EDIT: Hello there, this has been edited to let you know that despite my best efforts, I cannot continue with this story. But, I didn't want to just leave without saying a word, so here I am.
I am thankful for all of the support I have received in the year I have been writing. I hope you guys have nice lives.
By the way, if you are interested in carrying this on yourself, then feel free to message me about it. However, I am unsure of how fic adoption works exactly, so...
Back to the (final) chapter!
Author's Note: Here is the next chapter, starring Serbia this time!
While my version of Serbia is somewhat inspired by the character in Noive's comic 1914 -which is still on Deviant Art if you want to read it- I have tried not to make him a copy of their version.
It has been a long time since I have read the comic anyway, so I have based more of Teodor's character on what I found out about Serbia while I was researching this chapter.
Also, I would like to thank the people that have reviewed this story- you are lovely and so helpful.
Anyway, thank you for reading!
~Anonymous Lily
Chapter Fifteen: The Flowers of Belgrade
Belgrade, Serbia, October 1915.
In October 1915, the combined Austro-German force began its' second invasion of Serbia, lead by August von Mackensen, one of the most capable and talented Field Marshals of the German High Command. He had successfully led the armies into the outskirts of Belgrade, but had been halted, if only temporarily, by the resident army on the other side of the Danube.
It was on this foggy morning in October that Teodor Loncar sat, taking a moment of respite. Like the rest of the people in the city, he had not slept the previous nights, due to the relentless artillery attacks that had destroyed about half of their weapons and torn a hole in his already stressed defences. They were reduced to waiting in their own streets for the enemy.
He gave a quick glance to the man next to him, a postman in his thirties with a thick, unkempt moustache from which small clouds would appear with the rhythmic wheezing of his smoky lungs. Noticing that he was being watched, the man's eyes flickered upwards, warming at the sight of a familiar face.
"The odds really are against us, aren't they Teodor?"
There was nothing overly cynical in the way he said it, no desperate pleading. It had gotten to the stage where most, like his companion, had accepted the inevitable, however much they would rather it was not the case.
He sighed, "Yes, you could say that."
It's not enough that the Austrians and Germans are traipsing around on my land, but the Bulgarians decide to join in as well... Teodor ruminated. It doesn't help that the only assistance I received from my allies were small groups and equipment that would not be useful. I appreciate it, but...
"Serbia, I see you're still here." said a voice behind him. Recognising it instantly, Teodor whipped around to meet the calm face of Dragutin Gavrilovic.
He was a broad, stocky man that radiated an aura of indomitable spirit. He observed the hazy silhouettes of the once grand streets of Belgrade with dark, intelligent eyes, before focusing on Teodor's face.
"Are you feeling well?" he asked, trying to disguise his concern.
"Just a bit tired, that's all.," Teodor replied, "Just like everyone else here."
The general nodded, patting Teodor's shoulder. "You will feel better after you go to Mass, I have no doubt,"
He gestured to the line of soldiers and civilians alike entering the sturdy doors of the cathedral. Without a word, Teodor, Gavrilovic and the postman joined them.
%&%
The morning mist cleared with the coming of the afternoon, revealing the lines of soldiers obediently marching towards the café where they once would have sat and admired the view.
Rows upon rows of men, young and old poured onto the street, followed by those that refused to leave their beloved city. All waiting for their commander.
Teodor stood with them, clutching a poppy that he had taken from the flower shop on the street before.
Please, let us win. Let us survive. He muttered as he tucked it into his collar, the red petals flattening against his chest.
At last, Gavrilovic entered the street.
"Soldiers, exactly at three o'clock, the enemy is to be crushed by your fierce charge, destroyed by your grenades and bayonets. The honour of Belgrade, our capital, must not be stained." He maintained his steady gaze, addressing every soldier standing in front of him.
"Soldiers! Heroes! The supreme command has erased our regiment from its records. Our regiment has been sacrificed for the honour of Belgrade and the Fatherland. Therefore, you no longer need to worry about your lives: they no longer exist." He glanced in the direction of the enemy.
"So, forward to glory!" Gavrilovic shouted, looking at last to Teodor, "For the King and the Fatherland! Long live the King, Long live Belgrade!"
With that, the remaining defenders of Belgrade charged, a fire of hope burning in their hearts. The opposing forces clashed as soon as they entered the Lower Town, descending into close-quartered combat.
Teodor didn't hesitate as first one, then two soldiers fell by his blade. In this moment in time, it was simply him against the enemy- a state of mind that once unnerved him, but now was second nature, as it was with every other Nation in this war.
They will not take me again without a fight, I must make sure of it.
However, the flow of enemies grew, irrespective of casualties. His soldiers, despite wounds and fatigue, kept pushing against their enemies.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Gavrilovic running towards him, unaware of an Austrian gun poking out from a nearby window.
He collapsed.
"Dragutin!" Teodor yelled, watching his only hope crumbling to the ground like a paper doll in the wind. He rushed to Gavrilovic's side, where the general crouched.
"We must retreat, now." he breathed. Teodor nodded before escorting his general away from the battleground.
"Serbians!" Teodor exclaimed, his voice growing hoarse, "Retreat!"
+ Instead, they gave him a small flying squadron, a few torpedo boats and a cruiser, as well as 200 Russian soldiers.
I have tried my best to stick to the events that happened from October 7th to October 9th. However, there isn't that much on google that is in detail, and I'm not sure where to start in terms of primary sources.
Serbia fell on October 9th after two days of fighting- apparently, August von Mackensen was so impressed with his enemies, that they erected a monument in their name (I got that fact from Basta Balkana's article on Gavrilovic.)
Despite his average origins as a tailor's son, Dragutin Gavrilovic was one of the most decorated officers of the Serbian army. Gavrilovic was wounded heavily at the end of the last battle- I think he was shot in his right leg and hand.