince's side scanned the area with a suspicious eye and for a brief moment, Omar felt her gaze full upon him. They'd been told the woman was dangerous. Not only was she one of the heretical magic users but she was also apparently skilled at both using and uncovering secrets. As her eyes fell on him, he feared for a brief moment their deception had been discovered.
No, he thought shaking the possibility from his mind. Such a thing wasn't possible, even if this woman was as devious as it had been claimed she could not have found out about them. Omar's face was not known, even to the Illdoan's. His presence here would be no more suspicious than any other passer-by and there was no way this woman could have gained information on the Sanussi's operations. His brothers were too careful to allow any from that accursed continent to discover anything of note.
Still, he couldn't help but hold his breath as the woman stared at him.
Finally, she moved her stern glare away and he let out a sigh of relief before returning his own gaze over to Hamid and the little prince. As expected, the orphan had been successful and was leaving with a smile on his face and a hand full of coins as well as a piece of paper. This Prince Wilhelm always gave generously.
Omar retreated into the shadows again so as to avoid any unwanted attention and waited for his young charge to come and find him. Eventually, the young boy rounded the corner and greeted him with a cheerful grin.
"What did you find out little one?" Omar whispered as the orphan entered the shadowy archway, "where are they headed?"
"Will asked where they could get coffee beans to take back for his friend, so I sent them to the old Rumeli market." Hamid replied quietly, clutching his new treasures as though he were worried Omar might take them from him.
Excellent, the old market is a good place for an ambush, we will need to clear the crowds though. He thought to himself as he ran his fingers through his beard. The long narrow streets held plentiful hiding spots, if all went well, they could eliminate the target and the guards before the Illdoans could send soldiers to reinforce them. Additionally, they had several friendly contacts nearby that had allowed them to store the weapons they would need, including the anti-mage rifles. The barriers of the magic users would pose no problem for them.
"Good work little one, make sure to take those coins back to your uncle; you and your sister will eat well for the next few days." He assured the boy before gesturing to the paper in the boy's hand. "What is that he gave you?"
The boy reluctantly proffered what appeared to be one of the Europan's propaganda leaflets all written in a language that Omar could not read. At its centre was a picture of the little prince standing on top of a tank and holding his sword aloft as though leading the charge. At the bottom of the picture, the boy had added his signature and a neatly written message, although again neither could understand the foreign writing. Omar decided that these people had a very strange taste in heroes.
"He said that one day everyone would know his name, that it would be worth a fortune." Hamid replied excitedly, before frowning with worry. "You won't take it from me, will you?"
Omar chuckled and passed the leaflet back to him before waving the boy away. He had no interest in the young orphan's treasure. He had work to do and would need to hurry if he were to get his brothers ready. The resistance had ways to get messages across the city easily enough but organising a suitable ambush with appropriate exit routes took time. Especially if they wanted to clear as many innocents as possible out of the area before they were to strike.
"Elder? The lady, she seemed different today. Almost like a different person." The boy interjected as Omar turned to leave.
Omar paused and considered the boy's words. It was true she had seemed odd today compared to what they had observed on past visits. She had dressed differently, opting to wear clothing he had learned to associate with the servants of wealthy and influential Europans rather than her usual military attire. Additionally, she seemed to have donned a pair of spectacles and had worn a stern frown instead of her usual easy smile. It was as the boy said, almost as though she were trying to be someone else, however, her features remained the same; it must have been the same woman. Whatever her reason for the change, it was none of their concern.
"Do not worry young one, who knows what goes on in a woman's mind." He said before turning and quickly exiting the Illdoan area of the town. He would have to hurry if he were to send his message and catch up with the target. The sooner he and his brothers finished this job the sooner they could return to the more honourable task of fighting the infidels out on the sands, rather than these despicable attacks in the streets.
One day he would see his home freed from their enslavers. If the death of one woman helped accomplish that, he would see to it without hesitation. He was just glad that Mr John hadn't also demanded the death of the boy as well, he already felt a stain on his conscience for the task they were about to undertake.
I will see this woman removed; I just hope God forgives me.
December 4th Unified Year 1925 13:00
Old town, Tripoli
Will hummed contently to himself as he, Christina and their guards left the wider thoroughfares of the Illdoan areas of the city and entered the narrower streets of the older parts of town. Despite being unable to do much about his debt to the monster these past few months, he was feeling rather pleased with his latest accomplishment. After several months of meetings with General Gassman, interspersed with irritating trips back to Turus to give reports, he had finally brokered a deal to permanently solve Romel's supply problems.
He could finally return to the frontlines.
He had to admit, the Illdoan diplomat had been a tough negotiator, it had been a long time since he had needed to put in so much effort to get his way, at least with anyone other than Tanya. It had been fun in a way. The old dog had even managed to trick him into yielding on a few extra points by promising to donate some traditional Illdoan food to the expeditionary force. Something Will had thought would be a welcome treat for everyone.
Unfortunately, this donation had only been a pallet of dry pasta: something Tanya assured him that was less than ideal when you needed to conserve water in the desert. On the rare occasions they had seen each other recently, she had taken every opportunity to complain about it, and the extra work he had given her to make the food palatable. Apparently, pasta wasn't an especially interesting meal when served on its own, another thing Tanya insisted on berating him about.
How was I supposed to know? He grumbled to himself as they made their way through the bustling streets, it still irked him that Tanya hadn't forgiven him for that little mix-up. Christina cooks all my food, I thought pasta was always soft and tomato flavoured!
In the end though, Will had been victorious. Although General Gassman had wanted concrete promises that the Empire would offer territory to the Illdoans after the war, Will had managed to avoid committing to any specifics on that front. He doubted the High Command would have approved anyway. Instead, he stuck to things he had more control of; he still had a lot of sway in certain financial circles back home.
He had negotiated the easing of their ally's debts to the Letzenbourg banks, or at least given them more time to pay. Additionally, as a show of trust, he had allowed the transfer of a substantial amount of gold from the little country's reserves to the Illdoan Royal bank for "safekeeping." A sticking point that Gassman would not budge on, much to Will's chagrin.
In return, the general had promised not only to speed the delivery of the Imperial supplies but to supplement them as well. Although this time Will had been careful to request some marinara sauce to accompany whatever Gassman sent them, preferably some seasoning too. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice; Tanya would never let him hear the end of it.
Additionally, Gassman had also agreed that Illdoan troops would escort everything to Romel's forward base in Turus, meaning they no longer had to divert their own forces for escort duties. Romel would be very pleased with that, he was sure. Even Tanya would have to be impressed with him, he'd managed to get more out of the Illdoans than even General Zettour.
Still, he wasn't especially happy about being made a fool of by some provincial macaroni diplomat. So Will had made sure that the general wouldn't get everything he expected from this deal. It was only fair after all.
"Has Sophia arranged for the little incident on the train carrying the gold from Letzenbourg?" Will asked Christina in his native tongue, confident that his Illdoan guards could not understand him. Letzenbourg's obscure dialect often confused anyone from outside the little country.
"My sister has arranged for some of the volunteer corps to hijack the train after it crosses the Illdoan border. There are still many groups unhappy about Illdoan unification operating in those mountains that can be used as cover for the operation." The maid returned calmy, similarly replying in the rough Letzenbourg dialect. "She is arranging for Patryk to pick it up and return it to where it belongs, minus a modest fee."
"Good." Will smirked; he wasn't about to let Gassman fleece him like that, the people of Letzenbourg hated him enough already, he wasn't about to make things worse by giving up their gold. Besides, the man had made him look foolish in front of Tanya, what more justification did he need? "Remind me to ask Sophia to take a look at Patryk's books again, if he's skimming too much, we can put it in the usual place."
The maid simply nodded, and Will returned to his cheerful humming as he tried to recall the directions to the market the orphan boy had mentioned. They still had a few hours until they needed to head back so this was the ideal time to do a little shopping and collect a few treats. Besides, he'd heard that Tanya had run out of both chocolate and coffee. This meant she'd been forced to switch to the ersatz versions provided by the military, something Will knew she despised. If he were to arrive with authentic versions of her favourite vices, she might finally forget about the pasta incident.
Will again allowed his mind to wander as they passed through the busy streets towards their destination. He was looking forward to going back to the frontlines, and not only because of the opportunity to rid himself of the debt. In truth, he had missed everyone.
The negations with Gassman had kept him away from the expeditionary force and he'd seen very little of his comrades in the 203rd while on detached duty. Even when he'd returned to report to General von Romel he'd barely had a chance to catch up with everyone. He'd also needed to leave either Sophia or Christina behind to command the close combat company while he was gone, something he'd needed to alternate between them to ensure they could carry out their more clandestine duties.
As a result, he'd only ever had one of the sisters around to keep him company and he'd started to feel a little lonely. He'd grown used to being around so many people, without them he felt increasingly isolated. Additionally, although the hotel he had been staying in was quite luxurious and comfortable compared to the tent he had been sharing with Tanya, he had again found himself struggling to sleep as his nightmares once again began to creep back each night.
Most of all he'd missed being around Tanya. She treated him differently from everyone else, even the sisters, and he had felt like something was missing during their time apart. He knew that teasing her was a dangerous game, but it was fun, and he doubted she would ever really do anything to him over something so trivial. It just felt good to break her façade and force her to radiate the emotions he knew she kept bubbling just below the surface. When she did, even when furious, he delighted on seeing her unleash her true self. Even if it was only to aim an admonishment at him.
It helped him forget about the monster and the debt. It helped him feel at peace.
Thus, he had decided it was probably best to make sure he was back on her good side when he returned. A few early Christmas gifts combined with his recent success would surely end her suspicions about him for good. If he were lucky, she might summon up enough humility to even praise him, that would be something to look forward to.
Finally, they came upon the area that the little orphan boy described; the district known as the Rumeli Market. He was dimly aware that the city had once been under the control of Magna Rumeli before some uprising that allowed the Illdoans to take over. As such, significant evidence of their culture still existed here, including bazaars like this.
The entire market was one long narrow street that cut through half the city and down towards the docks. The buildings on each side were tall and had large canvas canopies stretching out onto the street to shade the shoppers from the sun. While the stalls themselves spilt out onto the street making it difficult to pass without the shop owners attempting to peddle their wares on unwary passers-by. There were some small alleys scattered along the street, but they were often hidden from view and the overall effect was like passing through a tunnel.
The whole place was busy, crowded and noisy, but Will found he rather liked it. It was very different from anything he'd seen on the continent, although Christina frowned with displeasure the moment she laid eyes on the place.
"Your Highness, is this really the best place to find what you want?" The maid asked uncomfortably as the guards attempted to clear enough space for them to pass through the throng unmolested. "This may not be the safest place for you. If there's really something here you want, I'm sure we can have it sent along later."
"Come now Christina, where's your sense of adventure?" Will grinned taking some time to look at some colourful and peculiar looking Rumeli style robes. Christina disliked when he mingled with those she viewed below his station, she viewed them all as a potential threat or at least a bad influence.
Will, however, thought of them as a shield. With so many people about any assassin or kidnapper would be risking being seen by a lot of witnesses, not to mention possible collateral damage among civilians. Besides, being around people gave him the opportunity to show off how kind and generous the Saint was. A few coins and a kind word such as he had given that orphan boy would do wonders for boosting his reputation. It wouldn't surprise him if many of the people in this bazaar had already heard of his generosity. That too would help keep him safe.
"Don't worry; we have our orbs, we'll be safe enough." He continued confidently. "Besides, I need you to taste test for me. Both Illdoa and Rumeli are famous for their coffee, we're bound to find something good in a place like this!"
Christina's frown deepened as she regarded the crowd warily, she was still uncertain but as Will followed her gaze, he didn't share her worry. Most of the people looked at him and Christina with curiosity rather than hostility and many were quietly whispering to one another as they passed. Hardly unusual considering his fame. Some spared a few wary glares at the guards, but the animosity did not seem to pass onto the two Letzenbourgers.
The traders themselves did not seem to discriminate however, and they soon found that their progress was slowed significantly as everyone in their group was set upon by opportunistic merchants. At one point one particularly enterprising shopkeeper had dragged Christina into his stall to show off his stock of Europan style fashion and even her cold stare had been ineffective against him.
Will had found the whole affair hilarious, particularly when he took the opportunity to quietly inform the maid that Captain Weiss had mentioned something about liking seeing her in red. Seeing her face turn the same colour as the dress she went on to buy more than made up for the detour.
Eventually, they arrived at a stall with a plethora of different types of coffee beans and Will began his quest to figure out what the difference between any of them was. He had only ever drunk the vile liquid with Tanya when he'd feared his own food and drink might have been poisoned by Ludwig. Otherwise, he had simply trusted that expense was a sign of quality, something that he had only noted was not always the case by observing Tanya.
Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, the merchant managing the stall was fluent in both Illdoan and Germanian and was very keen to use this knowledge to separate Will from his wallet. Will soon found himself bombarded by huge amounts of information about the location where each type of bean was grown, as well as how they were roasted and their effect on the taste. None of this meant anything to him of course, and before long he found himself staring down at the growing pile of different coffee bags in his arms that he had apparently agreed to purchase.
Will was impressed, if this man had been conducting the negotiations instead of Gassman he'd have probably given away half the Empire without even realising it.
He needed reinforcements before he accidentally blew his budget, at this rate the man would have the shirt from his back. He turned to Christina, hoping that she might rescue him from impending fiscal doom. However, as he opened his mouth to speak, he noticed the expression on her face as she stared down the street. Something wasn't right, this was more than her earlier worries.
"What's wrong?" He asked feeling a prickle of anxiety travel up his spine.
"I think we've been followed." She replied gesturing further along the street, "that man over there; he was watching us when we were outside the government building."
Will glanced over to where Christina had indicated and saw a figure talking to another shopkeeper further down the street before he glanced in their direction and ducked out of sight. He could not recall seeing the man before but it was unlikely Christina was mistaken. It may have only been a coincidence, but he knew better than to ignore his maid's instincts. If she said they were being followed, it was probably true.
"Have these sent to the government building." Will said turning to the merchant and dropping the coffee bags on a nearby table before opening his wallet and depositing a generous pile of Imperial Marks on top. It was far more than the coffee was worth, but it was worth paying if it got them out of here faster.
"Please, don't go yet! I have much more to show you." He continued grabbing Will's hand and pulling him further into the stall.
Will snatched his hand away and retreated back towards Christina who grasped him protectively. He regarded the merchant warily: the man looked nervous, almost terrified even, but he was doing his best to hide it. Who was this man? A spy? A communist sympathiser? I should have listened to Christina he thought as candidates for potential threats ran through his mind.
"My apologies, I didn't mean to frighten you." His gaze flickered between Will and Christina for a moment as he tried to maintain his friendly smile. "You were buying for your friend yes? I think I have something in the back she might like. "
The man's voice was soft and almost pleading but that wasn't what caught Will's attention. The man's reticent tone made him realise that the street outside had also fallen quiet. As Will glanced outside the stall, he noticed there were now very few people left in the street. A knot began to form in Will's stomach as he realised his shield of people had disappeared and he began to fear that they had somehow fallen into a trap.
"We're leaving." He said, quickly turning and striding away trusting Christina to follow.
"Please! Come back!" The merchant called desperately but they ignored him as they searched for their escort.
Will found himself gritting his teeth angrily as he saw Illdoa's finest calmly leaning against a wall, smoking cigarettes and completely oblivious to any mounting threat. He should have known better than to trust these idiots, the macaroni's hardly had the best martial reputation, he doubted most of them knew what ambush meant.
"Something the matter, sir?" One asked as they abruptly stood up and tried to follow as he and Christina passed.
Yes, you imbeciles didn't notice that most of the market has emptied out in the middle of the day. Did neither of you think that was even slightly suspicious?
Will struggled to hold his tongue while Christina began to explain, however before she could finish, a loud bang rang out from somewhere behind them and one of the Illdoans collapsed grasping his leg in pain. Followed by the sounds of distant frantic shouting.
Instinctively, both he and Christina summoned a barrier around themselves and each of them drew their pistols as they searched for the location of their attacker. They could see nothing; the shooter may have been in one of the buildings or hidden amongst any of the goods spilling out onto the street from the traders. There were too many places for them to conceal themselves.
What do we do? Where do we go? He thought, looking around in a panic as he considered their options.
"Run!" The stricken soldier called as he grasped his rifle and returned fire blindly in the direction of the shot. They didn't need any more encouragement and Will's legs moved automatically as they followed the second soldier up the street.
Christina snapped off a few shots from her pistol as they ran while Will frantically tried to formulate a communication spell to call for help. However, it was no use, the tall buildings were causing too much interference. They had to find another way.
"I think there's a payphone in the plaza at the end of this passageway. In the hotel!" The second guard informed as he halted by one of the narrow alleys that jutted out from the market and beckoned them to enter. "I'll hold them off here, go call for reinforcements."
Will felt the knot in his stomach tighten further as they made their way through the claustrophobic alleyway. If only they had their flight equipment, they could simply fly out of this mess; he didn't much like the idea of a street fight. Additionally, neither of them knew the city well and they were completely reliant on the limited information the Illdoan soldier had given them to find their way. It felt as though things were just going from bad to worse.
He glanced back towards the entrance of the alley, just in time to see the Illdoan fall to the ground as another gunshot rang out. He expected to immediately see their pursuers round the corner but only the faint sounds of boot falls and shouting echoed along the passage. They had a head start but the enemy would be on them soon and he knew it would be a slaughter if they were caught in these narrow streets, even for mages. Their shields would be overcome by the weight of fire focussed down the narrow corridor.
There was a light pressure on his barrier as Christina joined their shields together. He felt her warm comforting hand grasp his own, and he looked up in time to see her gift him a reassuring smile. She must have sensed his worry and moved to protect and comfort him. As always, he could count on Christina to think of everything.
Finally, they passed under an ornate archway and the alley opened up into the plaza that the soldier had described; at least they now had some space to manoeuvre. Will almost let out a sigh of relief but now wasn't the time to drop their guard they weren't out of the woods yet. They would need to deal with those who were hunting them first.
Again, Christina had already begun to act to slow their pursuers. He felt her unleash a small burst of mana as she fired her pistol at the arch they had just passed under. A small explosion erupted causing the masonry to crumble and fall into the passage, blocking the entryway, at least for the moment. It would at least buy them some time.
They glanced around to take in their surroundings and search for the hotel with the phone that the soldier had described. Like the market, the structures surrounding the plaza were several stories tall and surrounded it like a wall. Unlike the plaza however, the space in the middle was wide and open dominated by only a large fountain in the centre. Of the hotel or the phone contained within there was no sign. These were all the rear of the buildings and there was little to indicate which was the hotel the soldier had mentioned.
Will felt his stomach knot with anxiety once more; he wasn't sure what to do, they didn't have time to search all these buildings. The Illdoans would undoubtedly be responding to the gunshots but without knowing his and Christina's position it could be some time before they were found. Additionally, he had no idea where they were or how to get to safety. It might be dangerous to leave here, there could be enemies waiting for them anywhere.
However, staying put wasn't much better. They were dreadfully exposed here, aside from the fountain, there was nothing to use as cover. If there were enemies in the buildings, it would do little to shield them from incoming fire anyway; without knowing where the enemy was coming from it could even make the situation worse. They had their magic barriers, but a mage could only take so much of a beating, they'd be worn down eventually. Especially if they couldn't see their enemy to fight back.
What should we do? He thought to himself fearfully, unable to make a decision. Memories of the fall of Letzenbourg, Alealmayn and Turus flooded into his head. He'd made so many mistakes that had put them in danger, what if he did it again? There was a very real possibility they might not make it out of this if he made the wrong choice.
He found himself breathing faster and faster as the thoughts whirled around his head. He desperately tried to focus and think of some way they might safely get out of this situation while his heart beat so hard it felt like it might leap out of his chest.
"You can't escape! This is the end for you dear brother." The voice of Ludwig entered his mind and cut into his heart like a knife. "Although we both know you deserve far worse."
Shut up! Shut UP! Will mentally screamed at the spectre.
"You haven't paid your debt, you know what that means don't you?"
He felt unable to move, unable to even breathe as the voice of the once Regent laughed and mocked him once more. He snapped his eyes shut, willing the ghost to go away and allow him to think but as always the man wouldn't listen to him. Ludwig never had. He felt the void swallowing him again as his panicked mind desperately tried to resist.
He felt his sense of self slipping away as the monster tried to take him.
Abruptly, the void retreated, and the laughter faded as he felt another reassuring squeeze from Christina. He felt the warmth of her hand and for a moment it almost felt as though she were physically lifting him from his pit of despair. He felt his heart rate begin to normal and his panic retreat as he focused on her warm grip; he had never been so thankful for the woman who had so long stayed by his side.
He reopened his eyes and looked up at her as she grabbed his other hand and brought her confident gaze to his.
"We will need to concentrate on keeping our shields combined if we are to get through this." She said in a soft encouraging tone. "We'll break into one of these buildings and try to find somewhere to hide until the Illdoans arrive."
She squeezed both his hands again before letting go and glancing around the plaza, leaving Will wishing he could pull her into a tight hug.
"I know you can do this, my Prince."
The woman smiled at him warmly and Will felt his confidence begin to return. She was right, they could do this. They just needed to hide and hold out for reinforcements.
I swear Christina, when we get out of this I'll have an entire university built in your na…
Suddenly several gunshots echoed through the plaza and a sudden flash of light caused Will to instinctively slam his eyes shut as the shield they shared shattered in a bright shower of sparking mana. At the same time, a warm liquid splattered across his face and a coppery smell filled his nostrils.
He opened his eyes and was relieved to see Christina still smiling down at him, however as she opened her mouth to speak the relief turned to horror as a trickle of blood dribbled from her mouth. He glanced down and saw that both of them were covered in blood but Christina had the crimson ichor emanating from countless wounds. His eyes shot back up to hers and he felt tears begin to form while her smile began to recede and the life drain from her eyes. Finally, she fell backwards and Will felt Christina's hand slip from his fingers.
The monster hadn't taken him, it had taken her.
Author's notes
Hello everyone and as always thanks for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting. Happy new year and I hope you enjoyed the chapter.
Sad times for Christina eh? As you might have guessed, Will probably won't take it well either. I've had this little incident planned for a long while now although I never really had the details sorted out. The impact on Will however is something I'd had in my mind for a long time and part of me (a very small part) feels bad for torturing him so. You'll see how well he copes (and how much of a mess Tanya has to clear up after) in the next few chapters.
Some of you may have noticed the dates for Dzhugashvili's (definitely not Stalin) dreams and his and Loria's (definitely not Beria) war plans are a little off since the dreams weren't supposed to start until January. However, I thought that since I dropped the dreams way back in the prologue for this whole section and that I think it wakes a little bit of time to plan an attack that even most of your own countrymen don't know about, I would rearrange the dates. Although the beta reader doesn't like the placement in this chapter.
The Southern Battle is also delayed so that there isn't too much of a gap between it and the gang being sent over to Russy.
I liked writing the communist section. It was a nice change from the General sitting in a warm office overlooking the Mediterranean (something I'm told I've done too much these last ten chapters). It was also good to get into a new person's head and I watched a few documentaries (and the Death of Stalin) before I started to get into the right frame of mind.
I did find however that when it came to the Russy Federation, Carlo Zen got lazy with his names. Iosef Dzhugashvili was actually Stalin's real name, so he just cheated and used that (I guess he hoped no one would realise). However, I saw that as an opportunity to do the same with my own Russian names since apparently every notable communist in the revolution changed theirs. So for the record, I have both Lenin and Trotsky mentioned in this part.
Also should be noted for those unfamiliar with the LN, that the Lageri are what Carlo Zen calls the Gulags. Not sure why but I thought I'd keep it to his canon (although they'll probably change it in the anime and manga when they catch up).
One last thing I'd like to mention as I thought it was interesting. I recently found there was something akin to a real-life Saint in the Belgian royalty in WW1. Apparently King Albert I lead his troops personally and was the highest-ranked officer to put himself in harm's way, earning himself the nickname: The Knight King. He also allowed his 12-year-old son to enlist and fight in the ranks (although this was more propaganda and he was sent to Eaton College in England, arguably a worse fate). So Benelux warrior princes were technically a thing in WW1.
It's a shame I didn't learn this before I started, I'm sure I could have gleaned some more inspiration from it all.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you all again.
Xanen.