Chapter 9
September 18th, Unified Year 1891
Hanburg, Imperial Heartland
Imperial Cadet Corps
The crack of gunfire repeated constantly throughout the area. Rifles lay in the hands of each soldier who lay upon the ground on the range, over a hundred pairs of eyes skewered onto the targets before them.
His group had been called up just moments before as they switched out with the previous, and after a moment of banter, had found themselves on the familiar gravel that they had become familiar with after six months, with similar weapons that had battered calluses into their hands.
This was especially true for Franz himself. After years of use, he could consider himself somewhat above average in the handling of rifles. After all, the more time you spent with a weapon, the better you would be with it.
The holes in the target before him on the live range spoke of that fact as well, but even with that, he wouldn't deny that he was the worst shot of his entire Platoon. Yes, their commander was their most inaccurate soldier, even despite the many months of prior training.
His troop obviously remembered to make sure he remembered that, both with the continual gaps in the center mass of the targets, and their mutual jeers.
"Nice shot LT!" One of the soldiers called out, immediately followed by the laughs of forty or so men from around him, drowning out the gunfire for a simple moment.
The new hole in the liver of the poster down yonder seemed to glare back at his similarly glaring brown orbs with a sneer. He would never get used to these damn weapons.
"Shut your mouths and empty your barrels!" A voice shouted out from the face of Instructor Faust, who stood straight behind the unit, his arms crossed as he looked on as the unit lay down before him.
The men obliged as a united level of fire once more snapped out from their rifles. The Gewehr 98… no, Gewehr 89, he mused, fit well into his rugged palms. He really wasn't shocked anymore, considering much of anything these days.
So many weapons pulled backwards, so much technology of the next century simply appearing with not a single raised eyebrow. It damn well looked the same, that he knew for sure for this famous vintage weapon of his last life.
He sighed out for a moment, before he regulated his breath, his single eye staring down the top of the wooden barrel with a determined glare. He allowed for his vision to pause for a moment as he lay there on the dirt, focusing on that very target.
The trigger squeezed, and the bullet flew.
The recoil slammed up slightly into his shoulder as his last crack sounded, a slight mist coming up above the barrel without so much as a squeal. Franz narrowed his eyes slightly and smirked ever so mildly as he saw the beautiful hole nestled just a bit below the chest of the target.
"Bullseye." He muttered, his chin coming upwards slightly. The snap of the rifle and voice next to him wiped the smile off his face.
"Bullshit." Kurt spoke with a smirk, his dotted face inching to look at him with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Franz deemed it necessary to ignore the complete gap located within the chest target of his second in command as he spoke up.
"Thank you for volunteering for nightwatch, Vanhelm." The groan from his left brought a smile to his face as the last of the gunfire from his unit tampered out.
Keeping the rules of safety, he stood from the ground and yelled out, ensuring his weapon was cleared.
"First Platoon! Emil Company! Clear weapons, Clear range, Sound off!" The snap of his bolt came with the end of his order as he yelled out, "One!"
Kurt called out second, and the line began to yell off numbers as they stood and backed away from the still active range, their rifles still aimed towards the battered and destroyed targets.
Finally, after a moment of silence from the group of forty men, only filled with the fire of the other remaining units, Faust finally spoke up with an amused voice.
"Return your rifles and clear the grounds, First Platoon." The man spoke as the men lifted their rifles and began to vacate in their split groups of ten, "And Schnantzern?"
Franz turned his head as he stopped before the Instructor, awaiting his further orders.
"You're on cleaning duty." He spoke with a smile. Franz responded in kind, "Happily, Instructor. May I take someone along?"
The man didn't even deign to respond as he waved his hand in agreement, beginning to stalk off. The graciously malicious gaze of Franz turned to Kurt, who seemed to turn around with all the piety he could muster.
His prayers wouldn't be answered.
"You're on a roll today Sergeant! Sure, you can come along with me to clean the rifles! In fact, go ahead and pick your rifle back up, let's start now." Franz spoke with a great smile.
The laughter at the expense of Kurt echoed off with a background of gunfire, a few birds flying off in the sky.
October 19th, Unified Year 1891
"Wish I had magic. Damn pixies get paid leagues better." A soldier spoke as he rubbed the marching boot nestled in hand with a grumble. They were sitting within the accumulated common room designated for their unit, which was filled with essentially nothing whatsoever.
Franz could very nearly feel the cold wind that battered against the windows with anger, and despite the lack of snow, he still felt the near frostbite in his bones from the training they had just finished. The men still had their coats on as the stove within the room warmed them up, ensuring they would quickly warm from the march they had done in the afternoon.
Of course, they wouldn't be idle. It was a matter of not just regulation, but pride to ensure their boots were well maintained and were shined while out of combat. Franz didn't look up as he spit down on the boot his arm was shoved into, the rag in his hand making circles.
"You're suicidal then? They haven't even seen combat yet and I've heard they've had a few fatalities just in training." He spoke without so much as a raise of an eyebrow as he pat the side of the footwear in his hands, looking it over.
A certain ginger looked up from his own pair, rubbing his hands slightly with a damp rag as he raised an eyebrow.
"Sucks. I'd still bite though. I'd bet they're having much more fun than what we're doing here." His second in command spoke, beginning to rub on his own boot once more without much care, "Plus, they're basically invincible in the air. You can't even shoot them down!"
And wasn't that a misconception. As Franz dipped the damp rag in polish once more, rubbing it in a continual motion, he mused over the statement with slight interest.
At present, it may be true. Planes had not yet found their way into existence yet. The term 'Air Superiority' hadn't even been written yet. Other nations were scampering slowly behind the Empire now to make sure they had their own mages in the sky, research boosting all across Europa.
But after whatever conflict was to happen next, that slow roll would become a tumble. Each and every country would begin to research countermeasures, to find a solution to the problem of this new and possibly lethal tool that has not yet been used.
It will be then that he supposes the up and coming machine guns will be turned towards the sky with higher rates of fire. That cannons will be made to burst explosions in the blue above. That those without magical power will be able to soar above the clouds just as well as their magical counterparts.
And he knew it would happen in just a matter of years. He was confident that soon, the global war of this world would not be fought like the Great War, nor as the Second to come after it, but instead as a grievous mix of both.
A meat grinder worse than anything he would have ever seen or dreamed of before.
"I wouldn't count on it." Was what he responded with as he appraised the shining boot in his hands, before he set it down with a nod.
"You're such a skeptic." Kurt called out as he chuckled to himself, a few of the men doing the same as they shook their heads.
Franz replied with kindness, "As an intelligent man once said, the skeptical thrive while the naive die." He dusted his hands, dipping them into the warm cup of water for a moment next to him as he flicked off a few droplets.
One of the soldiers looked up with a lack of comprehension as they spoke, "Who the hell said that?"
"Me." He answered simply, eliciting laughter from the remaining men, and a few nods of agreement. His head shook slightly as he sighed out with mirth, standing from his position on the bench.
"What's the point in pondering over it anyways? We're here to be whatever the Empire seems we must be. And that is to be soldiers. Take pride in who we have become." He spoke as he stretched his back in a modular manner.
"That's fair enough." A soldier spoke with a nod, many of the others nodding absently in agreement as they tended to what was in their hands.
Franz looked out the window once more, taking note of the flowing leaves and shaking trees, before shaking his head with annoyance.
"Anyone up to bet some marks that Faust is going to wake us up and send us out to march in gear tonight?" He asked with underlying mirth as all forty soldiers stopped in unison.
The silence was deafening as the head of Kurt turned like rusty gear. He stared at the leader of the platoon with a deepening glare as he began to growl.
His voice snapped.
"You fucking bastard. How could you say that!?" He shouted out with malice as he raised the hand holding the boot, the heel pointing out towards his commander.
Multiple boots raised up into the air in retaliation for the curse the man had just sent upon the group of soldiers.
"Insubordination." Franz spoke simply as he walked over to the stove burning in the corner, draping his coat near it so it could warm up quicker, a smile on his face.
"I suggest you all warm up quickly." The man spoke as he took a seat at the table near its flames, much to the despair of the unit.
"You've doomed us all." Kurt spoke quietly as he appeared next to the Lieutenant in training, his face downtrodden.
"Don't be so superstitious, boy. 5 marks on us being able to sleep in." The man waved his hand flippantly as the group began to bet on the situation with jovial laughter.
Of course, they were completely unaware of the bloodthirsty smile located outside the common room, of a man who was slowly taking his hand off the doorknob with pure malice.
"Is that right?" Faust whispered, his eyes narrowing. The man looked to the other Instructor next to him as he raised an eyebrow.
And just like that, their fate was sealed for yet another day.
November 20th, Unified Year 1891
The assorted march of hundreds of soldiers slammed against the pavement as cheers seemed to reach the skies.
Their boots hit the snow around them without any pause as they walked forwards in full gear, their units all together as if they had never been trained separately. Each and every face was blank with dignity as their rifles skewered the skies with each step, their bayonets shining in the sunlight, the rays gleaming off their polished boots and impeccable form.
Seemingly thousands more citizens of their nation lined the streets as they looked upon their forms with pure glee and delight, throwing flower petals in droves from windows and flapping around those familiar miniature flags with every inch of movement they made.
The beautiful flags that lay attached from each rooftop as far as his eye could see flew about with the cold wind of that November Afternoon, the blue sky overarching the band that played without care for the biting chill.
To be honest, he felt much warmer than should be physically possible. He supposed it would be the mental and current presence of thousands of others, along with the heart strumming orchestra of brass and percussion rebounding off the walls of the street.
His eyes darted about slightly as he looked to see a single eye that could be construed as dissatisfied with the current situation of noise and bustle, a single individual he would ascertain as normal.
He had been looking for more than half an hour now. He hadn't found a single one.
He had never liked these military exercises, that he could remember. He always saw them as a waste of time, even despite their use for propaganda and showing the public and world the power of their military. But it wasted so much time. So much manpower when their use could be well located somewhere else.
He would never deny that it was beautiful to watch hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers march in unison down a pathway, to see the technology of a military force be shown off with great pride.
It was still annoying. Especially so when you were a cog in its machine.
He was the first one to the left of the first row for his platoon, marching with vigor as he had done so for the past thirty or so minutes. Not a single man or woman in any of the platoons had staved off. After nine months of constant training, drills, marching, and firing, those who marched on this very road on this day were soldiers.
Soldiers who would kill if need be, as they had been trained.
Of course, there would be a good three or so months of continual training to truly get it in the head of these men and women of the Empire their role in the war machine, but these individuals would soon become a part of the vast reserves of active manpower attributed to the growing nation.
The shouts continued to rise in power as they came closer to the main square of the city, Hanburg, with what he supposed was thousands seeming to turn into the constant chaos of tens of thousands. It was as if the entire city had come out to see them, which was truly extremely comforting.
He was being sarcastic, of course.
They finally seemed to shoot out of the street as they entered that main square, their chests pushed out and solemnity draped over their facades, their footfalls following after the very specific instructions that had been pushed into their minds by the instructors.
They stepped along, making sharp turns and otherwise as they finally slowed down into position among the hundreds of other soldiers in the square, surrounding the podium that stood high in the middle. Of course, as a show of force and propaganda, there would be no way one could miss the chance to rile up their audience with a great speech.
It would be a disservice to the atmosphere they had created.
Major von Streng stood there in all his glory, and it seemed as if his scars magnified in the cold, twitched in the veritable chill. He didn't see him much often, which made a good amount of sense considering the man was in charge of an entire Academy that educated the finest of the Nation.
The cheers finally peaked to a deafening level as the last column came into the square, with the man standing upon that podium not flinching even the smallest amount. He stood before that wooden barrier, his mouth moving somewhat as the man seemed to speak to himself.
He looked around the stage at the other individuals who were well seated in their uniform, mist coming up to the air even despite the well maintained cold.
As the cheers seemed to be endless, a hand rose from the podium as the man who stood there began to prepare for the speech, first, as a matter of course, by calming his audience.
It took a minute or so for the excitement to begin to taper, for the audience to begin to notice a certain man awaiting their calm, for friends and family alike to begin to elbow their acquaintances and loved ones.
Maybe two, for the tone to finally drop from the insanity that was heard just moments ago.
Three for the cheer to become a chatter, and a little more than that for the chatter to turn quieter with many surprised as to the lack of voices around them.
Four minutes for silence to return, and the orchestra to run their final play.
As that last stick slammed against its drum, and the last trumpet let out its cry, a polite applause erupted from the entire square on all sides, but the chatter and screams that had been so common did not come back with a rise, the hand of the man standing on that platform still raised high.
And as he slowly placed it down in a calming movement, it was quiet once more. It was a testament to the public of the Empire how gracefully this had been done, truly. The cold air of that November Afternoon embraced all as his deep voice began to speak, bringing Franz once more out of his thoughts at the quickest speed possible.
"Before me stands the best our nation has offered. Your brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, mothers, fathers." The man began as he spoke in a slow but onerous tune, his hands coming to rest on the sides of the wood.
Franz raised his eyes despite the sun shining down upon his cap.
"They are well tempered iron, the armor that makes up the underbelly of our nation. They are our protectors in times of need. They are the defenders against our most deplorable enemies. They will be the leaders of the next generation! The senior warriors of our Empire!" The man shouted out with vigor as he raised a hand, eliciting a short cheer from the surrounding citizens.
"They are our shields, and our swords! Our voice, and our power! After nine months, they are the most valuable knights who defend the honor of not just our country, but us, the Kaiser, and the Lord!" The man reached a peak in his own speech as the crowd of hundreds of soldiers finally responded.
"God is with us!" They shouted, Franz having long learned to keep his face regulated even despite the annoying phrases that left his mouth. The uniformed individuals seemed like steel that couldn't snap even under the most intense temperature as their aura magnified in the weather.
"God is with us!" Streng shouted back as he continued on with passion, "May we be their spear, and may we pincer the foundation of our enemies! You are no longer boys and girls of our Empire! You are men! You are women! You are strong! You. Are. Soldiers!"
The cheers that day continued to ring through the ears of Franz, even well after they had returned to the barracks.
As Franz cleaned the flowers and flecks off his uniform from the activities of the day, he couldn't help but sigh out, turning his head to the figure of Kurt who was lying down.
"Since you were so fast, surely you have time to help me, right?" He asked kindly.
"Fuck you, respectfully." The man responded back innocently.
Franz stared.
Kurt stared.
"Thank you." Franz spoke as he threw his tunic coat onto the man laying on the bed. His groan brought a smile to his face.
Maybe marches weren't so bad.
Northwestern Central Cadet Corps Academy
Hanburg Post Office
December 25th, Unified Year 1891
Imperial Cadet F. Schnantzern
My dearest Family,
I send this with my best regards to you, Mother, and my Sister who I hope is asleep by the time this letter arrives.
I shall say once more that the conditions here at the Camp are above average, even despite the sadism of our instructors that you graciously failed to remind me of.
However, I am glad to finally have had enough experience after ten months here to understand that your training was much worse. Thank you, Father.
For Mother, once again, I am alive, healthy and well. I have not become sick like a few others when it comes to our training here, most likely due to my already trained body and the blood of our family.
I have kept my position as the Platoon Leader for the past ten months, and from what I have heard, our unit has been the best performing thus far in this year of training.
My men should be able to continue on quite well by all means in their military career, and I will wish those who I will not be able to see again well in their activities.
Kurt is coming along with me to the Officer Candidate School in Berun along with a few others, that of which was what was told to me by Instructor Faust.
I'd tell you another comedy of the man if it weren't for the fact that there are simply too many things for me to speak about considering his idiocy. But he's a good soldier, and he will be better than decent in leadership.
They all will.
In other words, there are two more months until we graduate as Corporals and move on to our next two years.
8 months until I'll be able to see you all in the Quarter break in OCS. I'll ensure that I make you all proud.
I miss you all. I can't wait to see you again.
Your son and brother,
Franz
He placed down the fountain pen as he cracked his knuckles, having finished writing. He read through the paper once more as he nodded ever so slightly, gently grabbing onto the paper.
He folded it carefully, ensuring there would be no issue with its transfer, and gently pushed it into the envelope he had set aside. He pat the container slightly as brought his tongue to the lip, sliding it across and tapering it closed.
He wouldn't be able to use wax or any of the like considering the Army still needed to ensure that any information within the letter wasn't against the best interests of the Empire.
He sighed out as he leaned back in the chair, the snores of the three other men filling the quiet of the room ever so loudly. He glanced out the window before him into the darkness, its corners crusted with ice as the October winter had begun to turn to December, becoming colder by the day.
He stood quietly as he placed the letter off to the side of his desk, patting it with a slow start. The boards creaked slightly under him as he reached his bed, immediately moving the covers.
As his back hit the mattress with a squeak, he thought silently to himself with a pull of his sheets.
He would be about twenty or so when he entered the Army as a Second Lieutenant. He would probably be placed in charge of a Platoon somewhere on the Francois or Rus border, depending on if the Rus Empire even still existed at that point.
Less than two more years would move him to the next rank. About two more and he would reach Captain.
He would also have to make it into the War College sometime between there to ensure he could continue to continue to rank as a Senior Officer by regulation of the Imperial Army.
He glanced over his theoretical plan as he pondered.
Join Officer Candidate School. Network with as many people as possible. Be the best possible candidate out of your cohort.
Graduate with honors if possible. Do the best you can possible in whatever area you are sent to, and ingratiate yourself with your troop.
Gain rank quicker than usual.
Be recommended to the War College, enter in through the first round of selection. Become a Knight if possible?
The young man sighed again as his thoughts began to wane. He merely didn't know if he had time.
Time was the most important resource under his hold. And it was fickle. Weak.
His eyes began to close as rest started to claw at the deepest cliffs of his mind.
He couldn't hope, nor could he pray. No one would answer him. He just needed to bite his tongue and do whatever he could.
To prevail against all regards.
To survive with spite.
To thrive.
AN:
Havreflarn, Yes, Tanya will still exist in this AU
Just you know, she kinda hasn't been born yet?
We got another 23 years to go man lol
So I'm pondering over whether I should have Zettour and Rudersdorf be older or around the same age as Franz when it comes to all this stuff.
They won't come up in the OCS, but I've just been wondering what the hell their possible age could be
Definitely not thirties by 1923, so maybe late forties like Franz will be or early fifties
Reason why is because I might have them be peers in the War College, I just don't know when, where, how, why lmao
And honestly if people keep asking where Tanya is or when Tanya will appear I'll
Honestly, I'll cook
You guys know how there is like no information on who Tanya's parents are?
Don't you guys think it would be… funny?
Maybe a little… hilarious?
Comedic? If Franz met a beautiful young woman by the last name of Degurechaff soon?
Haha that would be crazy I wouldn't…
Unless?
No he'd be forty, basically infertile. There's no way Tanya would be anything other than a granddaughter…
Smiling devilishly right now
Anyways enough tweaking, here's my post my friends, I hope you enjoy the chapter.
And again, criticism is welcome!
Until next time,
Kelpten!
P.S
major von streng literally means major von strict in english...
i thought that was pretty funny