Approaching Storm

March 18, A.D. 2021, 15:07:25

Private John Payne

101st Airborne Legion

101st Airborne Oddział (Batallion)

AN-70 Deck, over the Altaras Strait, 8 minutes to drop zone

"Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Come on, John, stay calm. You've been trained for this. Swift action, at the forefront of the attack, just as you wanted," Payne muttered to himself. Nerves were eating at him. He was about to experience his first combat mission, and it was of such great magnitude.

Direct descent onto the capital of Parpaldia, they were to disable the "Empire" in one strike. Yes, nihil novi sub sole, Payne thought. After all, that's what the 101st Legion was created for - the first and only elite airborne unit in the entire Republic.

Formed only after the success of analogous British paratroopers during the Irish War, as the armed conflict that took place between 1942 and 1945 was called. However, after the war, Polish military personnel were not eager to form such a unit, preferring the so-called "Silent Unseen" (Cichociemni).

To explain, these are paratroopers who, at most, in battalion strength, perform the role of commando-saboteurs, living off the enemy's land. Incidentally, it was based on the Cichociemni that Polish special forces such as the Special Service (SS) and Kedyw were later formed.

This does not mean, of course, that the Cichociemni themselves ceased to exist. On the contrary, they continue to exist to this day as independent paratrooper oddział (battalions), enjoying well-deserved glory and esteem.

The Cichociemni themselves are an extension of light infantry regiments serving in the Commonwealth, based, for example, on Hutsul riflemen, Kurpie riflemen, or Jegrzy, also often called "Hunters."

The effectiveness and usefulness of the Cichociemni were demonstrated in the Irish War, where airborne units dropped into Ireland unleashed hell upon the British attempting to annex the island.

The 101st itself was established as a result of pressure from Alaskan officers who wanted something different from small sabotage units that were unable to realistically seize territory but only annoy the enemy on it. Eventually, it was agreed to create such a unit, drawing on the experiences that other countries had with such soldiers.

For a long time, there was reluctance towards it, considering it an expensive extravagance, preferring airborne cavalry based on helicopters, which had a fighting style more suitable for the Polish military. Nevertheless, during the war starting on July 4th, it proved highly effective in clashes with the Worker's Army. Although the 101st suffered heavy losses during this conflict, it demonstrated its usefulness, especially in cooperation with the Cichociemni, becoming a thorn in the side of the attacking Americans.

Since then, it has become the trusted fist of the Commonwealth, wherever a fast and hard strike against the enemy is needed. It should be noted that traditionally, this unit consists of Free Americans, commonly known as Alaskans, as opposed to Alaszkans, who are Polish and Rusyn-speaking residents of Alaska, and of course, the indigenous people known as Indians.

Therefore, in addition to the operational commands that are in Polish because Alaska is a Crown Colony, the language soldiers use on a daily basis is English.

"Hey!" shouted Payne's neighbor, seeing that he wasn't responding, and tapped him on the shoulder. It was only then that Payne reacted, suddenly jumping up.

"Sit down, we're not jumping yet," his neighbor pulled him down.

"Oh, it's you. Sorry, Harry, I'm a bit nervous, you know?" Payne realized his mistake after a moment.

The soldier named Harry rolled his eyes. "And who wouldn't be nervous?" he asked rhetorically. "Only an idiot wouldn't be nervous in this situation."

"Well... the madness was cooked up by our Hetman," Payne agreed.

Harry shook his head from side to side before replying, "He is, after all, the great-grandson of Roosevelt. And was Teddy normal?"

Payne slowly nodded his head. After all, it's hard to call someone normal who didn't care when someone shot at him or who crossed the entire country to Poland with a multitude of refugees.

"Nevertheless, I'm surprised that the command approved it," Payne added.

Harry shrugged. "I heard that the Hetman personally flew to Warsaw to meet the King, most likely our gracious ruler pushed it through."

"If that's true, I'm not surprised. Piłsudski is the King's man. I've never heard of him doing anything against him," Payne replied.

"You know, John?" Harry asked his friend.

"Yes?" Payne inquired.

"I think you forgot that our King is the supreme commander of all the armed forces of the Commonwealth,, and the officers and hetmans only represent him in the field. If he wants something, he can do it, and Hetman Piłsudski has to fulfill his orders because he's his commander," Harry explained.

"Well, yeah. That's right," Payne agreed, recalling his recent history lessons about the current ruler's great-grandfather, who, by the way, shares the same name as him, Witold I. He personally led the Crown Army against England during the Irish War.

As the Commander of the Polish Forces, he occupied the United Kingdom and received the triumph due to the Great Leader upon his return to the country when Great Britain laid down its arms. For many foreigners of that time and even today, it is unthinkable. For Payne and many other Poles, it is a source of pride that their Kings are not mere puppets on the throne.

Then he felt a stronger jolt, and the AN-70 began to descend. Oddziałowy (Lieutenant Colonel) Edward Kenway, the commanding officer of their unit, went to the center of the deck.

"All right, gentlemen and scaredy-cats. We'll be over the target in 6 minutes. Check your equipment. I don't want any surprises, neither in the air nor on the ground!" the officer announced. "And remember, no foolish stunts. I don't want to find out that one of my men got taken down by some musket-wielding native," he added, pointing his finger threateningly.

"Yes, Sir!" all the paratroopers shouted in Polish.

"I can't hear you!"

"YES, SIR!" they repeated louder.

"Well, let's stick to that," Kenway, officially recorded as Kenłej in the papers, was satisfied. After all, Polish is now the language to adapt to.

The paratroopers, who had all risen by now, began to check their equipment one last time before jumping out of the plane. There was no end to showing off, bantering, or other interpersonal pleasantries. Each tried to occupy their mind in their own way before the jump. Yes, they were jumping onto an enemy that would be first stunned by their air force and that couldn't retaliate due to its backwardness, but it was a descent not out in the field, but straight into the city.

Payne stretched slightly before the jump, a colleague from the neighboring row silently prayed. Another nervously tapped his foot. The red light in the fuselage created an atmosphere of tension. As they felt the jolt once again and the cargo ramp began to lower, everyone tensed up, preparing for the command to run and jump.

As soon as the green light lit up, the command was given, "Go!"

Payne focused, his squad was the first to jump. In front of him were three other paratroopers who belonged to his team and group: Anthony Stark, Steven Roger, and Peter Parker, known as Gwiazdor (the Star), Poważny (the Serious), and Kujon (the Nerd), as they were commonly called in Payne's squad. And not without reason.

Stark, as befitting their team's Star, made a flashy jump. Roger, on the other hand, quickly and confidently performed his jump. Parker did it almost by the book.

Now it was Payne's turn. Without much thought, he gained momentum and jumped forward without any showboating, although the jump seemed to go in slow motion for him. In his opinion, it took him a while to leave the deck. It was only after he flew out that the world started moving as it should.

He stared at the city below, admitting that it was enormous. According to the information received before the mission, it had over a million inhabitants. Nevertheless, he was amazed to see skyscrapers, well, they were somewhat small, but still skyscrapers.

That didn't mean it was calm, though. The city itself was already under attack by the KZL ZB-81 Wróbel from the OKP Władysław IV Waza and the AN-20/AR artillery planes, which were the artillery version of the AN-20 from the 11th Transport Regiment that transported the paratroopers.

The Wróbels dropped guided bombs, while others used the latest iteration of the Szpons, which were air-to-ground guided missiles. However, there seemed to be a preference for bombs over missiles. The latter had only moderate esteem throughout the armed forces. It's not surprising, considering we're talking about extremely expensive weapons, which, when combined with laser weaponry, made them highly situational armament.

But for Payne, it was a dispute among armchair generals, which was completely irrelevant in his situation. He opened his parachute quite low to the ground, suspecting the presence of solid anti-aircraft defenses, so-called magical cannons. Their presence was confirmed by intelligence and reconnaissance, and a characteristic feature was the rainbow they created when opening fire.

The young Alaskan noticed them during the descent, futilely trying to stop air strikes or shoot down transport planes. Usually, right after they opened fire, a Wrobel or AN-20/AR would blow them up in the air. It was particularly macabre in the latter case because the artillerymen on the AN-20/AR didn't mess around and blew up the entire area along with the cannon.

If there were any civilians around, they were in deep trouble.

That's why he deployed his parachute low, as did almost all his comrades in the unit. This way, they could count on the element of surprise because, as it is quite obvious, it's very difficult to spot a falling person.

As soon as he hit the ground, which was a small square, without wasting a moment, he took off the backpack with the parachute from his back. He no longer needed it, and time was of the essence. Then he reached for his backpack with equipment and slung it over his back. Quickly after that, he picked up his weapon and released the safety.

His standard weapon was the wz.18 Radon automatic rifle, the successor of the old and worn-out wz.68 Tantal. It differed in everything, but most importantly, it was a modular weapon, so you could customize it according to your preferences.

His Radon was quite classic, with the addition of a foregrip and a holographic sight.

He was ready, just adjusting his goggles, which looked like ordinary military goggles from the outside but, in reality, besides eye protection, had a simple HUD display connected to the Topaz so that he knew the locations of his comrades, their status, and similar information.

A small thing but very helpful. However, as soon as he was about to report his readiness by pressing the button on the pseudo-watch worn on his wrist, which was essentially a larger smartwatch without a touch screen, a gunshot rang out.

The world slowed down again, and Payne wasn't surprised at all. In such situations, he suddenly felt like he was moving faster than normal. He easily dodged and sprinted towards cover. While running, he realized that the bullet hit and ricocheted off the stones that paved the square.

As soon as he found cover, the world returned to normal, and Payne started looking for the shooter. He found him after the second shot, which hit the wooden roof above an old well. Only then did he notice where the shots were coming from.

It was a red-colored building with some signs in the local language and three flags on its wall. He recognized one of them because it was the flag of Parpaldia, but the other two were unfamiliar. He suspected that one of the remaining flags represented the city.

The shooter was firing from open windows, more precisely from the second floor. Whoever was shooting apparently wasn't clever enough to have all the windows open. When they attempted to shoot for the third time, Payne reacted quickly. He aimed and fired two short bursts.

He didn't know if he hit or not. Nevertheless, he momentarily silenced the shooter. Unfortunately, another one joined the action, this time from the first floor. Another person quickly came to their aid from the same floor. Then the firing started from the ground floor, this time with more assailants.

Payne quickly took cover behind the well, pressing the button on his "smartwatch" appropriate for being under attack. Then he resumed exchanging fire with the unknown adversaries. He quickly realized that his opponents had terrible aim, which, combined with poor rate of fire and lack of coordination, allowed him to open fire without much concern.

"Payne, report what's happening. Who's attacking you?" his commander, Grupowy John Marston, spoke up after a while of shooting.

"Eight contacts, from the red building to the east of my position. I suspect it's the local police station. I'm having trouble confirming hits; every time I shoot, someone fires back from that window," Payne replied, taking cover again and reloading in the process.

"Understood, Group, rendezvous north of Payne." A blue marker with an arrow appeared on Payne's HUD. "Payne, hold your position until reinforcements arrive."

"Copy that, received," Payne replied, then settled comfortably, allowing himself to be fired upon from what he assumed were local police officers. In the meantime, he could admire their marksmanship; they simply shot indiscriminately. Bullets were flying in all directions, and he could easily count the shattered pots, broken windows, and shattered stones.

However, they couldn't cover up the sound of intensifying urban warfare and flying planes. From time to time, Payne noticed residents peeking through windows, ordinary people whose peaceful lives were interrupted by an unexpected descent. Despite everything, Payne felt sympathy for them. They had been living peacefully, certain they were safe and that no one would dare invade their town, and suddenly, someone attacked them in broad daylight.

He also noticed hastily discarded items and abandoned stalls. Nothing new, the residents fled as soon as he landed and they realized he was armed.

He checked the police station again and realized that two officers had left the building. They looked colorful like the building itself, wearing beautiful red uniforms with gold trim and white helmets similar to those worn by British police officers.

Payne knew them well because his great-grandfather, who served His Majesty during the days when America was a British dominion, wore such a uniform. He had his pictures, and when he was little, he wanted to join the police. In the end, he ended up in the military when he caught the passion for parachuting in high school.

It wasn't uncommon; many Polish paratroopers started that way. After all, parachute jumps are highly popular and esteemed among Poles, and many parachute schools offer programs for high school students. So he went to such a school, and encouraged by his friends and instructors, he joined the military to be able to skydive at the king's expense. Thus, instead of becoming a police officer, he became a soldier. That's the whole story.

Nonetheless, he liked the police, and his hobby was collecting memorabilia from this organization, with a particular focus on the former British police. This modern one was... so-so. Quite frankly, it was very Polish, due to Poland's policy towards occupied Britain. All former uniformed formations were dissolved, and the British Police were replaced by the British Gendarmerie, modeled after the Polish Crown Police.

As for the communist version from America, there are no words.

So, he felt a bit sorry for shooting at them. They looked good; their weapon was a type of oversized revolver, but it had to be done. He waited for them to get closer before opening fire. The first one dropped dead after a single shot, the second one tried to escape, but before he reached the stairs, Payne shot him three times in the back.

The police officer fell forward, and the revolver flew a few meters away. Payne quickly returned to the first one and sent a few bullets his way just to make sure he was dead. Fortunately, he was.

Then he quickly took cover again as the remaining officers counterattacked. This time, their volley was more accurate; most of the bullets hit the well or its roof. One bullet pierced through and knocked over the bucket that was sitting on the well. Water quickly spilled over the stones.

They're furious, thought Payne. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait any longer. His earpiece filled with Marston's voice again.

"I see I don't have to ask you to draw their attention, you pissed them off nicely. Stay there and don't stick your head out; we'll take care of the rest."

"Understood," replied Payne, noticing his comrades from the group (section) heading north along the alleyway. Some of them entered a house, presumably trying to flank the building. Four of them, including Marston, reached the corner of the building, waiting for the signal to attack. They didn't have to wait long; the remaining five who were moving through the tenement building emerged from the courtyard side.

This exit was right next to the corner path, and next to that path was a row of tenement buildings where the police station was located. They quickly reached the adjacent tenement, barged inside, and then cries were heard. Panic and stern commands. Then he saw markers indicating explosive charges on the second floor.

As soon as the timer on the marker reached zero, he heard an explosion that shook the building. Then the first shots from Radon rang out, and the markers for the fifth floor in the building switched to combat mode.

However, Payne couldn't watch any longer; he heard his subgroup's voice on the channel, Marston's voice.

"Smith, smoke grenade!" The area quickly filled with smoke.

"Subgroup, move, move, move!" Marston ordered. "To the building, clear the ground floor!"

Payne rushed to his designated position. It didn't take him long; he was by the window in no time. His partner was Isaac Clarke. He signaled to Payne that he would take care of it, smashed the closed window with the butt of his weapon, and Clarke threw a fragmentation grenade inside. As soon as it exploded, the commander and John Romero stormed through the door, starting a shootout.

As soon as they heard "Clear!", together with Clarke and the last member of the group, Michael Townley, they entered through the windows. Inside, they found quite a mess. Next to the window, there was a corpse with a shot skull and neck, torn apart by the grenade. It seemed someone had already hit him before.

The police officer was unarmed, confirming suspicions that the fallen officers were being replaced by their colleagues. Their bodies were scattered throughout the room, all torn apart by the grenade. Nevertheless, there was no time for further inspection.

"Move forward! Clear the rest of the rooms!" Marston ordered, and the paratroopers began the sweep. Payne took the lead, and most of the rooms were vacant. Only towards the end, in the kitchen, they found a few people, mainly women and one elderly man, all terrified by the Polish paratroopers.

"Contact! Technical staff, four women, one man," Payne reported to Marston.

"Understood, secure them."

"Copy that," replied Payne, and he ordered everyone to line up against the wall. Fortunately, Parpaldiański closely resembled Łacina, and Payne knew Łacina well, as any Pole would. Then, together with Clarke, they handcuffed all the captives.

Once they were done, they made sure the prisoners couldn't escape by making them lie face down on the ground, and they proceeded to the stairs.

When they reached the stairs, they waited for those on the second floor. It took a moment before they received the order to attack the top floor. Payne took the lead once again. The stairs were annoyingly winding, revolving around an axis. The only thing that served as cover was the railing made of incredibly thin wood, so it couldn't be considered proper cover.

He walked slowly and cautiously, not wanting to catch a bullet. His caution paid off because at the last moment, he ducked from a shot. The bullet whizzed past his head and shattered the railing.

As soon as that happened, he quickly opened fire, and shots rained down from above. They bombarded the stairwell with gunfire. When the dull thud of a falling body reached his ears, he ceased firing. There were no further significant problems; the clearance of the remaining officers on the floor was brief.

He had to admit that they didn't cower but fought valiantly to the end with their weapons. They had slim chances against the military, yet they still engaged in battle. Now it was over, with almost no prisoners, except for one severely wounded police officer who fell into their hands. Their medic was currently attending to him.

The rest, over fifteen police officers, were dead. They were now collecting their bodies on the ground floor. It was quiet for now, and leaving them as they had fallen was not appropriate. Marston was interrogating the civilian personnel at the station, wanting to know their names to facilitate burial and funeral arrangements for the locals after the city fell.

The area appeared devoid of soldiers. It was not surprising; there were no garrisons in this area. The nearest one was in the palace belonging to the Imperial Guard. However, they were busy fighting off the attacking paratroopers from the 102nd Airborne Oddział.

The remaining garrisons were destroyed from the air by the Wróbel and AN-20/AR planes, which knew their locations thanks to intelligence. Only those who were outside the barracks during the bombing survived. However, it didn't mean they posed a threat as the armories had also been blown up.

Nevertheless, it didn't mean that Payne's duty was coming to an end. As soon as they announced securing the outpost, they received new orders. Payne's unit was to move and support the 102nd Division.

Once their outpost was taken over by the 104th Oddział, they headed west. More precisely, northwest, through a small alley. They weren't afraid of ambushes as a swarm of Latające Oko drones flew above them, transmitting data to Topaz as part of the Wampir system.

This allowed them to bypass or, if they preferred, set up ambushes for the local defense forces, which also had coordination problems due to the elimination of the radio antenna network in the city. The only means of communication were messengers, both ordinary and magical.

After about ten minutes, Payne's unit reached their destination. The biggest challenge turned out to be the street network of Esthirant. They approached the palace from the west, from the side of the palace park.

Remembering the warning about the wall being protected by spells preventing climbing, Marston ordered the park wall to be blasted with a grenade launcher. The order was promptly executed, and shortly after, the unit marched through the paths of the quite pleasant park to explore. It turned out that the spells that usually protected the palace had disappeared, thanks to the courtesy of the Polish pilots.

Payne and his comrades bypassed a small pond from its southern side, and the sounds of gunfire grew louder. A quick glance at Topaz revealed that the 102nd, fighting on the other side of the building, had managed to break through the Imperial Guard's main defense line and pushed them back to the palace itself.

Another look at Topaz revealed the procession of the 103rd Oddział attacking from the north. Ahead of them was a mass of red dots retreating into the chaos and converging toward the palace. One had to be blind as a mole not to notice that more and more of them were disappearing.

Only the side from which Payne's unit marched was empty. Until now.

A moment later, a volley rang out, and one of the soldiers walking ahead of Payne fell to the ground.

"CONTACT!" Harry shouted, and the paratroopers quickly dispersed, searching for the enemy.

Payne spotted the opponent first. He quickly opened fire towards the bushes where he noticed a rifle sticking out. The other paratroopers joined in a moment later.

They didn't have to wait long for the results; bodies fell out of the bush. However, it wasn't a reason for celebration. Shortly after, lightning bolts, fireballs, or rocks hurled with considerable force started raining down on their positions.

"MAGE! MAGE!" someone shouted.

"Where?" another responded.

"THE ROOF OF THE PALACE AND THE GARAGES!" he received the response. Payne followed the directions and indeed saw a group of young women in maid uniforms casting spells towards them.

He decided to react, but first, he had to sidestep to avoid a hurled stone. It embedded deeply in the ground, and if it had hit him, he would have ended up in St. Peter's arms for sure. Then, time seemed to slow down again, and Payne returned fire towards the maids.

For Payne, it felt like a longer moment, although in reality, it was brief. Specifically, it took as long as it took to empty an incomplete 30-round magazine. Nonetheless, it wasn't a problem. All the witch-maids were dead. Most of them fell to single bullets, but before that happened, he had to use a considerable portion of the magazine to break through the shield set up by one of them.

He saw the surprised look on that girl's face when suddenly the shield fell, and a 7x41mm bullet shattered her skull. The rest were less surprised and more focused on escaping from the scythe. It didn't help them.

Payne quickly pressed a button on his weapon, and the magazine fell to the ground. By that time, a new one was already entering the weapon. He then began searching for new targets and found one in a window on the third floor. He opened fire, and others did the same after him. Before he realized it, the window and everything around it were riddled with bullets.

"FORWARD, FORWARD! TO THE BUILDING!" Marston shouted, issuing new orders.

Someone threw a smoke grenade, which posed no problem for Payne. Thanks to the drone above, his goggles already showed him the outline of the building in front of him. The 21st century was displaying its power in all its glory.

He sprinted towards the wall, remembering not to enter the designated blasting zone. After a moment, someone fired the grenade launcher, and the grenade hit the wall shortly after. To everyone's surprise, the wall held. Payne could see why.

"Shield! The walls are reinforced with magic!" he immediately reported.

"Magic, whatever. Group, move away from the walls!" Marston responded, designating a line position for the soldiers.

Payne quickly took his position.

"Group, on my command, blow up the wall with grenades!"

Payne smirked mockingly; it was time for a Polish greeting. That meant the entire unit loaded grenades onto rifles, into grenade launchers, and so on, and then fired them directly at the position that needed to be blown up. Of course, they don't normally shoot in unison.

Once everyone confirmed their readiness, Marston shouted a simple command.

"FIRE!"

Payne fired along with the others, and a moment later, there was an explosion. The last thing he remembered before waking up on board the OKP Niezwyciężony was being thrown with full force into the pond.

Imperial Palace

A loud explosion shook the building. Ludius grabbed onto the sofa just in time, but unfortunately, not everyone was as lucky.

"Are you alright, Chamberlain?" he asked his servant. The older man lay sprawled on the floor, holding his head as he got up.

"I'm fine, Your Highness," the Chamberlain replied, then added, looking to the right, "Although your priceless Gnim dynasty vase has been irretrievably lost."

Ludius chuckled. "No need to worry, I never liked it anyway," he replied with a dismissive wave. He never understood his great-grandfather's obsession with the Gnim dynasty, an ancient family from the Forgotten Centuries when the land was larger and less maritime.

"Alright, report to me what the hell happened?" he asked Arde, who stood nearby. Arde, who woke up on the wrong side of the bed that morning, was slowly losing his senses due to the sudden impact from the air.

"The Poles blew something up, probably a warehouse," he mumbled automatically.

Ludius felt the urge to hold his head, but he refrained from doing so. "Thank you, Grand Marshal, for this invaluable piece of information. I couldn't have guessed," he said sarcastically.

"How should I know?" Arde snapped, completely ruined by the battle. "It just exploded, and you already want an answer. I'm not a clairvoyant!"

"Then maybe you should check it faster!" Ludius retorted, ignoring the lack of proper etiquette.

"That's exactly what I'm doing, Your Highness," said Arde, sitting back on the chair he had picked up from the ground. He quickly began connecting via radio with the units defending the capital.

It took a while, during which Ludius could assess that the signs of fighting from the east had ceased, while those from the west were getting closer and closer.

"I've got it!" Arde shouted. "The magical stone warehouse in the east wing blew up. It threw the Poles backward."

"Understood," Ludius replied with concern, looking at the door leading to the exit. The sounds of gunfire were getting closer. After a moment, someone knocked heavily on the door and started yelling.

"YOUR HIGHNESS, THEY'RE ALREADY HERE...!" The sentence was cut short by a rattling series of sounds that silenced the voice. The sound of bullets hitting the mighty mithril doors was truly unsettling. Then they heard human voices speaking in a heavily slurred language, the complete opposite of the rustle of the Polish language.

"Jucius, check it," Ludius ordered the guard. Jucius immediately carried out the command, checking through what we would call an intercom.

"Enemy," Jucius informed him. "In a force of ten men. They're doing something at the doors."

Arde suddenly displayed remarkable clarity of mind. "Everyone against the wall by the entrance! Now!"

Every person immediately obeyed the command, pressing themselves against the cold, stone wall. The distinct tingling sensation of magic could be felt; the walls were reinforced with shield enchantments.

Ludius waited with another guard, his revolver in his right hand. He had no intention of dying like a coward. Like every Parpaldian, he always carried his weapon with him. Besides, in palace intrigues, the argument of firearms was always useful.

The moment before the doors flew inward, blown open by an explosion, felt like one of the longest in his life. He remembered the subsequent events as if through a haze: something entered the room, blinding him and everyone in the shelter.

Then he heard the stomping of feet and sounds of scuffling before he felt someone throw him to the ground, restraining his limbs. He may have lost consciousness or, at the very least, was not fully in control of his faculties.

His full memory returned when he realized it was evening, and he was in a foreign, steel room, facing a man in a military uniform.

"Where am I?" he asked the man before him, slowly regaining sensation throughout his body. He had the impression that someone had taken care of him while his spirit was absent from his body.

"On board the flagship of the Crown Kingdom of Poland, the Niezwyciężony (Invincible)," the man explained, speaking a language similar to Parpaldian but much harsher, known as Latin. "But forgive my manners; I am called Witold, of the Pogoń coat of arms, from the Czartoryski family."

Ludius suddenly realized who he was sitting in front of. He quickly uttered the appropriate response. "May Your Highness forgive my lack of mental clarity and allow me to introduce myself. I am Ludius, of the Draco coat of arms, from the Paterdomini family," he said, extending his hand toward Witold.

Witold shook it and added apologetically, "It is I who should ask Your Imperial Majesty for forgiveness, considering how unconventionally you arrived here." He then gestured to the table nearby. "Tea or coffee?"

"It's alright, actually, I'm more amazed by what you have done," Ludius replied amiably, then added, "If you please, I'd prefer tea. Coffee doesn't sit well with my stomach."

"Same here!" Witold remarked, snapping his fingers. The maid approached silently and prepared two teas.

Ludius was surprised by her appearance; he didn't hear her make any sound. Her movements were also incredibly precise, devoid of anything unnecessary. It was as if she had calculated every action to perform the task flawlessly. Too flawlessly.

"I see you have an incredibly skilled staff, Your Highness," Ludius commented.

"Isn't that the truth?" Witold agreed. "And please, call me Witold. In fact, we are equals."

Ludius felt the urge to mock the notion of equality. He was an Emperor, and Witold was a King. On the other hand, being the ruler of such a superpower was similar to being an Emperor. So, in a way, he was right.

"Indeed, Witold. Please feel free to address me by my name," Ludius finally replied.

"I won't hesitate, Ludius," Witold replied, reaching under the table to retrieve a box with a chessboard. "Shall we play?"

Ludius pondered for a moment before thinking, why not? He nodded. Witold immediately unfolded the board; it was enormous. Ludius suspected it had about a hundred squares.

"These are not chess, forgive me, Ludius. I prefer Checkers," Witold remarked.

The Emperor nodded; playing Checkers could be a nice change from ubiquitous chess. Every crowned head he had encountered only played chess with him.

With Ludius's assistance, Witold quickly set up the board and the pieces. Then he asked, "Who starts?"

"The winner," Ludius replied.

Witold smiled lightly at the jab and made the first move. Ludius swiftly responded, and a few turns passed before he asked, "So, Witold, what do you want? I suppose you didn't bring me here just to play Checkers."

"Peace," Witold said, creating his first king.

"Peace?" Ludius was surprised. "But what kind of peace? Money? Land? Homage?"

Witold shook his head. "We don't need money; we have enough to share with everyone around, and still, it would suffice. And speaking of wealth, I dare say I possess more fortune on my own than the entire wealth of Parpaldia."

He continued his assault with the king, eliminating two more of Ludius's pieces. "As for land, we have plenty. The Commonwealth is a vast country. And if we desire land, there are many uninhabited territories in this world waiting for someone to settle and claim them."

He then captured the last three of Ludius's pieces before ending up in an entirely different position from where he started. "As for homage, it is unnecessary. We are not Kitaj, the Middle Kingdom that looks at everyone around as barbarians and considers itself the center of the world, to whom others must pay tribute for its 'enlightenment' of the lower peoples."

Ludius sensed that behind the mention of Kitaj, there was a truly powerful history hidden. Witold's tone and his bitterness when speaking about it revealed a sense of contempt toward that country.

"I understand," Ludius replied, taken aback. He managed to capture a few of Witold's pieces and maneuver the remaining ones to prevent him from using his king. Nevertheless, his joy was premature; the Pole changed his strategy. Before he realized it, Witold gained two more kings.

"That is why we simply ask for a return to the status quo, a peace treaty, and respect for the principles of good neighborliness," Witold elucidated, clearly in control of the entire game.

"Does good neighborliness require appeasing Louria?" he asked, seemingly rhetorically and somewhat provocatively. He managed to acquire his first king and begin his revenge for the lost pieces.

"Yes," Witold agreed. "Would you mind if we establish our own order there?" he asked Ludius, while at the same time ending the play of Ludius's king with a regular piece.

"Not at all," Ludius replied, becoming more and more interested in the game as he was pushed into increasingly desperate defense by Witold. Before the Pole responded, he managed to capture more of Ludius's pieces and eliminate one of his kings.

"That's good," Witold replied with relief. "Although I thought you would resist more, put up a fight. Aren't you wasting your time and resources?" Witold had just deprived Ludius of most of his pieces.

"Not really," Ludius said, trying only to inflict as much damage as possible on Witold. "That's life, isn't it? Sometimes you win," he was losing his last pieces, "and sometimes you lose." He managed to eliminate the second king before losing his last pawn. "Especially when you're checkmated."

"Indeed," Witold agreed, extending his hand to Ludius, who shook it. "The Emperor has been eliminated; it's time for the Hetman to join him."

"Hetman?" Ludius was surprised; he didn't know what the Polish military rank had to do with chess.

"Forgive me, that's what we call the Queen in chess. And Hark is your Queen, isn't she?" Witold replied disarmingly.

Ludius burst into laughter. Indeed, in his game, Hark was like a Queen.

Although he doubted the dog would appreciate being referred to as such.

Duchy of Que-Toyne

March 19, 1640, Central Calendar

Camp of the Northern Army near Gim

"My King! My King!" shouted one of the knights as he burst into the tent with great force. He interrupted the ongoing council of commanders, desperately seeking solutions to break through the Polish-Toynian defensive lines.

"What is it, Tarwo?" Hark, his King, asked. It was hard not to notice the unkempt facial hair of several days and the weary face of the ruler.

"Parpaldia..." Tarwo began.

"What about Parpaldia?" the King perked up.

"They surrendered."

Everyone froze in place. The Parpaldian Empire surrendered? What? How?

"Explain yourself, Tarwo. What do you mean Parpaldia surrendered!?" Hark growled angrily.

"Poland seized their capital in a single strike, captured the Emperor, and forced him to sign a separatist peace treaty."

"What kind of separatist treaty?!" Hark grabbed the knight by the shoulders and shook him.

"The White Peace, my lord," the knight nervously replied.

Hark exploded.

"THEY SIGNED THE WHITE PEACE? THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS, I'LL PERSONALLY RIP THAT FUCKING COWARD'S BALLS OFF AND SHOVE THEM DOWN HIS THROAT!" Hark yelled at the top of his lungs.

Everyone in the tent winced. Hark was increasingly prone to fits of rage.

"We're here, bleeding and killing, and that asshole not only failed to help but also fucked off at the first opportunity!" Hark continued his tirade.

"It's starting again; it'll probably take an hour for him to calm down," someone muttered.

Everyone in the tent nodded, while those outside preferred to keep their distance. Last time they eavesdropped, they got hit with a chair Hark threw in anger.

That's when he earned the nickname "The Strongman," as his blow rendered everyone unconscious for four days.

Surprisingly, Hark suddenly stopped and a wicked smile appeared on his face. "That fucker will remember me, he will remember."

Madness took hold of his face.

"Marschal!" he called out to his highest-ranking knight, Marshal Herrik.

"Yes, my lord?" the marshal responded.

"Gather the troops for a general assault. We've played enough with the Poles. We will either win or perish. Fuck it all," Hark declared categorically.

"But, my lord...!" the marshal began, shocked like everyone else in the tent.

"Brilliant idea, isn't it?" Hark sarcastically remarked. Seeing the bewildered expressions of those gathered, he quickly added, "I was being sarcastic. I know it's a stupid idea. But time is up, gentlemen. The Poles will soon show us their eagle's claws. And I don't know about you, but I prefer to strike first while that eagle is still on the ground. Maybe we can catch it."

He looked at his generals. He could tell they were still against it. Hark sighed. "Fine, you have only one task. Storm Gim. If I die, you can retreat home however you want." Everyone was shocked by this information. "Or earlier if you manage to. I don't care anymore. We lost, but we can at least choose the way we depart. I prefer it to be in glory. What about you?"

The knights looked at each other uncertainly.

One of them, General Franko, broke the silence first. "The King is right. We can either weep in despair like women or, as befits men, go into our final battle and perhaps achieve one last success."

Hark smiled. "Poor bastards," he thought. Then he realized, "Actually, I'm the biggest of them all. Instead of enjoying retirement, I intend to plot revenge in the shadows." He pondered the thought.

He shrugged. "Well, someone has to avenge all those fallen, right?"