The storming of the Baron's oil rig was successful in terms of the entire operation. In the shadow of the fortress, freed slaves celebrated below as they brought out the loot of the food and drink that was once reserved for the bandits and their quarters. Iron chains that once compelled men to carry out the labor to their masters were unshackled as women embraced their independence from the wretched pleasures of their captors. It all brought a smile to Colonel Klebnikov's face as he looked down from what was once the throne room of a warlord. His conscience was at peace, knowing full well that some good had shined on this part of the world.
This victory would be short-lived for the wicked never slept. He turned away from the edge of the balcony and walked over into the center of the 'court,' only to find Giul sitting in the former seat of power. She seemed pleased with the results of the battle and leaned forward, her expression shifting to focus on serious matters. "The Caspian is free at last. You have no idea how much I have dreamt of this day. I would like to kill the Baron with my own hands but this will be enough. My people will wake up one day, knowing the Munai-bailer are just mere men."
He nodded his head, approvingly but he could not cherish her sentiments for the future had more in store for him.
"You're not smiling, colonel," She had noticed the officer's current feelings as he took of his armored helmet. His body was still sore from the impact of the bullets but his mission to OSKOM took precedence over his own health, "What brings trouble to your mind?"
An explanation of the grander plan was necessary. She had to know that this was merely a phase for a full-scale invasion. "Your war seems to have come to an end and I can't help but feel glad that we had a hand in that. As much as I hate to admit it, our war with the Baron still continues and this takeover was merely a step toward getting payback."
"What does this entail? Would my people assist?" She questioned before straightening her spine.
"No. Your people are fine as is. An acquaintance of ours, Artyom, is going to make a landing to a place called the Southern Isles and he is going to provide a signal for our teleporters to make this invasion plan work," He explained the initial workings of preparations before he would speak of the next phase that would seal the fate of those who attacked Arendelle, "Once our forces make headway, our teleporter locks onto the one they have and we get them from behind. I'm going to be ferrying troops from Arendelle to your Caspian until that time comes."
"I understand. This is a wonderful plan, one I don't think I could have imagined. Part of me wants to be there but my place is here and it is my home. The only thing I can do is hope and wish your soldiers luck in this battle to come. Hardly, my place to say but it is good to see that wicked man earn his comeuppance."
The duo were interrupted when the colonel's radio crackled to life and a soldier messaged him. "Sir, the General is making his way up to the throne room. He'll be there shortly."
Klebnikov heard fast footsteps tapping against the catwalks but with each getting closer to him by the second. He turned around and saw two olive green metal doors swing open thanks to the two OSKOM guards stationed beside the main entrance. They immediately straightened their legs and saluted their superior before the commanding officer performed the same gesture in his honor.
His clothing was less formal than usual, taking up the appearance of an infantry uniform. His brow dripped in sweat and with good reason too as spending days in Novosibirsk and Arendelle before traveling to this place was a night and day difference. He was fortunate that Kirill wouldn't spend an ounce of time here. Then he swiped his forehead and spoke. "Slava, I'm glad you made it through alright!"
He hardly had a chance to react when his old friend embraced him with a hug and patted him on the back. Yet, he couldn't blame him for being so worried before the general released himself and took two steps back.
"I already saw the casualty reports. It could have been worse but we'll brave through this like we always do," Vinogradov stated as his hands were kept behind his back and turned to the woman on the throne, "How goes your revolution? I take you'll appreciate our efforts."
She chuckled and rose from the chair and walked towards them. "What your people brought did more than I could ever ask for. Had it not been for your war machines, my people would have suffered a far worse fate at those walls. We owe you our gratitude."
"You're welcome but had it not been for you, I don't think any of this would have been possible." He answered in the most humble way he could describe his feelings.
"The colonel already informed me of your plans to deal with the Baron and his allies," She stated before crossing her arms, "Do you think it will go well?"
"Absolutely. Their strength was spent when we defended Arendelle and Northuldra. We have them on the backfoot and it's only a matter of time before they face the last trace of the Soviet Union."
Four men occupied an inflatable boat with Artyom leaning at the foremost point of the front with his weapons at the ready. The American-made assault rifle rested on the rigid edges and his assault shotgun hung from his back while Pavel took control of the motor in the rear. He looked over his shoulder to find Uhlman and Roman holding onto the side of the as their faces felt the cold splash of frigid waters. They closed the distance and approached the shoreline with haste. Meanwhile, the black submarine that delivered them had begun to sink as white foam allowed the abyss to welcome its captain and crew back into the blue depths.
He turned forward and saw his destination closer than ever, no less than fifty metres away. This would be different from what happened at Arendelle. The lynchpin to the success of the invasion had come down to this handful of souls. Should they die at the enemy's hands, there would be no support to come to their aid. It was a task that could end in disaster but he would see this to the end. Prince Hans and the Baron had to be stopped at all costs.
Their vehicle decelerated and slowed to a halt when it was beached across the frozen land and the oncoming wet waves. Soon after, the engine was deactivated while the party of four dismounted and had their boots sink briefly in the sand. Weapons were first drawn - the two Polis Rangers, the Red Line officer, and the pirate scanning their surrounding areas before the veteran soldier voiced his suggestion. "We should get this boat out of here. Captain Baranov said that there's a patrol around and wouldn't want to alert those bastards."
It was not long after all four men grabbed ahold of the inflatable seaborne vessel and dragged it inland while crossing a snow-covered road and approaching a forest. A massive sea of trees and bushes created this thick primeval vegetation that had not been laid on by civilization save for the outskirts of development by humankind. Such a sight was perfect for soldiers trying to hide any sign of their existence in a hostile nation reeling from the throes of defeat. When the men were out of sight and far from the edges of the forest, they placed it down on the ground and took ten minutes to breathe. A moment's break before continuing their mission.
"All we need to do is find a large enough area to rally our comrades at the bunker complex," He continued, reminding them of their responsibilities. Uhlman walked over to the helpless vehicle and reached inside, pulling out a tripod with the top attached to a strange glass lens and a computing system containing buttons and numbers. Lugging the device over his shoulder, the soldier groaned but Artyom was sure that he would carry on like he did before, "So, since I'm carrying this, who wants to take point?"
The Russian prince was considering raising his voice; yet, Roman was quicker with his response. "I'll volunteer. I can scout ourselves away from trouble and trek hard compared to you city guys. No offense."
"Eh, don't stray too far huh? Living in the Metro means our eyes are dogshit." He replied as the Child of the Forest turned away from the three soldiers and jogged ahead.
It didn't take much time before the party walked into the unfamiliar country. Without a map to guide or provide reference points to their journey, only their more 'savage' companion could be their eyes and ears. He was roughly twenty metres ahead while the others maintained a wedge formation five metres apart. Deep in the forest was the sound of their footsteps shuffling in the snow or their boots snapping sticks under their weight. Silence fell upon the four while Artyom's attention was constantly scanning for his friend's whereabouts at all times. Every bush and tree that forced them to break visual contact was a moment that slowly irked him given the experience of being lost and separated. There was that and his apparel of animal skins and hides allowed the survivor to blend with the environment in comparison to the utilitarian equipment among the trio.
The only signs of the outside world were the sky above and the brief sunlight that provided any semblance of warmth in the midst of the cold temperatures. However, the clouds dimmed out the rays while brave men greeted the dark forest with vigilance. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes into hours, thanks to the atmosphere of the landscape.
All changed upon seeing a glimpse of an oncoming clearing.
Pavel allowed himself to sigh before expressing his relief. "Thank Lenin, here I thought we'd have to camp out here and hunt for something."
Roman stopped in his tracks and his left arm extended behind his back with the palm of his hand being revealed. Then the arm was brought forward and clenched into a fist before releasing the grip and gesturing the three to lower themselves to the ground. Artyom stole a glance from his right to see Pavel and Uhlman with the latter quickly laying himself onto the snow before the rest followed suit. He then looked ahead to find Roman's figure, only to see bushes from where his body once was. For him to give them that heads up must have implied a sighting that was too important to deal with.
A commotion of horses trotting and audible conversation could be heard ahead by two hundred metres. Silver glints shimmered off the armor and helmets of mounted cuirassiers this deep into the forest. Their behavior seemed relaxed and casual while they marched in a single-file line. Although there was no road to be seen, the Polis Ranger guessed that it was some kind of off-the-beaten trail that was being used. The reason didn't make that much sense in the context of a hundred soldiers in white and red uniforms being spotted this deep in the forest. Nonetheless, it was an obstacle that couldn't be dealt with firepower alone. Numbers favored these men in this engagement but their steeds could provide a single rider enough speed and time to rally additional reinforcements to their aid. Only time would tell if they would remain unnoticed.
Minutes passed until the rear elements began to trot their way past them. They were almost in the clear when the last rider shouted to his comrades and broke out of formation. As the others seemed to be out of sight, he rode his beast toward the group lying in wait. Then the mounted soldier swung one of his legs over the saddle and dismounted, his hands reaching for the belt keeping his breeches together. The man's stride towards him only elevated his heart rate. That all changed when he stopped and his head looked at him with a curious observant look until his face revealed surprise and terror in a single moment.
The cuirassier reached for the flintlock pistol holstered on his side but the soft whistle of a metal crossbow bolt was faster. His hand struck with precision as he looked down to find the reaching fingertips unable to function. Then Roman quickly rose from the vegetation and rushed him with absolute haste. It was not long until he jumped forward and tackled the horseman into the ground and began to raise his makeshift crossbow and slam the buttstock into his victim's head.
Soon the other three rose from the dirt with snow pressed across their chests. With the element of surprise no longer on their side, they rushed to join their comrade struggling to kill the alerted soldier. Artyom knelt by his side and drew his trench knife, quickly slitting the man's throat before the lungs gurgled and blood seeped from his lips.
"We need to move, now!" Pavel exclaimed to their left as he stood up and leaned his back against a tree. His eyes frantically looked around before cocking the charging handle of his assault carbine, "They're going to look for him."
The Pirate nodded his head as the four stood together and proceeded to continue forward toward an unknown destination. With each tree that they passed, it seemed to be that the thick forest was letting them free from its grip. Meanwhile, Artyom thought about the corpse they left behind. Should the situation prove fortunate, he would never be found unless that patrol had trackers of their own and wouldn't be able to consolidate their numbers against them if they kept moving.
They reached the edge of the treeline and found themselves standing before massive acres of farmland. Yet, no fields grew, leaving behind emptiness and lone cottages residing nearby a long stretch of dirt roads. Its value meant little outside of providing the necessary positioning to rally forces through the mysterious ways of science.
"So, uh, will this place work?" Questioned the communist officer.
Uhlman unslung the tripod from his shoulder and the soldier calmly proceeded to climb over the wooden fence into the farmland and carefully place the tripod's spades into the frozen ground. There he knelt on a single knee and began pressing buttons without sparing any words. Then a chill ran down the prince's spine when he heard the sound of a bugle horn blurt out from his right. Off in the distance, he could see a small patrol of cuirassiers spot them three hundred metres away.
"Fuck! We got to hurry!"
The senior's button pressing paced faster while the three were quick to form a staggered firing line in anticipation of their enemy, ten paces apart. That soon changed when they heard the thunderous clatter of hooves joining the patrol of five. It was the same group of riders that bypassed them in the forest and now they were here to return the favor. Once their numbers were assembled, they began to form into a line formation made up of six rows.
Their steeds started to trot forward and make their approach. All that Artyom could do was grab the grip of his assault rifle and aim at the riders. They would make their stand as the numerous horsemen transitioned into a canter, speeding up their pace and closing the distance. Without hesitation, he fired a quick burst of three rounds into their ranks. Two cuirassiers were struck, one bullet impacted a man and caused him to lean off his saddle while the other landed on another's horse. The riders maintained their formation in spite of the initial casualties.
He soon caught a glimpse of the leading rider drawing his straight sabre and raising it above his head. Beside him was the bugler with the instrument brought near his mouth. Words were shouted and couldn't be discerned but the hundred cavalry increased their pacing. The ground shook at the beginning of their thunderous charge while the fear of getting trampled whispered in the back of his mind.
A great humming noise emanated from behind as the young Polis Ranger turned his head and saw the hole in reality open and his emotions briefly raising his spirits. Immediately, hundreds of Imperial Russian soldiers poured out of the teleporter with muskets resting on their shoulder-arms. An officer with a sabre and peaked cap stepped out as Uhlman ran up to him. "We're being charged by cavalry, prepare your men!"
The officer's eyes widened with surprise before he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Affix bayonets, form square!"
Beside the man was a drummer and a fifer, both immediately played their instruments. The hasty initial force began to disperse from the teleporter's entrance, rushing past the meager vanguard and establishing a square formation around the machine that brought reinforcements. Bayonets were quickly fastened onto the barrels of their firearms as the four began walking behind the backs of two rows of infantry looking in all directions. The first ranks knelt in the snow while their bayonets were pointed upward while the second ranks stood tall and raised their muskets with preparation to fire.
"Prepare for cavalry!" Declared the officer while standing at the center of the formation beside the hole in reality his two musicians and a flag bearer, "Shoot at the horses, the damn horses!"
Artyom stood behind the two lines of men who would receive the first charge, knowing that they would face the full brunt of heavy cavalry coming their way. As the last man filled the formation, the Polis Ranger readied his rifle with the cuirassiers pointing the tip of their blades in their formation's direction. He anticipated for the flesh to clash with steel but then the second ranks of musketeers fired, white plums of smoke taking the air by storm as men and beast alike were shattered by the volley fire. Those who remained were stunned, riders struggling with their steeds at meeting the resolute walls of infantry or riding around and seeking gaps in the lines.
"Fire-at-will!" Their officer shouted at the center of the formation.
Pistols were drawn from the cavalry shooting those who maintained the strong line but in return, the infantry fired. Some attempted to get close and reach with their sabres; however, the first line of crouched infantry raised their weapons upward to either horse or men alike. Yet, the unhorsed riders who survived their unexpected dismount stood up with their swords at the ready running towards the formation in a wild frenzy. A man in front of him was stuck, crying out in pain while his green uniform was splattered with blood.
He grabbed the wounded soldier and slipped him away from the mainstay of the fighting as he gently laid him to the ground. It disturbed him at the sheer violence these men were willing to endure and so the young man participated by taking the spot, surprising the two musketeers adjacent to him. Where the others could only fire once and return for a long reload, Artyom brandished the Shambler hanging on his person and tightly held the grip for an oncoming cuirassier attempting to slash those in range.
Once the barrel was presented in the man's direction, he pulled the trigger and watched as a single blast of a shotgun shell rang out and mulched the bodies. Another pair of horsemen came at him from the right and he unleashed the fierce blast of two shells in their direction. With every loss from the enemy cavalry, Artyom's kills raised the morale of the company he was embedded with a great cheer.
Automatic fire erupted from behind his back but it was clear that Uhlman and Pavel were making their contributions to the fight. Every rider slain involved an empty saddle on a horse riding past him. Bodies of uniforms piled among each other, leaving remains across the field they fought upon. As the enemy numbered a few dozen, their chance at slaying the initial force had ended in disaster. The cuirassiers began to abandon the fight and ride out in all four directions, desperate ranks ordering their comrades to flee and escape the bloodshed of their unit.
The tense atmosphere subsided while clouds of spent gunpowder slowly dissipated in the air. Artyom's shoulders relaxed while his finger flicked the safeties upon his weapons. Groans of the wounded and the dying were an echo of what had occurred to the men with the officer ordering the company to stand down. The formation broke apart as the soldiers quickly tended to their wounded or stabbed the surviving riders unable to resist the stab of a cold bayonet. All that was left to do was anticipate the arrival of the invasion force.
Soon the post-apocalypse survivors rallied beside the teleporter and watched streams of infantry regiments march in neat rows and columns with bright green colors. Meanwhile, Uhlman brandished a pack of cigarettes and opened the top, gesturing his offer. Each member of the squad grabbed one cigarette for themselves before he pulled out a bullet light and snapped the stone against the spark wheel. The four men lit the ends and smoked together as the coming hundreds turned into thousands.
What soon followed was the proud Imperial Russian cavalry trotting into the cold. Some in the standard green while others distinguished themselves in red or grey. Nonetheless, it was a sight to behold when the farmlands became an assembly area. The marching of feet and hooves seemingly invited the local civilians out of their homes. Screams and shrieks were all they could offer as the war their prince waged had finally come home to roost.
Artillery pieces limbered onto the field, carried by heavy drafts pulling the harnesses wrapped around their bodies. It was a slow process but the size of the barrels they brought was indeed large enough for Artyom to feel impressed and Pavel to whistle at its sight. Gun crews stepped out of the teleporter, helping the wheels roll faster to ease the burdens upon the beasts and fasten the space for those incoming from the other side.
Colonel Mel'nikov stepped out of the hole in reality. His helmet was already fastened upon his head, scanning the surroundings before taking notice of the vanguard and approaching them. Instill discipline reminded the two Polis Rangers of their superior and they stood tall and saluted their commanding officer who met with them face-to-face. "Good, you four made it out. We heard the fighting from the bunker complex. Was it too much trouble?"
Uhlman shook his head. "No, comrade-colonel. Our guys arrived just in time. We were about to be overrun by cavalry but most of them are dead and fled already."
"Alright," The Spartan Commander acknowledged with an approving nod, "You four are still going to be our vanguard. Right now, we need to secure this area and still keep the pressure on the enemy."
Artyom felt compelled to ask about this new assignment. "What will you have us do?"
"Prince Vaska Dolokhov will be accompanying you. He knows the way to the capital city but Tsar Mikhail granted permission to the Preobrazhensky, a Lifeguard Cossacks, and the Pavlograd Hussars to accompany. That's not considering the horse artillery to go along with you four. It's small but the point is to cover the distance while we bring the big and heavy gear to take on the walls. That's not considering a certain group of volunteers." He explained in great detail, each giving a degree of responsibility that had never been given before.
"The volunteers?" Just what exactly did that entail, "I don't know who they are."
"Remember that time you guys went missing and were thought for dead? Well, the people who accompanied you are volunteering the best shooters and fighters to join you. That's not considering the personnel from the Red Line, Hansa, the Fourth Reich, and OSKOM - who seem to have a high opinion of you. I don't have anyone who would know what to do with them so they're all under your command."
"I'm in charge of those men?" It was weird how he felt about it. On one hand, the Polis Ranger was glad he was well-liked but he lacked experience handling these matters. The only reason he even took command over the people of the train was merely because the alternative for their fate was just unthinkable at the time.
"Cheer up, comrade," Uhlman jokingly remarked as he nudged him on the shoulder, "They could have had me instead."
The Baron stood on the balcony overlooking the rest of the capital city. His men looted anything worth of value and raped any women caught in the wake of this vengeful spree. The soldiers of the Southern Isles were unable to protect their own people as they too were compelled to comply with their demands. After all, they were helpless since their own prince was imprisoned in his own castle.
He contemplated the future of his gang thanks to the return of the old authority. Time was running short for him and the old gangster felt that the winds were changing, one that blew against him. The stories from the surviving outfits told tales of the former Soviet power manifesting in Arendelle did little to ease his alcohol-addled mind. Such military strength was unheard of in the wastelands from the few pieces of information that his men obtained from merchants placating his rule.
There was a time in his youth when he felt free and proud of what civilization he accomplished in the Caspian. Enslaving the local populace of Kazakhs and dumbing down their brains with enough mushrooms to believe that he and his buddies were fire gods. Every man, woman, and child embraced the curated religion - wholeheartedly or beaten into it. There were slave rebellions but they were poorly organized and lacked the material to repel the force sending armored buggies and assault rifles. Then came Giul and her cries for freedom and independence from the gang.
His hands tightly clenched onto the stone rails with rage that could only be expressed in his blood boiling, stewing inside his weary body. That witch was just one woman and somehow she slipped through every attempt to take her life. Then came the technology his people searched through in the warehouse. It should have ended well but the arrival of these damnable soldiers changed the entire strategic calculus. Everything he built was at risk of falling apart and his accomplishments would be blown away like the sands that forged them.
He was interrupted by a commotion of men shouting below before he looked down and saw dozens of his men supported by the local soldiery rush into the palace's front door with haste. The sound of heavy construction shoes tapping against the floor could be heard from behind. The Baron turned around and saw one of his men, in dirty blue overalls wrapped with rags across his chest, unlock the window door that separated him from the office. The right side of his face was covered in blood. "Boss, we got a problem!"
It had to be important for one of his guys to come up to him like this. "What the fuck is going on?"
"The teleporter downstairs… it's… when we tried to go back to the oil rig, they were waiting for us," He explained while bringing a rag in his hand and covering the seeping crimson, "I think we're cut off."
"What?" The Baron needed a moment to think. It couldn't be true, there had to be a mistake in his man's words. He looked hurt in the head and there had to be delusional reasoning to come to that conclusion, "You were attacked and fell back. It's only a matter of time until our guys push them back."
"I don't know. They had a tank and pushed us back. The fuckers are in the basement right now and blocked all access to the teleporter. We're stuck." The wounded man clarified as he leaned himself against the doorway.
If that was true then he was in a shitty position. He wanted to scream to the top of his lungs and whack the fighter in front of him but it would do him no good. All he could do was tighten the grip on the cane beside his legs. What was a man like him to do in this situation?
"We've had worse but we could certainly make it out like we usually do."
"It's not that simple. Do you have any idea how much work I put into that fire god bullshit? A society built on bayonets is bound to get us on bayonets. Faith alone can bring a man to serve us. We have none of that and if those army bastards are at my oil rig, they're likely taking advantage of that or freeing our damn slaves!" The Baron shouted while some semblance of relief eased his frustrations.
Another man entered through the door the wounded messenger came from. This time, it was a musketeer in a clean white shirt and leather trousers. His red cape rolled from his shoulder while his hat identified his position as he kept a hand resting on his ranks. "Sire, I bring ill news from afar."
"Be quick about it. I don't have time for bullshit."
"A patrol of cuirassiers were roaming the countryside until they returned. Their ranks consisted of a hundred men and they returned with just over a dozen," The soldier initially reported before stealing a glance at the wounded gangster and returning his gaze to the Baron, "They did make their report; however, it concerns all of us. The enemy has landed troops on my country."
More bad news and this time it didn't make any sense to him. Prince Hans sent an armada over the seas to invade Arendelle. If they were to invade, the navy would have made a report about it and he'd have a chance to intercept them. "How were they able to land? Don't we have a navy?"
"The survivors made a claim that they fought a regiment of Imperial Russian line infantry who were surrounding some kind of device eerily similar to the one residing in the palace. I tried to pry for more information but it is clear that they have forces present. Local garrisons are being alerted as we speak but they make reports about enemy forces amassing a large concentration of troops, a proportion of which have broken off from the main army and are making their way towards the capital." He explained in greater detail than what was expected of him; yet, it was clear that the war was not over and the fighting in Arendelle and beyond had reached back to him. It seemed to be that the consequences of his actions would return in full. Everything was going against him and the Baron felt that this would be his end.
"Okay. If they intend to come to us then we need to make our preparations. We need men and they should have been here yesterday. A token force will be sent to deal with this leading group but it will give us enough time to make this place defensible," His head turned to the bloodied man standing before him, "Tell the boys to stop what they're doing. Every rifle and battle slave is going to be important so the looting has to end."
"We still have leftover ships from the invasion fleet. Is there anything you want with them?"
"Keep them near the harbor. They'll provide us some support as we defend those damn walls." It hadn't occurred to him that the fleet was still present. Perhaps there was a way out of this for him and his boys? Whatever loot they scrounged from this country was in their possession and an idea spawned within his mind of escaping this dreadful place. The destination didn't matter, only that he would get out of this damn city and be free from the poor plans of an ambitious boy. Of course, his gang would be the ones to leave this place alive, the rest would be useful pawns to delay the arriving army.
A column of soldiers marched on metalled roads, a promising sight from what infrastructure they endured beforehand. Where men's boots would be stuck with layers of mud, tiring the infantry and horsemen from moving alongside frozen dirt roads that granted them no relief from the pains of travel, its smooth concrete surface allowed them to move more efficiently with fewer complaints from the soldiers. There was also a further sign that they would not be far from the city if they continued down the road laid before them.
Artyom rode atop Alastor, his steed had been brought over before the smaller advancing force made headway to the capital of the Southern Isles. Beside him were the rest of his squadmates and Prince Vaska Dolokhov. They were at the forefront of the army, greeting and surprising the common folk living throughout the countryside. Behind their backs was the orderly foot guard regiment maintaining formation with their musicians playing along the way. Some among their ranks spouted songs to kill the boredom that came with their duty. Past that were the soldiers and riflemen of the post-apocalypse, all of whom, volunteered themselves to the cause under his command. Then came the slow lumbering cannons being pushed by their crews and each gun pulled by six horses.
No resistance had been made; yet, but the presence of such a force would not go unnoticed in the eyes of the local citizenry. Prince Hans would hear of their approach and attempt to drive them out in the same way he would drive off packs of mutants from penetrating the barricades at the Moscow Metro stations. Such a man would not stomach the courage to join his forces after the disastrous engagements in Arendelle and Northuldra. No, he would throw every able-bodied soul between himself and the wrath of the combined Russian military who wanted his head on a platter. His betrayal would be answered soon enough but everything must fall into place until then.
The Russian prince brought his horse to trot beside his. It was odd that he would play a relevant role in his life and now he was just as much his servant as his grandfather's. Vaska turned his head with a proud smile on his face. "Your highness, I must express how gratifying it is to see the service to the tsar bearing fruit. Many expected my position would be nothing more than a glorified toss pot, throwing his waste out the bedroom window."
He did not have a clue what he meant before expressing confusion in return to the man's statements. Maybe he was trying to start a conversation but didn't have the means to convey his words to him.
"There is a lot of family history on your shoulders thanks to your mother's bloodline. Marya, may God bless her soul, was the only child of the royal family to have survived the plague," The nobleman's words continued to leave more questions than answers but his insistence allowed him to speak, "As of right now, you are obliged to save Queen Elsa's kingdom but remember that you will soon be the tsar upon his majesty's deathbed and have obligations of your own. Basically, try not to die."
It should have been simple. Then again, it could also be that he's used to bullshitting people with fancy language to get their point across. Not many stations could claim that luxury when the mutants were next door, ready to eat children and tear up homes. "You could have started with that, you know."
"Believe me, you're going to get used to that nonsense once that crown sits on your head. Lots of people are going to speak literal piss and kiss your ass with it. Mind as well get acquainted before your coronation." Prince Dolokhov replied but from the way he described his mother, it seemed that he regarded her highly.
"How well did you know my mother?" He asked, out of innocent curiosity for a past that was never mentioned by his biological and adoptive fathers. That sort of knowledge never surfaced during their moments but now that the overall situation was no longer about surviving the post-apocalypse, he had all the time in the world, "What was she like?"
"She was beautiful, adventurous, and likable."
His head leaned back and looked up at the sky as if he was imagining the past back to the present. The mind seemingly sorted through the memories as they continued to ride.
Artyom caught the sight of the imperial's gloved hands tightening the grip on his horse's reins. "Your grandfather was awfully protective of her and righteous so. All the princes and monarchs of the realm sought her hand, hoping to earn the prestige of such a remarkable woman. It's quite rare for much of the fairer sex to have an outspoken intelligent mind be so attractive."
"Thank you. I practically knew nothing about her before the bombs fell in my world and still knew nothing even after she died. It's quite a way for me to find some semblance of closure."
"Me too, your highness, me too," The nobleman lowered his gaze upon the road and let out a chuckle, "Quite fortunate that your mother lucked out with your father. It was quite the scandal back then but your father made her happy. Then there was the king of these lands."
He was perplexed by this. Part of him wanted to ease the wonder in his mind but his heart would feel some strange uneasiness. "Isn't the king, Prince Hans' father?"
"Yes. The bastard was trying to reach for her hand and use every diplomatic playbook to marry your mother, using his wealth as a former Hansa merchant to pressure Mikhail into accepting. Alexei, your father, was quite willing to give an alternative. So they agreed to hide out somewhere safe but when the king's demand for Marya's hand ended him nowhere, we tried to find your… Soviets. The only evidence of their existence was a hideout and a few letters explaining that they were recalled back by orders from your world's Kremlin." Answered Prince Dolohkov, the tone shifting into one of sorrow as his nose sniffled. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping the excess from his eyes. It was never his intention to spark that emotional reaction but here he was, regretting the decision to learn more of events that happened before his time.
Someone from the ranks cried out. "Contact! Multiple infantry on the left side of the road!"
"Skirmishers. They must be desperate to send them out against us."
What casual atmosphere they had was dashed when Artyom's head was quick to heed the alert. Tall figures could be seen dispersed in the distance to his left. Men in orange uniforms and white trousers were spread out across the snow-covered field as they fired their weapons from afar. They certainly lacked the numbers but it didn't diminish the threat they imposed as the young man felt the urge to rush after them and run them down.
Vaska spoke his mind. "Pavlograd regiment, with me!"
"Let me help," He said as his gloved hand reached for the hilt of his sword. Then the imperial grabbed his arm, "What are you doing?"
"Your grandfather and I can't risk you being out there," He answered as the lifeguard cavalry regiment began to ride to the front and form ranks, "Stay with your comrades, your highness."
"There are times you forget that I am a Polis Ranger." Came his reply as he drew the cavalry sabre from his side and his feet buckled Alastor to join the formation.
"Like mother, like son." The disappointment was apparent while bullets flew over their heads.
Once Artyom reached the front with Vaska at his side, the enemy infantry had begun to fall back. The skirmishers at the front were quick to retreat while the remaining shooters covered them. He did not want to be impetuous but dealing with them would eliminate more troops being brought to the defense of the capital city. So the Russian heir raised his sword and looked over his shoulder to see the hussars unsheathe their steel and kept the weapon beside their chests. It was not long until the light cavalry began to ride into a gallop, crushing snow beneath hooves.
Time and distance were against the foes, the officer ordering his riflemen to run in the wake of the charge. The orange shirts continued to get closer before the prince pointed the tip of his blade forward, the entire regiment mimicking his act. Then the galloping transformed into a charge while terrified soldiers sprinted away from the might of the horsemen. As the distance closed and the turning heads revealed the whites of their eyes, the clash began.
The unfortunate infantry who were caught in the forefront were either crushed by the impact of a horse running into them or trampled beneath their legs. Crimson painted the frozen ground while the surviving formation found itself caught in the melee. Artyom slashed low and struck a soldier in the back as he lay on the ground and writhed against his wounds. The hussars beside him were circling around those who simply could not get away, arms wildly swinging with their metal drenched in blood.
It was hard to explain it but there was a euphoric feeling of engaging in melee on horseback. Maybe the cavalry charge at Northuldra was a catalyst for it; yet, he could not feel anything other than satisfaction at the bloodshed. Deep down, it was unnatural and also alluring to his soul. Then his senses faded when the officer of the hussars, his uniform more ornate and decorative trotted his stead beside him and pointed to his left. "Sire, I believe we are in visual distance from the city."
His sabre immediately filled the scabbard before reaching for a pair of binoculars hanging on his person and bringing the field glasses to his eyes, looking in the general direction. While the sounds of fighting faded with time, the post-apocalypse soldier saw a metalled road leading directly to a walled city further from his position. The forces under his command were getting close while a trail of civilians and soldiers traveled through its gates from the outskirts of the urban center. Vengeance was getting closer at hand. "Do you have a spare rider? I need a messenger to the main army."
"Absolutely, your highness," The officer acknowledged while the prince's attention remained focused, "What do you want to send?"
"Inform Colonel Mel'nikov that we have visual contact on the capital," He began, "Attempts to siege from the outside will begin."
King Friedrick enjoyed his stay in Paris as he strolled through the decorative party floor and met with official delegates from across Europe. His wealth and political decision-making had brought him glory and envy. He would receive disdainful looks about him and his family; however, they could do nothing to diminish his standing as a monarch. Until the Holy Roman Emperor saw fit to return a former imperial holding back into his ancient and troublesome realm, he could do anything that pleased him to his heart's content.
A French servant carrying a tray of glasses filled with wines was passing by and he so eagerly reached out and snatched one off the silver platter. His lips parted ways when the red liquid was poured into his gullet and the inhibitions became relaxed. As he drank, he looked around to find almost all of his sons mingling with nobles and ambassadors. Normally, dealing with foreign affairs would be boring in his eyes but the beautiful daughters that were brought along were enough to entertain themselves in the meantime. There was one child of his who was not present - Hans.
He wanted to clench his hands into a fist upon thinking of that weakling that was supposedly his son. The only reason the king had not done so was that he would cause a scene, bled himself with shards of glass, and make a mess all over the red military attire he wore for this special occasion. There was no chance that the thirteenth in line to the throne would ever have a chance at having his crown but the young man who lived within his palace didn't try to prove himself worthy either. Strength was the name in this game of thrones and he expected such a prince to understand that. His only fortunate was courting the Queen of Arendelle. If the rumors about her witchcraft were to be true, the kingdom had nothing worthy of note other than hillsides full of forests and their damn ice industry. It had no worthy prestige but his shame about Hans' existence could find a place far away from his gaze and that was worth looking forward to in the future before cutting all association with him.
The king heard a Frenchman announce the arrival of another visitor to the party from behind his back. "Prince Evgeny Grigorievich, ambassador of the Russian Empire."
A man of his station represented the face of his nation upon entering the room. Many within close proximity, bowed or nodded their heads to the diplomat, who acknowledged their greetings with the same gesture before striding forward. He was a short and plump man; however, his appearance was to be treated with respect as even the British and the French recognized a fellow European country with great power in their hands. Friedrick had no such intentions of granting him the same degree. He had once sought a chance to take the hand of Mikhail's daughter when he was a more youthful merchant back in his day. The moment he was stifled in front of the emperor's court was an embarrassment but little could be done about that fateful day.
Evgeny did not seem concerned about the goings of the party as he approached the monarch on his lonesome. His walking pace was so fast that the man interrupted the ballroom dancing among men and women. A furious look was all he displayed with a straightened back and confidence rarely seen in their profession. The room fell silent when he met with the king, no more than a mere few feet away. Then his hand, wrapped in a white glove, struck him in the face with a hard slap. Numerous voices whispered and murmured about his act while everyone looked at them. "You should be ashamed of yourself!"
"What right do you have to strike down a head of state?!" He demanded, taken aback by the sudden disregard for etiquette.
"Do you not know what goes on with your lands or do I have to tell you myself and in front of everyone here?"
Friedrich rubbed the spot where the slap landed. His jaw moved to weaken the pain on his face before looking into the matter that made the Russian ambassador angry. "I don't know what you are talking about."
The ambassador lowered his head and shook with disbelief. Then he stole a glance from the surrounding crowds around him until he continued. "For the past few months, your son has waged an undeclared war against the Kingdom of Arendelle and its queen. I am surprised to see that a man like you isn't well aware of the open conflict Prince Hans has waged with the resources of your state."
"No, I wasn't even aware of it!" He admitted with the utmost truth. Hans had been left behind to deal with the domestic affairs of the nation while he enjoyed the luxuries of Paris at his own expense. Then again he had every right to question the reality of the situation. "My son must have gone against our backs while we were away. If he made decisions in my stead, I would have been notified." His thirteenth child was also awfully quiet after all of this time but the king presumed that it was his way of coping with the social punishment of failing to establish himself as a strong member of the royal family. Part of him wanted to be angry but shock seemed to envelop his mind that such a boy would resort to such lengths to keep those events hidden. "What has he done while I was here?"
"He has hired a regiment of Landsknechts on offer from the Holy Roman Empire, rallied your standing forces, alongside aligned himself with a group of bandits and slavers from another world." Ambassador Grigorievich crossed his arms in front of his chest with a disappointed expression. A quick look from the nobles and delegations alike continued to showcase this embarrassment on the international stage. "Then he launched a massive invasion fleet into Arendelle's shores. Had it not been for the otherworldly Russians and Prince Dolokhov's intervention, your son would have locked his would-be wife and her family in their own castle dungeon."
Many men and women gasped at the developments of the news; yet, the king took the time to reflect on his son's actions. He would have been impressed on the boy's potential had the consequences not reflected poorly on him as ruler of the Southern Isles. A Scotsman spoke up from his right, earning the ambassador's attention. "That's a lot of claims for an accusation! What right does Russia have to be in those lands?" There was motive behind this and the onus was on Evgeny's shoulders.
"His majesty was assisting the royal family's search for their daughter up until the invasion. Queen Elsa's parents, Agnarr and Iduna have been found and rescued but their daughter went missing in the hinterlands to the north." Commotion among the bystanders increased and Friedrich could not blame them. The former rulers that he once deferred as neighbors went missing after their voyage had gone poorly. They would certainly disapprove of him from this point onward.
"King Friedrich, if you have any ounce of duty and dignity, you have left, I suggest you return home."
His son had much to answer for when he returned to the Southern Isles.
Citizens and soldiers of the Southern Isles were behind the walls of the city as the Russian forces settled in on the outskirts. Although the light cannons were brought alongside Artyom's command, their firepower was not enough to take on the ramparts and parapets in their place. What they did; however, was provide overwatch on behalf of the infantry digging trenches in the frozen ground. It was the beginning of grueling work but Vaska assured him it was necessary to tear down the obstacle between the host and victory. The cavalry was deployed elsewhere, constantly reporting the flanks and relaying updates on the whereabouts of the forces. Fortune smiled upon them since the Isle troops and their bandit allies had not sallied out to face them in the field.
Soon the calculations of warfare changed when the following army arrived in greater numbers. Regiments bolstered the ranks and took up positions along the trench lines directed towards the main gate. Such reinforcements raised morale and lightened the workload for the trenchwork needed for the impending assaults. Tents were raised and logistical clerks found themselves accounting for the numbers needed to maintain the ammunition and the preserved food in the makeshift mess halls. When the work was done, the engineers made way to position artillery batteries all across the frontline with concentrated barrels pointed towards the battlements.
Once the command tent was set up, Colonel Mel'nikov sent for the commanding officers among the post-apocalypse factions and those belonging to the tsar. A plan had been made while Artyom walked amongst the camp and throughout the trenches. There would be a massive bombardment phase to tear down a specific section of the walls. Prince Vaska Dolokhov brought information that such a structure was merely designed for decorative purposes instead of military ones. So it wouldn't take as much effort to make a breach in the defenses and overrun the remaining forces at hand.
There was much more thanks to the refurbishment of the helicopters. News from Colonel Klebnikov had finally reached out to this side of the walls. OSKOM had gotten a foothold in some of the basements of the palace and held their ground for the time being. The commander of the Spartan Order would bring his soldiers for a daytime air assault to assist their efforts in overrunning the palace. This would be in conjunction with the storming of the walls, a feat that seemed to have left a dire expression on the faces of regimental commanders but Major Morozov assured them that they would provide suppressive fire for those who needed it. Artyom was one of the many Polis Rangers to have volunteered to relay targets to the tanks and infantry fighting vehicles providing accurate fire support. Yet, there were objections to his personal participation. No one would have batted an eye for him had he not been declared as Mikhail's grandson and now they wanted him to sit by and watch the assault unfold.
Here he stood in the trenches as the gun batteries settled into position. He looked over his shoulder to see the ancient artillery brought forward with the gun crews adjusting their aim. Twelve-pounders, howitzers, licornes - all the tools needed to pummel the architecture ahead while he caught brief glimpses of the defenders running to and fro. Then he saw Pavel walk past them and slip into the same trench as his, a tanker's cap being his only hat for warmth before standing beside him. "I take you haven't taken their objection well?"
"How can I? Everyone's going over the top and I'm forced to sit back and watch." Artyom answered before crossing his arms. It was not an outcome he had expected but every moral fiber of his body felt wrong that he would be an exception while others died on his behalf.
"To be fair, a lot of risks were made when we were part of the landing party," The communist answered while shivering in the cold and looking towards the city ramparts, "From what I've heard from among the ranks, a man of your heritage is too valuable to be near danger. I hate to admit it but… they're kinda right."
He turned his head and looked at Pavel with surprising expression. Kinda hard to hear those words from a communist. "You of all people would agree?"
"I have my reasons. Losing you would break morale and the moment the guns stop firing, the forlorn hope gets sent in."
"Who are they?" Artyom wanted to learn more about the order of battle that was being planned out as they spoke, "Are they some kind of special outfit?"
"No, it's much worse." The officer lowered his gaze and shook, "They're the first guys who get sent into the breach. I've seen this before when I served at the Bridge but it's either the poor fools or the brave bastards willing to spring whatever traps so the rest of us can see what's in store. You have no right to be near that."
The mention of the Bridge brought memories back when he was a desperate soul. A frontline between the Red Line and the Fourth Reich, a place he single-handily stormed when he crossed over from the communists to the fascist frontlines. It was a horrible place to see the acts a man could do to another. Despite it all, he was firm in his belief that the soldiers brought to the siege would not share the same luxury of luck that he had. "Still, someone has to look out for them."
"You're going to be their emperor one day. If some should fall, I think the least you can do is look out for the people they got back home." Spoke the communist while the duo looked ahead and saw the battlements. A commotion rang out from the gun crews behind them as Pavel looked back before pulling out two strange objects and passed them over to the heir of Imperial Russian. "They're about to fire, here put these on." Once they were accepted, the major pulled out an additional two rubber-like substances and they placed them over their ears.
A roar of artillery rippled through the air while the shockwave shook the ground with a thunderous cry. For a brief moment, he could see the shot and shell fly over like a pencil before slamming themselves into the center between two bastion towers - a distance of two hundred meters. Even from afar, the impacts were slowly damaging their structures. The barrage would be long and take into the night but they had all the time in the world to seek out Prince Hans.
The Queen of Arendelle went to the only place that inspired her powers and found peace in its architecture. Every room and furniture was carved out of smooth ice as she walked to the balcony and leaned against the railing. Her eyes loomed over the kingdom below and the people who lived by the fjord. Things were different now for so much had changed in just a year with the otherworlders no longer seen as foreign but more like family. The moment she agreed to help the Polis Council with the people of the Moscow Metro, they defended her country like it was their own. If only Artyom was not among those brave fighters who fought on her behalf.
She should have been worried but Elsa remembered the fall into despair plaguing her mind. Yet, this castle brought tranquility and ease for those fears. The monarch thought about how her parents felt about her powers, only to fail to see the wisdom of letting fear take ahold of her soul but that would no longer happen as the Fifth Spirit of Northuldra.
A change in the atmosphere created an insidious chill and provided goosebumps to the royal, far worse and terrible than the cold of the mountain. Familiarity; however, made her guess the surprise of an unexpected guest to the ice castle. There was only one man that could do that to her and she could certainly share the experience with her lover. "Hello, Khan."
"You are getting accustomed to my arrival. Quite rare to find someone who'd find me but what should I expect a man of my age." The Mongolian remarked. He approached her from behind until his walking led him to stand beside the queen.
"Do you have a reason to be here?" The young woman asked of her elder advisor and mentor to the esoteric affairs. She turned her head to find his fingers combing through the grey beard underneath his chin, the age matching the wisdom in that mind of his. Such a man would never chime in unless he had something to say, "Anything for me to take heed?"
He smiled while a long gaze stared at the horizon ahead with a ponderance that made her wonder if he could see through the veil of reality. "When the invasion of the Southern Isles succeeds, what will you do to Prince Hans?"
What kind of question was that? He wronged everyone at Arendelle for his own gain. "To punish him of course."
"He has indeed committed sins against your kingdom by conspiring with wicked souls to steal your throne, charmed everyone by pretending he was a noble man through deceit, and stolen the heart you gave to him during the coronation. I completely understand why you would want him punished."
"Just where are you going with this?" It was a question that needed to be answered for his words carried importance.
"There will be a time when he is brought before you, in chains or at bayonet point. His fate would then fall into your hands but I wonder about the possible outcomes. He must be punished but you must remember the royal bloodline that he is part of. Execution is out of the question and jailing him in the kingdom's dungeon is not practical."
She looked back to her castle and town below and began to ponder this subject matter. Elsa had been so worried about Artyom that such an issue had not entered her mind. "I'll be honest, it's not something I would have thought of."
"Such are the ways of being a monarch," Khan replied as he continued to brush his beard, "Is there anything that makes him or his kingdom special?"
"Let me think," The queen recalled her past memories with Prince Hans. She revulsed at the once romantic moments she shared with the young man but struggled through in hopes of remembering any specified information about his place. He was the thirteenth in line and not even considered highly by his brothers and father. Their kingdom was at war behind their backs while the hard efforts of the king to be free as a state of the Holy Roman Empire through wealth, "I have an idea."
He turned his head to her. "I'll listen."
"Hans' family is still new to being a royal and they were once part of the German kingdom to the south. His bloodline takes pride in that and I think putting them back under their rule would be a worthy punishment." It was something to look forward to. The sins of a son undoing all of the efforts of his father would be a fitting setback but there was also a practical aspect to it all. Should the Emperor return the Southern Isles to the fold, the power that granted them so much freedom would be limited.
"Interesting development. Let us see how that would turn out in the end."
Author's Note: Finally! The setup is complete and now the bloody work for my fingertips begins. I just finished reading Sharpe's Tiger recently and boy does it begin to ease my workload for what is to come. Three more chapters left and this story will be done.