Chapter 2: Vitez

Thousands gathered on the streets of Zagreb that day to celebrate, and hundreds more sat in the conference hall of the Royal Palace, with dozens of cameras placed as well to broadcast it across the nation. The war was over. The conflict in outer space that claimed so many lives was put to a close when the Führer Ulfric Kuhn signed a "Peace with Honor" with the newly discovered Citadel, its participants enacting an essential white-peace between not only Germany and the Turian Hegemony, but with Humanity and all of these supposed Citadel races.

The mood in Zagreb could only be described as exorbitant, with cheers coming from all streets and crowds of people came to welcome their heroes back home. Though being the first battle humanity has ever fought outside of Earth, the people on their planet remained notified of all the war's events through the many reports and video feeds used by the German Ministry of Information.

Gabrijel could only think about how many those videos were nothing but pure propaganda. He hadn't the stomach to watch any of them.

Yet he still stood behind the podium within the Royal Palace, a litany of reporters, delegates and politicians, both foreign and native, sat across from it. The King himself had organized this conference, a way to give his thanks, his condolences, and more importantly his congratulations to all those who had fought in the First Contact War.

Standing still as a statue, Gabrijel did not budge an inch as the men alongside him, generals, officers and captains, all took a step forward to accept their new medals from the King. There was a good line of about 8 of them, with Gabrijel standing at the very end of it all. One by one the King had addressed them and personally pinned the medals to their chest before returning to his podium and saying off the next name. He did not bother to pay attention to it, only after he had heard his own name did any sense of attention return to his consciousness.

"And finally, Gabrijel Novak, First Cadet of our brave Special Forces that fought during the war. Brave and noble men they were all, the finest this country had to offer, yet as we all know gentlemen, War is hell, and it does not have any compassion for the righteous. It was then a tragedy to hear of their demise, yet through it all there was no doubt our soldiers fought like Lions, and amongst them one man emerged hardened by the fires of war not only a survivor, but a hero." The King spoke through the many microphones placed upon the podium and on the one set up on his uniform as he stepped off it one last time. "Časniče." the King started. "It is with a heavy heart yet great pride I award you for your valor and bravery, for actions committed during your operations you showed not only great skill and tact, yet immense control against impossible odds. Your actions were those that could not be asked of any soldier, and for that, I grant you the rank of Knight of The Kingdom."

From the sides, President Miroslav Knežić came in holding a box of dark blue with velvet embroidery. Inside it, the Order of the Iron Trefoil, the Croatian Cross. A ribbon adorned the Cross, meaning it could only be worn as 1st Class.

"A higher honor, I could not bestow." were the last words Tomislav III has told him as he slowly lowered the decoration across his head and onto his shoulders.

Gabrijel stood silent, bowing his head to the King, before stepping back in line with the other soldiers. His mind attempted to wander back into its pit of uncaring emptiness, yet it was hard to not take in the people who all clapped and cheered for someone like him. Out of all of those within the Conference Hall, it was only the King who did not show any sign of congratulations. To his right, the leaders of the government, Predsjednik Knežić, Vrhovnik Komušar, Patrijarh Roljubin, and to his left, his fellow soldiers, a gap of color in their uniforms, theirs being light brown, his being a dark shade of blue. He was somewhat anxious to turn his head and look at the officers, perhaps in some fear that they might be staring at him in contempt, yet to his shock they all shared the same smiles and proud looks the crowd had, clapping alongside them in quiet solidarity. They were still all part of the military after all, they still all had a part to play in this war… they were still all soldiers.

'No, they aren't soldiers.' Gabrijel thought. 'They're leaders, commanders. Men who've earned their ranks and titles and contributed to the war effort. I just survived it.'


3 months earlier...

"So Private, how's it feel to be flying military first class?" the Wehrmacht officer asked him as he sat opposite to Gabrijel in the cockpit of the transport jet.

"Much bumpier than I thought I'd be Major!" Gabrijel said, desperately trying to stop his gear from spilling all over the cockpit, a task only made more difficult from the constant shaking and rumbling of the jet.

"Your team said they wanted you in there with them fast, got a special operation straight from Command, Hauptmann's orders!" the officer's voice could barely be heard as he yelled his lines at Gabrijel. "This bad boy can go up to speeds of Mach 4, unfortunately that's usually done when it's transporting Napalm, not people!"

"It'd assume we'd be toothpaste otherwise!"

"You'd assume right, Private!"

Fresh out of the program, Gabrijel was at-best described as an FNG, coloquially known as simply a new recruit just put on the field, more generally referred to as a "Fucking New Guy". He knew the day would come eventually, and to be honest there were concessions given to his own generation's programme due to the War happening in the frontiers of space.

"This gonna be your first mission rookie?!" the officer made small talk to try and zone out the incessant buzzing of the engines.

"Yes sir, straight from the academy." he replied simply.

"From what I see of your gear you're no slouch, and I'm pretty sure even our own boys don't have that level of firepower." he pointed to the weapon laid down beside him. The VHS-ULTRA140, a marvel of engineering all on its own, Gabrijel had learned to use well early on into his training, as a bullpup carbine in and of itself, it wasn't anything too special, but pair that up with the ability to shift and maneuver its parts into a part-rifle, part-shotgun, and part-sniper, it was the ultimate swiss-army knife of firearms. "Guess that's what happens when you bankrupt your economy into R&D huh?!"

"Wouldn't know Sir, I flunked accounting back in High School!"

"Hah! Well at least all those chemicals they put in ya didn't take away your sense of humor. Trust me rookie, in war, you need to keep a light-head of it all, otherwise there'll be a rope in your future if you survive!"

"We're Special Forces Sir, just surviving doesn't cut it for us!"

"Even got a damn motto!"

The flight lasted for a few more minutes before a radio came from communications on the officer's headset. "Affirmative." he responded to the radio message before turning to Gabrijel. "Alright kid, we're approaching the landing zone in ETA 3 minutes, best pin yourself down and grab something unless you want a concussion like poor old Hans."

The landing went off without a hitch, save for the few times he nearly dislocated his shoulder, but overall they were finally on the ground. The cockpit doors soon opened and he jumped out of the jet, leaving the Wehrmacht officer peeking through the still open doors. In front of him lied the main military base of operations for the Turian planet of Bostra, about a few hundred tents and small scale buildings were erected in the base, at least from the ones Gabrijel could see, and soldiers of all stripes were busy carrying out their duties, it seemed he was in one of the Foreign Legion camps.

"What, no welcome party?!" he called out to the officer still on the plane.

"We'll throw off some balloons for ya next time you come back from a mission!" the officer responded, grabbing hold of the latch of the door. "I'll even throw in some Agent Orange Cake for you and your buddies." He made one last two-finger salute to the Croat before sealing the doors of the jet shut. Gabrijel ran away from the jets runway before he would be incinerated and made his way into the camp.

Gear in tow, he proceeded into the base. All in all, it had the characteristics a frontline outpost would have. Barracks, storage, HQ, comms station, even a radio dish and artillery emplacements. The further in he got, the more uniforms and different soldiers he began to see, this truly was as foreign of a fighting force as one could be in.

Going past a group of Danes in tight brown uniforms bearing their standard below the German Swastika, to his right, he could see two men speaking, one looked to be Italian, based on the more green uniform, the other a Hungarian, with a slightly lighter shaded brown one. In truth, he rather stuck out, with only his uniform having any semblance of regular camouflage slapped onto it. On his shoulder was emblazoned the Croatian checkerboard, the red and white shield all soldiers have, yet just like all the other soldiers, right above it stood their rank as a foreigner, a non-german.

More than a few eyes landed on him, most of which were men from the other Reichskommisariats, among others however was a small squad of his own who managed to spot the checker and gave a small salute. He could only nod to the infantrymen in response, mainly due to inexperience. He was used to saluting others, not being saluted to.

Eventually he managed to find someone he recognized, rather, he found a uniform, identical to his own. Another member of the Special Forces was conversing with what seemed to be a German Officer right outside the outpost's HQ. The contrast between the camoed up soldier and decorated officer made even more apparent when he could see it from the third-person's perspective.

"Sir!" he saluted the superior officer before transitioning to a Heil for the German one. "Heil Germania."

"Heil Privat." the German saluted back.

"At ease soldier." his superior officer did the same.

"Private Novak, reporting for duty sirs." he introduced himself and shook the hand of the other Croat soldier, by the sash on shoulder he looked to be a Major.

"Another number from your little super-soldier program I see Manech." the German commented.

"Well what can you expect when we're winning this damn war for ya you damn Krauts." the Major responded. Gabrijel only now recognized the man as former Staff-Sergeant Ivan Manić, he'd seen his face a good few times in the papers yet never knew he was also a part of the program.

"Amusing, you have your orders Major, as does your entire battalion. Keep radio contact and call for any fire support you need, other than that however, you're on your own."

"Just the way we like it, ain't that right rookie?"

"Yes sir!"

"Two peas in a pod you two. Be careful with him Privat, your Major here likes putting his men into some trouble. Heil Germania." he saluted lazily before going back inside the tent, leaving only him and a smirking Major beside Gabrijel.

"You're in luck rookie." the Major spoke up, signalling Gabrijel to follow him as they started to walk through the outpost. "Not even a day you've landed on this rock and you're already smooching up to the CO, in fact I even think he likes you."

"I'll take that as a compliment sir. You two know each other, seem to be pretty loose with how you speak to him?" Gabrijel faintly struggled with keeping up with the Major's pace, the man did not walk, he strode.

"Something like that, I wouldn't recommend taking that same tone with him however, unless you're aiming to get tied to the post for the firing squad." they made a right, going past another group of soldiers running track across a more open field. "His name's Julian Tauscher, a good man in all regards, we worked together a few times during the Oil Crisis. Looks after his men, doesn't treat 'em like dogshit and more importantly isn't above speaking to us Untermensch."

"I take it that's why he was assigned to the foreign legion?"

"Hah, hardly. Trust me when I tell you this rookie, Njemci, they're all the same. Don't matter how they treat you, you'll always just be a dog with a collar to them. No I'd say Tauscher most likely pissed off the wrong guys up in the big building, he was too important to kill though so he was figuratively exiled to herd us sheep into being useful wolves for the Reich."

Gabrijel didn't know if he could truly agree with his superiors sentiment. On one hand he was not so naive to think himself more important in the social hierarchy the Einheints-pakt has built up for itself during its existence. It was all but written law that a German was worth more in society than any of its other peoples, and thus would always get special privileges. Yet despite that, he never had any bad experiences with a German. His mother herself was half-German, originally from Munich, while his father also had some Italian in him, so Gabrijel was far from what one would call a pure-blooded Croat. Yet that was the country he was born in, and those were the people he called his brothers and sisters, and save for the SS, Ethnic vetting was long since overruled by Germania's courts.

"I'll take your word for it sir." he wasn't about to start an argument with a superior on his first day of active duty however, so he merely nodded along.

"Tell me Novak, how was it for you boys in boot camp?"

"You mean the academy sir? Well, I wouldn't know for comparison's sake on the previous generations, but the best way I'd describe is twice the effort with half the time. Our instructor once told us that none of the other generations underwent our level pressure."

"I'd assume as such, war quickly makes standards drop when it comes to training some decent soldiers. How long did you all have?"

"Three months sir. Not including the therapy sessions we had to get our metabolisms used to everything after the operations."

"God damn lab-coat bastards! Me and mine had a full year alone to get all these juices flowing smoothly through our veins, least of all the fucking training." were they not speaking in Croatian, Gabrijel was pretty sure he wouldn't have seen as many eyes on the two of them, but it was unavoidable at this point it seems. "How many of yours managed to pass the tests?"

"Seven, out of the twenty that managed to survive, sir."

"Well, it's something at least, I assume your colleagues already made it to their squads, these storms have thrown out our entire schedule. I was the only graduate from my generation."

"Really sir?"

"Helps when you've been living like this for most of your life rookie. Trust me, the academy has taught you nothing, once we get on to our first operation is when your real mettle will be tested."

Finally turning another left, they made it to their destination. A makeshift building in between many of the other tents, slightly larger than the others, but still paling in comparison to the hangar or storage facility.

"And this here's our barracks. You can get yourself suited up here." the Major explained.

"Something wrong with the one I passed on the way here sir?" he asked.

"Perks of being Special Forces rookie. Gotta have all that sweat be worth something. Get your gear ready and meet us about 2 clicks on the South-West point of the camp, that's where your squaddies are hunkering down until we give 'em the go ahead. I'm overseeing Squads Anton, Bertha, Caesar and Dora." as the Major told him all of the information he stopped himself, spotting the look of confusion that the young private gave him at the mention of squad names. "We use German callsigns to keep the Krauts happy, they don't like being confused."

"Understood."

"Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it soon enough. You're designated as part of Squad Caesar. Don't dawdle, we're on the clock here."

"Aye, sir!"


10 years later...

He got off the train, suitcase in hand, along with a sea of passengers that flooded into the busy Zagreb streets. All of them kept their heads down when passing by the Royal Guards who stood a good distance away from the train's main doors, yet very clearly were expecting someone. That someone, very clearly, being him.

"Captain Novak." the main guardsman of the pack saluted him alongside his other comrades. "We've come to escort you to the Royal Palace, His Majesty's orders." the guardsman eyed Gabrijel up and down for a moment, noting his attire. "Unless, of course, you would like a chance to change into something more presentable and… freshen up."

The comment at his attire made him look down for a moment. Black suit pants and a white button-up shirt was all he was wearing. It was frankly the most formal attire he could find on such short notice, at least the one that would not have him be sweating up the Danube river. Even in this light of clothing, he could still feel the hot August wind all the way up in Slavonia, it was yet another thing he could not run away from it seemed. The freshening up was more reasonable, the last time he had looked into a mirror Gabrijel could see only a pale, disheveled and pathetic excuse of a man with dark bags under his eyes and stubble forming around his face. It had been a good time since he had shaved or even taken care of himself past the basic necessities of eating and bathing, yet frankly, he simply didn't care to keep up appearances anymore.

"The King wanted to see me, did he not? Then, let's not keep him waiting." he responded, to which the guardsman raised his brow but nodded all the same.

"Very well then, follow me." he turned and walked towards the streets, the four guards behind him soon forming a perimeter around Gabrijel.

Once out of the train station they all got into an armored car and rode off along the street, the escort entering their own vehicles parked just behind and in front. The only one that still stood with Gabrijel now was the apparent leader of the little troupe. They sat opposite from one another in the car, it was a black truck with closed off windows save for the driver's spot that was in full view. A silence befell the small space they sait in save for the soft rumbling of the car engine and the traffic of the outside that was muffled, he could only assume this vehicle was meant for the escort of important individuals.

Gabrijel contemplated for a moment if he should roll down the sleeves of his shirt, it was clear that no matter how stoic the guardsman tried to make himself look the eyes slowly darting back and forth towards his bandages were not so easily hidden under the visor of his cap.

"Keep your head up and your mouth shut, guardsman. I don't need your pity." he could practically predict the line that was going to come out of the man's mouth. He had heard enough of it from his own family and his therapist the state had given him.

"Very well, sir." the Royal Guard acknowledged and turned his head towards the blocked window.

The rest of the ride was a silent one, and Gabrijel did not make an effort to break it, nor did the guard. Eventually, the vehicle stopped, and both of them exited out in front of the Royal Palace.

The guardsmen from the other vehicles quickly did the same and re-made the small square around Gabrijel. He truly did have to wonder why this was necessary, it wasn't like he was going to pull out a gun and shoot himself on the spot.

"This way, sir."

Inside, the Palace looked almost the same since the first time he had entered it all those years ago. Below his feet was a red carpet floor that spanned across near all the halls, it's vibrance kept almost spotless by the servants who even now were keeping themselves busy with a multitude of tasks. Other guardsmen were either patrolling the palace or spent their time sitting idle and guarding on their posts. The White Marble walls were lined with gold carvings and paintings of Royal Family members, both current and late.

"I know the rest of the way myself." he tried to convince the guards.

"His Majesty's orders, sir."

"Very well." he sighed. "I heard there was also a detachment sent in Zadar to come pick me up."

"His Majesty suspected you might not have been in ample condition to travel to the capital yourself, we had prepared a plane in order to safely transport you should any complications arise."

"Complications, uhuh…"

Reaching the doors to the Royal office of the King, the guards stood at attention as their leader opened the entrance. "The King shall be with you shortly."

"Sure you want to leave me alone here?"

"Would you like us to wait inside?"

"No, that's fine."

The guard nodded and soon closed the doors behind Gabrijel. It was a rather lavish office all things considered. He had seen it a few times on television. News broadcasts and documentaries, you would think this would be a more private space, but the King was somewhat of a showman as Gabrijel soon learned.

The fireplace was not lit, the oak logs sitting inside charred but not completely burned. Yet there was still tinder under it so it must have been used, or at least intended to be used in some time. There was not much he could do in the room, save for perhaps reading one of the many books placed on a wooden shelf to his right, but he would rather not touch anything in the King's own office, feeling it to be a slight breach of conduct. In the end, he decided to just sit down and wait for Tomislav to come.

It didn't take long for the doors behind him to open and see that it was not only the King, but the Grand Marshal himself, Ilija Komušar.

"Gabrijel, it is good to see you." the King spoke.

Gabrijel got up from his seat and saluted the four men. "Your Majesty. Sir."

"At ease soldier, sit down." Komušar said.

As he followed the Marshal's instructions the King and Komušar walked across the office table and sat down, with Komušar not taking a seat and merely standing behind him.

"We have heard of the recent incident that has happened in your home." the King stated bluntly and stone-faced.

"I assume you would have, otherwise I would not be here."

That day, in his house. Alone with everything closed. He had not been outside in a good few days, the press office he worked in gave him call after call, none of which he answered. A pit that just kept going, and he was simply falling further and further into it with no end in sight. Eventually, he had enough. The only flaw in the whole plan was the fact that his sister had just so happened to visit that day, and managed to keep him alive long enough for the ambulance to arrive.

"You were kept in the hospital for quite some time, there was no need for you to take the train all the way to Zagreb, I had-"

"The plane, yes, I know." Gabrijel interrupted the King, to the chagrin of Komušar.

The King sighed, no doubt he had already expected this conversation to turn sour. He and Gabrijel were never on the best of terms, on no part of His Majesty's own all things considered, it was mainly due to Gabrijel's insistence on having no part in the military, despite the many incentives the state had given him. In reality, a career in the military would have most likely been the best option for his life, a meager living following his father's footsteps as a newspaper editor was the path he chose however, and it was the path he intended to follow.

"Very well, tell me then, how are you doing Gabrijel?" Tomislav asked.

He stared at the King for what felt like a few hours, his emotions completely removed, his voice monotone, it was not from an effort, it was from a lack of it. "How am I doing? Well," he legitimately thought of the events that had transpired this last month; from him alone in his house, to his sister desperately trying to keep him alive, placing wet rags around his forearm desperately as a girl is crying in the distance, his niece. The next few hours would relapse to him only in segments, tied to a bed, in a hospital, with a UV stuck inside him and a guard sitting in the corner reading a newspaper. It wasn't long after that they intensified the already present watch local police already had on him. "It has been… difficult." and that was an understatement, yet frankly, he had no other words to describe it. Gabrijel had been fighting this demon for 10 years now, yet every battle resulted in either stalemate or loss in his head, were it not for those around him, whether willing on his behalf or otherwise, he would have most certainly been 10 feet in the grave already, alongside all of his other comrades.

"I would say that I understand your struggles, yet I respect you and your former battalion too much for me to lie so openly to you like that. Have your… sessions been of any help?"

"Somewhat." he answered honestly. "The doctor is patient with me, she lets me go at my own pace and answers the questions I have for her… and for myself as well."

Tomislav then pulled a file from a drawer under his desk. "Yet from the reports she has given us here, it says you two have mainly spoken about your time before the military. And that when pressed-" he lowered the file back down on the table. "You refuse to speak. Period."

'Of course, why would I think even she might not be an agent.' it came as no shock in all honesty, she was a therapist provided by the state itself, and there were far more covert operatives Gabrijel had long since found out were reporting on him. Perhaps some humor could be found in the fact that one could hide in such plain sight from him. 'After all, I'm your property. The only reason you're all still playing nice is so I don't blow my head off the moment you hand me a gun.'

"Don't you believe that you should perhaps talk about the burdens on your mind rather than skating around them?"

"I am." he responded quickly.

"Yet you still refuse to talk about Bostra."

"And I won't. Ever." once more he answered, this time his voice was far more tense. "That planet was buried when the bombs flattened it to high hell. I say let it stay buried."

The King sighed once more, leaning back on his chair. He was well aware of how difficult he was proving to be in this situation, but his entire life had been of trials and burdens, what right did these men have to string him along any further than they already had. Still, in those small moments of fire that still remained in him, it meant nothing in the end. His eyes soon became dead again, his muscles less tense, his voice quiet once more. What point was there fighting against it?

"May I, your Majesty?" Komušar interjected, to which Tomislav nodded. "I may not understand your current state of mind fully, son. But that doesn't mean I haven't met other men with the same shell shock you've experienced during war." he leaned on the sides of the table and got ever closer to Gabrijel before putting a hand on his shoulders. "Do you know how many men I've had try and throw themselves off bridges and towers from the weight of it all, how many of them I personally had to talk down. I could hardly tell you myself to be honest, but I can damn sure tell you how many I've failed to stop from jumping. Your situation is not special Novak, I can tell you this right now. However, what you are is special, and more importantly, it is valuable. To us, to the country, and to the future generations."

He took a moment to process what the Marshal had just told him, and struggled not to laugh in his face. It was no news to him that the reason he was still alive at all was the simple fact that the Kingdom could not afford him to die.

"You are quite literally one of a kind Gabrijel. Since the First Contact War, we may have chosen to disband the PERUN project, but that does not mean we intend on keeping it disbanded. A new generation must be trained eventually. For what little they served in the field, we managed to cut our mark in history's pages for that one sweet moment, and it earned us a spot alongside Germany's most influential Kommisariats. It is the reason we can now operate with such autonomy, and the reason why we have to prove that it wasn't a one trick pony act."

"In other words, I'm simply being kept alive because you don't want to bankrupt the country for your second chance at the spotlight."

Both men sighed once more. "Put less crassly, yes, that is exactly what we are doing." Tomislav answered, rubbing his brow.

"So then why have I not been called in? Where is this fabled "second generation" you keep talking about?"

"Put simply Novak, you're in no shape to be fully reinstated for service, much less be mentoring several high-level soldiers through a deadly training program, not to mention the preparations it would take to once more chemically enhance the body structure of even a new battalion's worth of men." Komušar explained, with the King continuing on.

"It took years for us to even achieve the 500 hundred number we originally had at the time of the First Contact War, and that was after an economic boom that left our figurative coffers filled to the brim. By our departments estimates, we'll only be ready to kickstart this project somewhere within the next 20 or so years. A timeframe in which you shall be more valuable than the entire Adriatic."

Gabrijel crossed him arms. Leaning back on his chair he momentarily lapsed into a void of contemplation on what the King and his Marshal were implying. Just for that one second, he had thought of the good that could possibly come of the things the state was planning. The Glory Days came and went faster than anyone today could remember them, however that does not mean the country should simply sit on its laurels and think of the past as the peak of its history. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could train this new era of Special Forces to not make the same mistakes they did… the same mistakes he did when push came to shove.

"Even if I accept your proposal. What makes you think I won't make another attempt?" was all he could ask, dashing any hopeful thoughts away instantly.

"Unfortunately, this is no proposal, this is a direct order from your King, Gabrijel." Tomislav stood from his chair. "You shall be reinstated, regardless of your current condition, effective immediately. We have given you time, we have given you more extended hands that anyone else in this country would have the right to."

"Sometimes you gotta shake the tree and see what falls out." Komušar said.

"Yet, despite that." Tomislav continued after Komušar. "No matter what we, or even you yourself, think of the current situation. There is no point of contention when I say that you are still a human being, Gabrijel. One that shall function as he did all those years ago, his head held high and eyes looking up at the sky for all men to see. Yet I do not want our country to see the war hero, the monument, the legend. I want them to see the soldier, the man."

"And what if that man faded away long ago?"

"Then we shall bring him back, like a phoenix from the ashes. And as with all fires, it must start with a simple spark." the King went around the table and stood just shy of looming over Gabrijel. Extending his hand, he urged Gabrijel to shake, yet he could only stare in continued disbelief.

His eyes wandered to the windows outside for a moment. The sun shined, just as it did on that day. That day where his entire life was nearly snuffed out in but a second, not once, not twice, but four times over. Yet despite it all, it was not the scarred veterans who made it out alive. It was him, the fresh-faced FNG, the rookie, the silent private who stood his ground and survived through it all. If that man is who is to lead the future of this nation's best and brightest, maybe the future truly is grimm. But in the eyes of the King he did not see the same sentiment. No matter how cold and calculating he would come off as, His Majesty truly seemed to care, and in contrast to his own bleak mindset, in the steely blue eyes of Tomislav the Third he only found a hopeful light in the darkness. It made him sick to his core, yet also reminded him of the oath they took back in the academy when joining the army.

"Down low, the Men" he got up from his seat, "Up high, the Cross" looked at the King who still had his hand reached out in hope, "But above all, the Nation." and saluted to his leader, as any good soldier would.

The King, caught in silence, murmured for a moment. "Forgive me." Gabrijel could hear it as clear as day, yet it still meant as little to him as the chirping of the birds or blowing of the wind outside. His hand, outreached to the final remnant of the 1st CSF "Tiger" Battalion, soon fell limp, and the King returned back to his seat behind the desk.

"Your uniform shall be delivered to you tomorrow." Komušar began explaining as Gabrijel eased himself from the salute. "You shall be assigned a new station, the captain of a small guard in the town of Tomislavgrad. Any and all things you require and request will be brought along with you to your new post. The garrison within the city may be small, around 100 men, yet with the population mostly under control they should be used mainly to ward off any potential Partisan or Ustashe activity. Your room is on the west wing of the Palace, report to us tomorrow at 0600 sharp and I will personally brief you further on the matter."

"Aye, sir…"