Chapter 1: The Tripartite
Miroslav Knežić sat across from the fireplace as the flames began to dance along with the logs placed ever so meticulously along the tinder beneath it. It was January already, the start of a new year, yet like always things still felt the same. He looked out towards the closed windows to the city outside. The wind was howling, and it looked like it was going to snow, the old man always hated the snow. Rattled his bones too much, as he would always say.
"What time is it?" the old man asked, still sitting on the chair next to him.
Miroslav, ever the vigilant student, replied to his mentor quickly. "Half past five." he checked on his watch before answering.
"Good." he replied with a sigh. "Few more hours and we can finally go home." A silence had driven itself across the room once again, before soon being replaced by the squeaking of a chair.
Ivan Šukić stood up from his seat and went to grab a bottle of Wine he had placed under his desk. It took him some time, and only after he reached his desk did Miroslav truly realize what his mentor was going for.
"Picked straight from the vineyard." Ivan said, holding the bottle in his hands alongside two glasses.
"Little early to start drinking, isn't it old timer?"
"Perhaps, but I wanted to commemorate the occasion." he slowly made his way back to the chair, it was in times like these when Miroslav truly saw how much age had battered his old friend and teacher down.
"Oh, and I don't suppose you'll actually tell me what this occasion is." Miroslav said, to which Ivan merely chuckled drily.
Once he was sat down again he poured the two some wine, white wine, his favorite. "Drink, and I'll tell you." they both took the glasses in their hand and raised them up high. "Živia." Ivan toasted.
"Živia." Miroslav responded, and with a clink they both took large sips from the glasses.
A moment of silence, countered only by both the wind outside the fire crackling inside. He could not recall how many times the two of them sat here in this very office. For years now the two had known each other, and for all of them Ivan had been there for the young upstart politician. Teaching him, challenging him, guiding him. He had arrived in Zagreb as nothing more than an upstart lawyer fresh from university, yet now he was seated within the Sabor itself.
Ivan sighed before putting his half-full glass on the table. "You know that there's a reason I called you here." he said.
"As there always is, could it possibly be you simply wanted to share a drink with a friend?"
"If only." Ivan chuckled. "I'm afraid we will not be having many more sit-downs like this for much longer Miroslav."
He turned his eyes away from the fire to look at his aged and rugged mentor. "What do you mean?"
There was no point in trying to get around this, and Miroslav himself was never much one for mincing words. Ivan once again sighed, rubbing a furrowed brow that hid beneath it tired eyes. "This week shall be my last. On Sunday I plan to retire as the King's chancellor."
Miroslav's eyes widened at that. "What?" was all he could let out before Ivan quickly cut him off.
"Don't be so surprised." he took another sip of his glass. "We all knew this day was coming, best end it quickly and rip the bandaid off now."
He wanted to barrage the old man with questions, this had utterly come out of left field. Yet thinking more on it, so did all things when his mentor had gotten involved. Despite that though, it still came as a shock to him. This man who had taught him everything he knew, who had protected him from the wolves intent on tearing him apart in this god-forsaken government. If he left, who would succeed him?
"But… why?" he asked simply, there was no more room for idle chatter, and Miroslav realized the reason behind the wine now.
"Because I'm old, my boy. 40 long years I've spent in this dusty old office. For 40 years I've been trying to guide this country of ours from the path of ruin. My only regret is that I may have been born too early. But despite it all, Miroslav, I don't want to die in this office. I want to die laying on my bed, back on my farm, at the vineyard. I don't want to be surrounded by puffed up old suits, I want to be with my family, my children, my grandchildren." he turned once more to look at his protege. "I want to die knowing that when my position lies empty, someone I know I can trust will stay the course, and not tear apart this house of cards we have built ourselves in."
He took a moment to process all the old man had told him just now. It was a lot to take in. He knew the day would come when he would either outlive his old mentor or simply outlast, yet those days were seemingly well off. Perhaps that was exactly why he had been so caught off guard by it all.
"Then, who do you plan on as a replacement?" Miroslav could think of a few good candidates, none that could possibly reach Ivan's level, yet good successor's nonetheless.
It was a strange thought, to be thinking of a replacement for the legendary minister. He was the man that sparked a movement within Croatia. He led the country, alongside the King, for so long, overseeing the construction of its industry, its economy, even its own borders. Whoever was to succeed him, it would be a rare man who could beat the very Chancellor responsible for the Spalato Convention.
And just then, the door opened.
Ljudevit Roljubin walked down the ornate halls of the Court of Bans, documents in hand. This was the 5th meeting in a row he was walking out of, and if everything was kept to schedule he had about ten more this afternoon. A tiring process, to say the least, but one he was used to. For almost 20 years now he's been going through these halls, yet nothing really had changed since those first days.
His wooden cross hanging from his neck, he gripped it tightly, a habit he picked up from his father and the many years he spent in church.
Members of the Sabor walked across the halls as well, though they often paid him no heed. A tall man, he often overshadowed these stuffy suits by a good half-head. Yet surprisingly his height is the least out-of-place thing about him. Clad in black robes, the orthodox priest could cut a stark image in contrast to the many
The mess hall should have the dinner ready by now. He couldn't remember what was on the menu, but after such a busy morning, he was ready to eat just about anything. Hopefully it would be a nice stew, he could go for something like that. He thought about the events of the day, and what was going to happen afterwards.
As he was walking down the hall, completely lost in his thoughts, he happened to stumble across someone he had hoped to avoid: Mr. Krešimir Madunić. One of the major figures within the Fatherland Front, and someone who just happened to be a bishop for the Croatian Catholic Church.
Needless to say, the two never were on the best of terms, yet there was still a Christian bond that kept them from clawing each others eyes out, at least he hoped that was the case.
"Ljudevit, my friend. Fancy meeting you here." Krešimir greeted, his voice sweet like honey. He knew that tone.
"Indeed father Krešimir, I had thought you were still busy preparing for your trip to the Vatican." Ljudevit quickly replied, hoping to end the conversation as soon as possible.
"Why indeed I am, but matters of state seemed to have postponed my journey for now." To Ljudevit's chagrin, the catholic bishop began walking alongside him, it seemed he was intent on annoying him today, no matter.
"A shame, and does the papal council have any thoughts on these matters of state?" Ljudevit asked as he looked at the bishop.
"None, as per usual." Krešimir answered, as a matter of fact.
If there was anything he could believe coming out of the bishop's mouth, it was that. Though of an orthodox belief, and part of the Croatian Orthodox Church, Ljudevit could not help but feel sorry for the sad state of affairs that was the situation of his Catholic brethren.
Unlike the Orthodox christians of the East, Catholicism was still somewhat tolerated by the Nazis and more importantly by the then still active Italian Empire. It did not help that more and more pressure would later be put onto both the Pope and the Church after the war to allow Italian garrisons within Vatican City so as to "protect" the integrity of the great holy site. A load of horseshit, obviously, but what was the Swiss guard compared to a well manned division of Italian soldiers. The old Swiss guard that is, nowadays, they're barely anything different than your average blackshirt battalion.
"A shame, I had hoped this new conference would be relieved of your presence." Ljudevit said.
"You'll never get rid of me that easily my friend, you should know that by now."
"Unfortunately. So, how is the Front doing, or is that classified information now as well?" Ljudevit always pushed the boundaries a bit, especially if he couldn't stand the person he was talking to. Every now and then he had hoped to really hammer in what he meant to the man, down to every detail… But the government held their hand over the bishop, quite literally making him holy… If not by God.
"Better than your failing church, but you already know that. Of course, you are always welcome to actually come and sit down at one of our meetings, just because you do not follow our laws does not mean you aren't a member of the party Roljubin."
"I would rather not be reminded of that sad reality, but once more I should thank you for the offer."
Once he had finally gotten to the entrance of the mess hall, Roljubin took a sharp turn to cut off the bishop. "This here-" He gestured to the door. "-is my stop, I assume you will not be joining me?" it was more a suggestion if anything, yet Roljubin made his tone clear in what he was implying.
"No, it would be rather uncouth of me to be sitting down with someone that holds beliefs my church has deemed heretical." Krešimir fired back.
"And yet it hasn't stopped you from hounding me as if I was a fresh faced convert."
"You should know better by now, my friend."
As they parted ways, Ljudevit quickly found himself an empty spot at the mess hall and grabbed something to eat. There was no stew, unfortunately, but he was used to living with disappointment at this point. Yet as he was making his way to his table, a guard appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
"Father Roljubin?" the boy stared at the priest with nary a blink in his eyes. He was adorned in the uniform of the palace guard, a common sight when traversing across both the new Royal Palace and the Court of Bans.
"Yes?"
"There is an urgent matter, you have been summoned."
"ATTEN-TION!" the captain roared across the wind swept courtyard as the new batch of royal guard soldiers stood at the ready, "SINGLE FILE, ALL OF YOU!"
Ilija Komušar, Grand Marshal of the Army, slowly began his inspection of this new generation of soldiers. To be a member of the Royal Guard was not something that would be half-assed, and Ilija made sure of that with every new batch that would come out. His medals clinging tightly to his chest under a worn leather coat that protected him against the wind, he slowly made his way across the single-file of guardsmen.
All stood with their weapons to their sides, chin up, back straight, not moving even an inch. 'Trained well.' he thought, inspecting the stance of each and every one.
Once, the Royal Guard of the king was nothing more than an ornamental position given to a few well-experienced Italian garrison units, serving more to protect the city and Court of Bans than the King himself. Ever since the ascension of the great King Tomislav the Third onto the throne of Croatia, the Royal Guard has been reformed into an actual fighting force, made-up of exclusively ethnic Catholic Croats.
The wind began to pick up its pace, and even some of Ilija's lieutenants were struggling to keep up the slow pace while not taking a step back, yet the guardsmen all remained still as statues. They had been brought up well at least, but that meant nothing of their reaction time.
He walked up to one of the soldiers, a stone-faced man that looked to just turn 20. Eyeing him up and down, the dark blue uniform of the Royal Guard was hidden under a thick coat, similar to the one Ilija himself was wearing, just without the regalia decorating it. A guardsman did not need to be decorated to be skilled, yet then again there was a reason certain medals were given out.
"At the ready soldier." Komušar told the guardsman, who immediately put both hands on his rifle and readied it against his chest. Ilija nodded, "Well done, that was fast." he said, before quickly grabbing the gun and pushing the guardsmen away.
To his credit, the boy was quick to react, quickly gaining his balance and not stumbling on his ass like the many other times he had pulled that old trick off. It did not stop him from being able to easily disarm the guardsmen though, and faster than he could even stand at attention the rifle was already uncocked and the magazine on the ground. "Not fast enough though."
Once he handed the rifle back to the guardsmen, the boy got back in line and Ilija continued his walk.
"Any one of you here, could one day be the deciding factor on whether or not the most important man in our country lives to see another day!" he bellowed across the courtyard. "Which means what just happened there should never happen again. You are the best this country has, serving not only the people but the Crown itself! At the ready, all the time. Anyone and everyone can and could be a potential threat, and you need to respond accordingly."
As he reached the end of the line he stopped and stared at another guardsmen. This one looked relatively older, with a much taller and bulkier build. This was no doubt a man pulled out from an already existing division, he might have even seen combat at some point.
Any experience he had mattered very little however when Ilija drew out a pistol from his holster. The man barely managed to pick the stock of the gun off the ground before a click from Ilija's pistol made him flinch.
"Too slow." It was unloaded, he rarely kept his loaded gun where it could be seen, but it was a good motivator.
The inspection was over, but it seems Ilija's work was not done as a young officer approached him with a salute. "Sir!" he brought his hand up to his brow, stiffening like a tree.
"At ease."
"You are needed, Vrhovnik."
As he entered the room Ilija immediately froze at the doorstep. He had wondered who he was summoned by, perhaps another pencil pusher ready to reprimand him, one of his subordinates wishing to plan yet another coup he would have to put down. But no, the man that stood in the room was far more important by tenfold that amount, no, more even.
"Ah, Vrhovniče, I hope I have not interrupted you during anything important." King Tomislav the Third, his majesty, stood nonchalantly in the middle of the office, to his right and left flanks sat one man he knew little of, another he knew somewhat about.
"Your majesty!" he bowed immediately, cursing himself for not doing so immediately. "Forgive me, had I known it was you who summoned me I would have come here post-haste!"
'Whatever that snot-nosed little shits name was, I'll have him court martialed the moment I come out of this room.' he thought. Ilija was furious, to deny a superior officer vital information, especially information of this importance, and to the Grand Marshal himself no less!
"At ease Marshal." the King spoke in a low yet soft tone, putting a hand out of his pocket to relieve Ilija. Clad in his old regalia, the Croatian monarch cut an intimidating figure, it did not help that compared to Ilija's groveling he was still keeping his back straight. "This meeting is anything but formal, we have no need for such behavior. Isn't that right, Ivan?"
"Indeed, your Majesty." the Chancellor came out from a side room Komušar had just now noted was there, carrying some binder of documents, the contents of Ilija could not even begin to ponder of.
"Šukić?"
"Komušar, it has been a while, has it not?" Ivan greeted the man with a nod, slowly walking over to the main table where the two other men sat opposite it. "Shall I introduce our candidates to one another?" The casual nature Šukić referred to the King shook him to his very core, yet His Majesty did not seem to mind.
"By all means, I see there is no need for me to introduce myself, unless you would all like to sit through my many names other than Tomislav."
"That won't be necessary." the insolence, "Grand Marshal, I believe you and our resident Orthodox priest here are already acquainted."
"Indeed we are." Ilija had no time to be appalled at the Chancellor's behavior as the priest stood up from his seat to shake the marshal's hand. "It's good to see you, Komušar."
"You as well father." despite their… religious disagreements, Roljubin was a good man, and a fine politician as well, one of the few good ones in Ilija's eyes. He was hesitant at first when he had heard of a priest taking up yet another seat in the Sabor, even more so a non-catholic one. Life often had an ironic turn of events when that same orthodox priest, whose faith just a decade ago was deemed degenerate by the state, was perhaps one of the few politicians he could stomach speaking to.
"And this here." Šukić showed to the left. "Is Gospodin Knežić." A young man, with jet-black hair and steely blue eyes turned to face Ilija.
"Miroslav." the boy said. "Miroslav Knežić, a pleasure, marshal."
"Knežić, that name seems familiar." Ilija said his thoughts out loud. "You wouldn't happen to be Stjepan's boy would you?"
"Yes, my father. You know him?"
"Know him? I was in the same damn class as him in school!" Ilija said. The Knežić's were a rather influential family in German Slovenia. Descending from some old aristocrat family in the Sudetenland but with strong roots now in Croatia, they were as close as modern nobility got in the country save for the Royal Family. It was a surprise to many then when the then heir to the industrial empire the Knežić's had built up was attending a simple boarding school. "How's the son of a bitch doing, he still wearing those glasses that make him look bug-eyed?"
"An answer for later, unfortunately." Šukić interrupted their conversation, cutting off the young man before he could answer.
"Yes, have no fear gentlemen, I believe you shall soon get all the time in the world to get acquainted with one another." His Majesty interjected as well, sat at the head of the table. For a moment, Ilija froze, realizing he had gotten so caught up in the sudden realization that he threw away all protocol when in front of the King. These were the mistakes men were shot for dammit! "Now, please, sit. We have much to discuss, I am sure you have all already asked yourselves why my Chancellor and I here have summoned you on such short notice."
As they sat, the Knežić boy and Roljubin returned to where they had been previously seated, which left only a seat in-between them for Ilija, facing directly towards the King himself.
"It is very simple." the Chancellor continued where the King had left off. "Our nation, and in turn our people, and the very fabric of our government, is at a crossroads. As many of you are no doubt well aware, last week the Führer Ulfric Kuhn has made a rather… interesting, announcement. I do not think I need to sugarcoat for you all."
"Aliens." Roljubin said. It was a difficult week to say the least afterwards, many people were up in arms about this new revelation, others began panicking, though most simply didn't know what to do with the information, and simply went about their lives afterwards.
"Signs of possible Alien life, ones that as of yet have not been fully comprehended. Yet that announcement has come with something else, an offer, from Germany." they all perked up after that, this information was clearly not conveyed through the television, unless…
"The Space Program?" Knežić commented. "I remember when the Führer mentioned it, saying how he would 'speak with all noteworthy leaders on Earth'."
"And indeed he did." the King interjected, opening up the binder Šukić had placed on the table. "33 candidates, all leaders of each single member of the Unity-Pakt, had been called, and each one of them had put their hat into the game for a chance to stand side by side with the Reich into this new frontier." from the binder, he pulled out 3 papers in between the pages. "Yet from them all the Reich only picked out 3."
The three men each took a single paper respectively, before exchanging them with one another. "Nordamerika… Italy… Croatia…" Ilija looked at each paper and read out loud.
"This is…" Knežić spoke up, though only in a murmur. "...overwhelming."
"Foolhardy…" so to did Roljubin.
"Batshit insane…" and Ilija as well.
"Ample statements, each one equally correct as the other." King Tomislav himself commented. "When the Führer sent me a formal invitation to Berghof, I must say I couldn't quite believe it myself."
"Yet it seems that this truly is the reality of our situation, gentlemen." Šukić said. "We have already agreed that an envoy is more fitting to be sent rather than the King himself, and as such we were hoping for a representative within the Ustasha to go and talk it out with the Führer."
Ilija could not help but wince at that. One of the few problems he had with his nation's modern military was their consistent refusal to do away with the old name of their main military branch. The Ustasha no longer had any place within their government, as they showed their true allegiance a long time ago with the desertion and treason of Francetić and his Black Legion. Anyone who is more knowledgeable of the matter or more often simply a part of the military refers to it now simply as the Homeguard, a far more fitting name in Ilija's eyes.
"We hoped you could find someone of a less fanatical nature than most other officers, Grand Marshal." His Majesty spoke, to which Ilija immediately reacted.
"Of course Sir! I know of a few possible candidates, it's simply a matter of what type of man you would want meeting the Führer."
"Details for later." the Chancellor said. "But gentlemen, I believe you now know why I have spoken so vaguely of our intentions here."
"Something tells me it doesn't have to do with this whole new Space Program the Reich is working on." Knežić said.
"Only partially." the King answered. "I suppose there is no dawdling around it any more. As you all must be well aware, Kancelar Šubić here has served me well for many years. Yet he has informed me that he intends on retiring soon. I need not tell any of you that the Reich and the Pakt itself do not have a good history when it comes to the exchange or succession of power. Do you understand now why I have called you here?"
A silence, quickly followed by the Knežić boy's voice. "A successor, that's why. And from I assume we are the possible candidates."
A range of reactions came from that line. A slight smirk came off of both the King and the Chancellor, while Roljubin himself remained somewhat stone-faced, though his brow was no doubt raised at the prospect. Ilija himself however couldn't help but huff at the notion. He had no business in politics, his life was made up for him the moment he was born, a military man from a military family, it was like clockwork honestly. Being the second most powerful man in the country sounded like an alright notion though, but he hoped he wouldn't live to see the day he would have to trade in his military uniform for a cropped up old suit.
The King's smirk soon morphed into a smile as he stood up from his chair. Clasping his arms behind his back His Majesty turned around to face the window showing off the busy windswept streets of Zagreb. "To guide, to lead, to thrive. That is the duty I must uphold to my people. No matter what, I shall not allow our flame to be extinguished." he said, a bellowing voice filling Ilija's ears. "Ivan agrees with my sentiment, and over the years he and I have worked hand-in-hand to steer this nation of ours towards a brighter future. Yet, I am still only one man, and despite our dear Chancellor's best efforts there will always be some aspects within our government both he and I shall have no control over."
He turned and looked back to the three men sitting opposite to him. "To further this course, I require certain things." he pointed to Roljubin, "Faith.", then to Ilija, "Loyalty.", and then to Knežić, "Bravery."
"You three have been deemed by His Majesty as Croatia's penultimate, the men most suited, the men most capable, and god-willing the men most skilled to bring about this new age of prosperity we claw at now. To relegate you all to only a single successor would be nothing short of a waste." the Chancellor explained.
"Which is why there shall be no successor, no singular figure to swerve the course we have set out on for his own partisan gain. No. Just as its formation during the Second World War brought about the end of old Yugoslavia. a new pact shall be forged to bring about our Golden Age. You three shall be my Tripartite, you shall be my eyes, my ears, my arms reaching across the nation. And though it pains me to say it, I'm afraid I shall not be taking no for an answer, from any of you."
"This offer is non-negotiable then?" Roljubin asked.
"I'm afraid it is not an offer, my friend." the King answered. "In all intents and purposes, this shall be a Royal Decree in a matter of days." The very notion left the three speechless to say the least, a reaction the King was apparently expecting as he sat back down to his chair.
No objections came from either Roljubin or Knežić, and Ilija himself would most likely shoot anyone who would dare say no to the King, including himself. That night, a pact was formed, one that would shape this country's future for decades to come no doubt. Yet for now, the Tripartite did not leave this room.
