"Your worship, to what do we owe the great honor of your presence among us?" asked Octavian, kneeling on the loamy forest soil before the Apostle of Hardy. Careful to keep his tone humble, polite, and reverent. No matter the god you worshiped in life, you always paid proper homage to an apostle of another. Especially one from Hardy, who's tendency for capricious, even apocalyptic diversions was well known. The goddess of the underworld ever meddling in the affairs of the mortals that she was responsible for after death.
"I wish to extend to you the honor of serving me Imperial. The honor for both you and your men. That is, if you aren't too busy," cooed the Apostle, idly playing with the massive scythe on his shoulder.
The Apostle was what many would have described as a rather effeminate man, with his long flowing dark hair, sun kissed skin, and slender body. Yet to mistake that slenderness for weakness was a fools mistake. An apostle was of godly strength and power encased in a fleshy prison of mortal flesh and blood. Though without its frailty. One merely had to look into the blood red eyes of the Apostle to know that he was not merely mortal.
One merely had to look at the quartet of Messalonian Draconian Knights and the deference that they showed. Perhaps even fear, a fear that of all the knights, their squires, followers, footmen, and even Octavian's own mounted legionnaires showed. A fear only seemingly exempt from the ferocious dragons of the Messalonians.
"With great regret your worship, I find that I must decline your most magnanimous offer. My men and I have sworn an oath to the Empire and in such times we are bound by it more than ever. Were that we free from obligation, and with proper blessing from our Empire, we would happily assist you. Alas, regretfully we cannot your worship," finished Octavian, careful to keep his eyes downcast from the messenger of Hardy.
"Hmm, such oaths to mortal rulers truly are troublesome. Though I would not want oathbreakers following me around, even if the oath is as gossamer as the one you are bound by. Still, I do wonder how I could resolve this? I do need, well, rather want you to join with me, yet you are bound to another. I have it!" cried the apostle suddenly with adulation.
"I absolve you of any and all oaths that currently bind you by the authority granted to me by Hardy herself. There, now that you are free of any binding obligations you are free to serve me now, are you not?" asked the Apostle rather chipper.
"Uh...your lordship, I'm afraid that it is not that simple," began Octavian, brain scrambling for a way to refuse and Apostle of Hardy without offense.
"Oh but it is. You see there is no authority higher than that of a gods' authority. As an apostle, I speak with the authority of a god. Well, goddess to be precise. Hardy is most expectant that her desires be fulfilled and plans set into motions. She is a most demanding goddess. One that rewards those who serve her well, and punish those who disappoint her. Most severely."
There was no hiding the implied threat from the apostle. He wanted Octavian and his men to serve him. To what end, he did not know, but what he did no, was that if he offended an apostle, one who served such a capricious god as Hardy, his life and those of him men would be forfeit. Not to even speak of the afterlife that they would have to endure were they to offend the goddess of the underworld.
"So what do you say Imperial? Will you and your men join with me in my little quest, or will you refuse an apostle of Hardy? Well?" asked the man, if he still was one impatiently, bouncing the massive scythe off of his shoulder.
Despite the sick feeling of dread in his stomach and knowing he would be in dereliction of his duty, Octavian knew that he could not refuse a request from the Apostle. If he did, the lives, and afterlives of both he and his men would be forever forfeit.
"It would be an honor to be of service to the Goddess Hardy, before returning to our duties as legionnaires of the Empire," said Octavian carefully.
"Splendid," crowed the apostle, clapping his hands together. "You were so much easier to convince than my Messalonian cohorts. Can you imagine that they wanted to be paid for aiding the Goddess of the Underworld? Well, they changed their tune quickly enough I can tell you. Isn't that right?"
"Yes. My lord," said one of the Mellalonians, his voice tight as he said it as if holding back more spiteful words for fear of what would happen were he to utter them.
"Now then Centurion Octavian, get your men together, we're heading West."
"To...Mt. Rubicon my lord?"
"What? Oh underworld no, we're going past that to a more useful place," replied the apostle glibly.
"I understand Apostle, your will be done," said Octavian, performing a salute by bringing his fist across his breast and keeping his head bowed. There was nothing else that he could do in the presence of the Apostle. His own weakness galling him to the core and shaming him.
"No. You really don't, and you won't for the time being. But you will," promised the dark haired envoy of Hardy. "I suppose that you want to know my name to call me by don't you? My name is Charon." Remember it, because I don't like having to repeat myself.
"Of course Lord Charon," answered Octavian, rising to his feet.
"Who told you to stand?"
"No one your lordship," answered Octavian sinking back down to a bended knee, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the simple tone that the Apostle was using.
"I am just jesting with you Centurion, stand if you so like. The dirt will stain your knee if you don't. Come along now, I like to travel at least twenty five miles in a day and we're already behind schedule now."
Octavian watched the retreating black cloaked form of the Apostle, wondering what exactly he had agreed to, and why it felt like he had just bartered with his soul.
The pace set by the Apostle wasn't relentless, but it allowed for no breaks. He traveled at a fast walk, but it was a pace that never varied and never slowed no matter the obstacles arrayed before them. He didn't speak to anyone unless he wanted something, seemingly content to stay lost within his own mind as they traveled. The massive scythe forever dangling over the edge of his shoulder like it weighed no more than a walking stick.
The Apostle didn't speak, but he didn't seem to mind the rest of his troupe talking, which they did. In low tones as to avoid possible offending or upsetting the Apostle with overly loud noises. The footmen of the Messalonians at the back of their column kept pace with the rest of them, despite the lack of breaks or horses. Their marching discipline seemed to equal that of the legion which Octavian had to give grudging respect to. Messalonians were expensive mercenaries, but they were still professional soldierly.
Then, when it seemed that Charon was satisfied with the distance that they had traveled for the day, he suddenly stopped, making the rest of the column come to a shuffling halt at the unexpected stop next to a meadow.
"I think here is a good place to set up camp for the night," declared Charon stretching his arms theatrically as if dramatically tired. "Be sure to have my tent set up when I get back from my walk in the woods."
Octavian watched him walk into the thick growth of the forest on the other side of the clearing and the Messalonians already running ahead with poles and fabric, hurriedly erecting a large black tent, bringing in furniture from carts to place inside. What kind of fear could drive these Messalonains to do this?
Yet even as Octavian asked the question, he knew what it was. It was the same fear that had made him agree to Charon's demands, for they had been demands. It seemed that the Messalonians had refused at first too. Their body language spoke of it in the outright fear that they viewed the Apostle with. How they jumped to his commands at the merest prodding.
The sun set rather quickly shortly after they had finished erecting their camp and setting a perimeter watch. An attack from bandits was unlikely, but it was still a possibility and this far out in the reaches of the Empire, orcs and goblins were a very real threat.
How long they would be allowed to rest was unclear, but Octavian knew that the Apostle would let them know when he wished to continue on and so gingerly Octavian removed his breastplate, careful to avoid disturbing the mass of bruises and half healed wounds. He set it on a mannequin stand and as he did so, he heard a rustle of fabric from someone entering his tent.
"Don't move," commanded a youthful and feminine voice, a steel point pressing into his back.
"If you are going to kill me do it quickly, I already ache from too many wounds."
"I have questions for you, ones that you will answer for me Imperial."
"I have no problems answering questions, even without a blade to my back," continued Octavian carefully so as to not upset the wielder of the sword behind him.
"Imperials speak with forked tongues. One requires steel to cut through their deception. Now, turn around, slowly."
Octavian did as he was commanded, careful to keep his hands in plain view. A raven haired youth with incredibly blue eyes confronted him, clad in plain steel armor, bereft of decoration in the Messalonian style of a thick breast plate with only thin coverings at the arms and legs. Favoring mobility to protection as was their way in war.
"What do you wish to know?"
"Quiet! I will be the one asking the questions here. Now, when we rode today, you spoke of a silver haired Messalonian knight with a blue dragon. Where did you see her last?"
"What concern is it to you?" asked Octavian, only to almost have a sword point thrust through his throat in response.
"That is no business of yours Imperial," hissed the girl venomously. "Now, tell me what you know. Now."
"Very well. I was to arrest a deserter by the name of Captain Ianthe, daughter to Acamus of the Skyraiders. Me and my men caught word of her in Blenheim and rode to apprehend her to have her face justice. When we reached her, she was drunk in a tavern and in no capacity to resist. Yet, when we made to take her into custody, we were attacked by the Mottled Men from Mt. Rubicon. My men were killed and I was left for dead. After that, I do not know what became of her or the Mottled Men who traveled with her."
"So. She was working with the Mottled Men," said the youth, anger seeping out of her voice, leaving it hollow and mournful. Blue eyes blinking several times rapidly in succession as if fighting away tears. "I will leave you then Imperial, and take my leave of this place as well."
"Won't C-"
"Do not speak his name!" said the youth suddenly and vehemently. Looking over her shoulder as if expecting to see him standing there like an oppressive shadow. "He knows when you speak of him using his name."
There was a way that she spoke of him, with an abject horror that could not help but fill Octavian with dread. To send a shiver of fear down his spine, to see such fear evoked by mere mention of the Apostle.
"You fear him, but you would still displease him by running away?"
"I run nowhere, but where I choose to Imperial. I am not bound by an oath made with a blade to my throat. I will ride all night and day if I must, but I will be his thrall no longer. I have a mission of my own to attend to. Do not tell of my intentions Imperial, or I will cut off your prick and shove it into your mouth so the gods themselves may laugh at you."
"I will do no such thing," promised Octavian, watching the youth retreat from his tent and into the starry night beyond.
The next day, a great howl of anger woke the camp and Octavian came from his tent sword in hand, to find Charon swinging his scythe in vicious arks around himself, face livid with rage. Inhuman even as it was twisted in his wroth.
"WHERE IS SHE! WHO LET HER FORSAKE HER VOW TO HARDY?! BRING ME HER HEAD OR I'LL TAKE ANOTHER TO TAKE IT'S PLACE!"
An hour later they had their camp disassembled and were marching yet again, gear in the carts and men on their mounts or in formation. Charon himself now in a more chipper mood, whistling even as they marched. The head of a legionnaire that had been on watch dangling from his scythe, eyes gouged out.
xxx
"I hope that your stay here has been most enjoyable Mr. Sugawara. Had we known about this more in advance we would have had better accommodations prepared for your stay. Then again, had we known about this whole affair in advance it wouldn't have happened at all."
Both Alexandrov and Sugawara were sitting in an upscale restaurant that routinely serviced members of the Politburo and high ranking Red Army officers. There was a small band playing classical music on a small stage off to the side and uniformed waiters walked back and forth, ensuring that the needs of their guests were met in every respect.
The food was of good quality and cooked to perfection, and the drink was of good brand and age. All in all it was a perfect place to wine and dine a foreign dignitary.
"Thank you General, but your nation's hospitality has been more than was necessary. I'm just glad that your Politburo was as willing as you were to overlook this incident between our two countries."
"As I said Mr. Sugawara, our countries gain nothing from fighting one another. I can only hope that what we have done will lead to a better understanding of our goals in this new world that we have discovered. I wouldn't wish to be any further conflict of interest between our nations over differing agendas."
"Neither would I, but seeing as you are the General in charge of your nation's expeditionary force, I would like to know what exactly are your goals for the Special Region?"
"Well, to be frank our primary goal is the defeat of the Empire, the eradication of slavery, and expanding the territory of the Soviet Union."
"Isn't it a little morally ambiguous to take land and territory away from a nation unable to resist?"
"I admit that it could be and we most likely wouldn't be proceeding as we were if they hadn't staged the worse massacre in the Soviet Union since the Great Patriotic War. However, I do believe that you are being a little hypocritical Mr. Sugawara."
"How so?"
"In essence, you are saying that my nation and I are taking advantage of a weaker and less advanced civilization which is morally wrong, but so are you and your nation. We are merely going about different ways of doing it."
"I can't say I agree Alexandrov. My nation is looking for an end to this conflict and for a peace to come about. We aren't sending tanks further into their territory to claim more land."
"But that's the difference between us. My Union and I are using hard power to achieve our goals. We are actively using our military might to achieve our objectives. Occupying and annexing the land and territory that we want. You on the other hand are using soft power to achieve your goals. To gain strategic resources and rights for the things that you want. You extend the olive branch of peace to a nation that has seen it can not resist you. That fears you. In exchange for the peace you offer they will sign any agreement or treaty that you put before them. No matter how unfair or one sided the treaties are. Without first telling them the value of the things that they are signing away to you. You allow the nations to still exist and remain in name, but they know that if they dare refuse any of your requests you can merely brush aside any attempts of theirs to stop you. That they stand on a precipice that you may push them over any time you please. More than that though, you are content to allow practices such as slavery to continue until such a time that the Empire can pass legislation of its own to end it. If they ever do. So in essence you are doing the same as us, but with a softer touch."
"That is not what my nation is doing General, and we are very adamant about ending the practice of slavery. We just aren't using it as a pretext to continue an invasion," said Sugawara curtly.
"No? So you don't have surveyors and prospectors from oil, gas, and mining companies scouring the countryside looking for useful deposits? I thought so," said Alexandrov to Sugawara's silence.
"You seem to also not understand the gravity of what we have done in this new world Mr. Sugawara. What we are responsible for now."
"I am well aware of what we have done General and the death we have caused, but I am also aware of what Imperialistic ambitions will do to these people. My world has seen the effects of such ambitions, my own nation guilty of it and we see no wish to repeat those mistakes. We have propelled them into contact with a civilization potentially a thousand years forward and completely changed the way that they live."
"If they live," said Alexandrov taking a sip of vodka.
"What do you mean by that General?" asked Sugawara, an edge in his voice.
"You seem like you are an educated man Mr. Sugawara, given your position you would have to be, but history is a rather separate subject, especially political sciences or economics that you most likely majored in. You don't seem to fully understand how the Imperial Army operates."
"I have been well briefed on their abilities and their numbers, as well as their hierarchy and political relevance within the Empire. I know a great deal about the Imperial Legions."
"But do you know how they march?"
"Is this a joke General?"
"No, it is not a joke. An army moves on its stomach, this is true even today and though our mounts have changed from horses to main battle tanks, those vehicles are still hungry for diesel. The biggest challenge for us has been supplying adequate amounts of food, equipment, and fuel through our GATE even though it is larger than yours by a factor of four. Logistics is the hardest aspect to manage in warfare. If you have more fuel, more food, and more ammo than your enemy you can outmaneuver, outlast, and outfight them. Now these are the difficulties we face as a modern military when it comes to logistics."
"Now imagine our feudal counterparts in Falmart. The majority of supplies that they must carry is either on pack animals, or carts that said animals can pull. Now where we are in the Empire, we are in the southernmost region of it, some hundred miles from the coast. The infrastructure is lacking where we are and the population centers are mostly small villages. The Empire, at least where we are, does not have a modern, or even semi-modern supply or logistics system."
"I fail to see the point of this General."
"You will. Now a medieval army, this is including the Empire despite its standardized equipment is never the best at logistics. It's too hard to organize, too costly to implement over vast distances, and word travels too slowly. Food will not last, or arrive in sufficient quantities from their storehouses in the more metropolitan areas to sustain so many men and beasts as they sent at us. So, how their army and camp following behaves is like a swarm of locusts. They take the supplies that they need as they travel from villages and towns. Merchant contacts when they can and when it's convenient. Now these small farming villages, they buy what they can, or what the farmers are willing to sell, but if they need more they merely take it. If the farmers resist they are killed. Crucified to be exact. Many of the villages that we've come across have been stripped bare of nearly all livestock and grain. Their seed crop even taken from them, which means that they have nothing to plant for next harvest. 150 000 men need an atrocious amount of food to keep functioning, even on marching rations. As my men have come across these villages, they have been close to starvation, hunting what game they can and boiling bark and roots to try and make some sort of stew. As of right now I have nearly 4000 escaped slaves living in Camp Zhukov and my Union is feeding a further 6000 villagers in the area surrounding our encampment. We are providing them with wheat seed to plant, repairing damage done by the Empire, and providing security against roving bandits and remnants of the army we defeated."
"So you are saying that even though you are expanding you are at least being a humanitarian about it?"
"It's an obligation of ours. Even if we were to only plan the destruction of the Empire, we couldn't merely firebomb the capital and be done with it. With every battle we fight we weaken the control of the Empire, with every legionnaire defeated, we weaken the internal security of the Empire. Just toppling the leadership doesn't mean freedom and happiness for the people, or that they will merely stop fighting, it means chaos. Roaming bands of bandits, warlords carving out their own fiefdoms from the wreckage. No longer secure lines of commerce or supply from rural agricultural areas to metropolitan production ones, which will lead to starvation on a grand scale. Add to this secretarian violence, slave revolts, peasant revolts, food riots, and you have the recipe for a failed state that will take decades to make functional again," continued Alexandrov, taking another small sip of vodka.
"That is another reason we are progressing as slowly as we are. With 10 000 men I could defeat the Empire, utterly crush their ability to fight. However, I would not be able to provide security or stability in the vacuum created afterwords. I would not be able to administer or deliver an effective system of government that my government wishes me to have. That is why I have some 200 000 Soviet Personnel under my command Mr. Sugawara. To not only ensure victory, but stability."
"So you're saying then that your mission is more of a humanitarian one? That although you are conquering and subjugating a people it's alright, because at least you have a plan about how you're going to proceed? I'm afraid I don't and can't agree with that mentality General. You're saying that these people can't effectively govern themselves and so you need to do so. That they are primitive and therefore in need of the guidance and stability that you can provide. That somehow they are your burden that you must bear. My government and I don't believe in doing that. We had our time of Imperialism and we rejected it. We are only taking an area that is proportional to the needs of the defense of our nation against further further aggression or intrusion." Alexandrov couldn't help but chuckle at Sugawara.
"I do enjoy the self righteous attitude of the West and it seems that Japan is no different. Your security zone that you have asked for is a hundred leagues in radius, you've told me this yes?"
"That is the amount we're thinking about taking to the peace treaties yes."
"You do know that one of their leagues is equivalent to three of our miles correct? That you are asking for, in essence, an area larger than both Germanies and the lowlands combined? How would that translate for the people living in your new territory granted to you for 'defense'? Would you leave them to their own devices? Foreign citizens on your soil, but with no rights? Would you grant then Japanese Citizenship and all the rights and privileges that come with it? For those that refused, what would become of their homes? Would you grant them land that the lords held for them to work, even if they didn't wish to become Japanese Citizens? Or would you kick them out of your territory, people with nothing and nowhere to go? Would you teach them your language and educate them, or leave their previous system in place in bid to preserve their culture?"
"Those are things that must be decided upon with consultation with both our own government and that of the people in the Special Region. We can not simply make a unilateral decision based purely on what we think is best. That isn't how a nation conducts good politics or good policy."
"So what you are telling me then Mr. Sugawara is that you don't have a plan in place for the people who will be living in your new territory. That you forge ahead with some vision of righteousness without having considered all possible avenues that could come of your actions? You decry our plan as quite frankly wrong for how a nation should behave, and yet you have no plan of your own in place. Or even an idea of what your plan will be. Let me ask you one simple question Mr. Sugawara. Once you sign peace with the Empire, or topple its government, whichever it is that the Empire chooses, then what? What do you do after you win? Will you then form a plan when the Empire is in anarchy? Furthermore, what does America want done? Any decision made will most likely need their approval will it not? Don't get me wrong, my nation's plans are not the kindest, but you see I truly do want to help the people of Falmart. For better or for worse we are both committed to this endeavor now."
"You are well spoken General and well educated and your point has merit, but let me ask you the same question now. What will your government do if people object and do not wish to live under Soviet rule?"
"We will fight them if they choose to fight, let them leave if they choose to leave, but those who stay will have modern infrastructure and learning provided. They will however, be granted citizenship to the Soviet Union with all the rights and privileges that come with it. My Union lacks the certain aura of...xenophobia that Japan seems to fond of."
"So their choices are submit, die, or abandon everything? It sounds to me that you are guilty of everything that you accuse us of being guilty of. I would even say more, seeing as how you are forcing them to become your citizens."
"Perhaps I am, but the difference between us is that I don't sugarcoat what it is that we are going to do. I don't try to spin it. We have our objectives and we will push towards them relentlessly until they are achieved or else we no longer wish to pursue them. We will respect your wishes to the extend that you respect ours in Falmart, or your Special Region. Heh, all this talk of politics is souring my mood Mr. Sugawara. This night is supposed to be about relaxing, not continuing our political debates. Tomorrow we must resume our regular duties, so I suggest that for tonight we dispense with business and instead turn to leisure. Too much work can drive a man insane."
"I think you may be right General, my mood has been souring."
"A little bit of vodka will fix that quite quickly," assured Alexandrov pouring from a clear bottle.
xxx
"I have to pee," said Luella, moving from foot to foot. She was changed out of her kimono and instead was in regular street clothes complete with boots, a thick sweater, and a toque that hid her elvish ears quite well. All of them had changed in to street clothes in fact. Everyone that is except for the priestess Rory Mercury, who even now was in a hurry to get out of the subway.
"Right now?" asked Feliks to which the elf nodded quickly.
"Alright it's just right over there. We'll be right here if you need us," said Feliks, half to the retreating form of the elf as she rushed to the washroom. Bursting inside and slamming the door to a stall closed, shortly thereafter sighing in relief.
Luella was humming happily as she washed her hands in the washroom, still marveling at the seemingly endless and on demand water that the Japanese had access to. Though it smelled different than normal water.
The sanitation in this city was much better than any of the other ones that she had seen or heard of in Falmart. Here, your, umm, waste was taken away merely by pushing a button or pressing a lever and the smell of sewage was not overpowering or even present in many cases. Even the garbage normally produced in human cities was taken away and packaged instead of being thrown from windows to the ground below. Though how far the ground went with these 'subways' interested Luella. She had heard Boris and Feliks refer to it as the metro, but she didn't know what the difference was. So caught up in her thoughts was she that Luella didn't pay any attention to another woman come into the washroom.
She looked into the mirror in front of her and saw a woman standing behind her, rather closely and she stopped humming. There was a look in the woman's eyes that made her very uneasy. Before Luella could turn around the woman had grabbed her and put a hand over her mouth before she could even so much as let out a yelp of surprise.
She struggled against the woman briefly, but she was strong and the hands holding her were like iron bands. There was a sharp pinch in her neck and Luella saw some kind of needle with a vial attached to it being depressed into her neck in the mirror. Luella didn't struggle long though. She felt her limbs start to deaden and her vision blurred before darkening. She was vaguely aware of her legs buckling as she surrendered to the thoughtless embrace of unconsciousness.
The woman who had drugged Luella, opened a large gym bag on the floor and began deflating a large and cylindrical object inside to make room for the elfin girl. It would have been too suspicious to go into the washroom with an empty bag and come out with a full one, so an inflatable bag had been put to give it some girth. The scuff of shoes on tile made her look up quickly.
Xxx
Ianthe's mind processed three things at once when she entered the washroom to see how Luella was doing. The ever sweet and somewhat meek elf Luella laying prone as if under sleep magic, a dark haired woman emptying a large bag, and her own insurmountable rage.
Ianthe rushed forwards without thinking and bringing her foot back like she was kicking a ball, she kicked the woman kneeling on the ground in the head, watching her tumble end over end, skidding to a stop on the tiled floor. Before she could try to rise, Ianthe was atop her and raining blows down.
Pinning her down beneath her superior size and weight, Ianthe struck down with near impunity, opening gashes in the woman's face and freeing a tooth in a spray of bloody enamel. As she was bringing her fist back for another strike a flash of silver falling in front of her face made her bring her hand up to her throat in time to get a pair of fingers between a metal wire and her throat.
Ianthe managed to bring herself to her feet, despite the woman behind her doing her best to strangle and pull her to the ground, the metal wire cutting into Ianthe's hand. Using her advantage in strength, Ianthe pushed back, slamming the woman behind her into first a wall, then into the mirror handing along the row of sinks, cracking the reflective glass and making shards fall from the wall. Her boots making high pitched squeaking and squealing noises as they struggled across the smooth floor.
Ianthe shook herself like a great bear, trying to throw the woman off of her, but she held firm, even redirecting some of Ianthe's attempted throws, trying to throw her off balance and causing her face to bounce off of the bathroom wall several times, bruising and scraping it, making her head swim with each repeated blow.
Ianthe's breath hitched as the wire slipped past her fingers and wrapped firmly around her neck, tightening like a snake around her throat, immediately making a feeling of numbness spread across her face. She hit back hard, but her strikes against the woman behind her unable to break her hold on her.
Vision starting to gray, Ianthe's hand searched for anything that could help her, closing around a fragment from the mirror, jagged and the size of a small knife. She gripped it in her hand, edges cutting her hand and drove into the woman's thigh with a squelch of flesh being parted.
The woman cried out in pain behind her and the wire loosened, allowing Ianthe to breathe again which she did greedily, even as she struck the end of the glass shard to drive it further into the woman's leg. In her pain, the wire became only a loose noose while Ianthe slipped it off of her neck and grabbed the woman behind her, performing a basic throw that she's been taught since her childhood. Bringing the woman over her shoulder and to the ground below. As she laid dazed, Ianthe stomped viciously on her throat, driving all of her weight behind her booted foot, a soft crunch rewarding her efforts.
There was no time for respite though, the first woman still bleeding profusely from the gashes on her face was already up and lunging at her with a long needle instrument. She was fast and knew how to use it, but Ianthe had been practicing knife drills since she was six years old and adopted the preferred coda in acciaios stance, or steel tail stance. Using her off hand arm as a shield against the thrusting point if she would not be able to deflect it. Ianthe dodged around thrusts from the pointed needle like blade, constantly on the lookout for an opening to exploit.
The woman was well trained, quick, and knew how to keep her balance when she thrust out. Drawing it back to her, Ianthe slapped away several thrusts, the leather sleeves of her coat protecting her arm from possible cuts from the thin blade. Knocking back the woman's head several times with lightning quick punches, one of which succeeded in crushing her nose in a rupture of blood and cartilage.
Perhaps frustrated, or lacking time, the dark haired woman tried an aggressive lunge for Ianthe, over extending herself in the process. Advancing into the thrust, Ianthe caught the woman's arm and forced it into a lock, then leveraging the woman, slammed her head several times onto the counter with the sinks, bloodying it, before forcing her against the wall, receiving repeated strikes in kind from the dark haired woman as she attempted to break free.
Having the other woman against the wall, Ianthe used her elbow to strike her head, bouncing it off the wall to her back with a meaty thunk every time it rebounded until a growing red stain decorated the wall and left her slack in her grip. Ianthe finished by bringing her elbow down atop the dark haired woman's head, watching her crumple.
Ianthe was breathing hard as the woman slumped down, half from exertion and half from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Wiping at the bloody scratches on her face from the woman's flailing arm.
She turned around to see another man, dark haired and similar features to the other two standing in the doorway, a metal object in his hand. A gun, like the Soviets used. Ianthe froze, what could she do against one of the objects that spat fire and metal?
Yet behind the man came Feliks, quietly and quickly, grabbing him in a way that brought the weapon off to the side, before a flash of metal struck the man in the side of the neck and then under the armpit. There was a look on Feliks' face as he did it. A blank look, one without emotion even as he held the man in his death throes, preventing him from holding his neck to half to flow of blood, with an equally alarming amount coming from under his arm. Hand clamped firmly over his mouth to stop any sound from escaping. Feliks lowered him to the ground carefully, taking the gun from his hand once he had stopped struggling, foot twitching idly.
"Okay?" asked Feliks looking at her.
Ianthe cast a glance at the two women that she had beat to death in the washroom, before looking back at Feliks.
"Yes. Okay," she replied, giving a Messalonian gesture for yes, flashing a smile from her bloodied face.
She went over to Feliks and the prone form of the elf, watching as he put him hand on the side of her neck and then his ear in front of her mouth.
"Carry," said Feliks in Common, gesturing for Ianthe to pick up the small elf.
Ianthe put her arms underneath the petite girl, a wave of guilt coming over her as she did so. All of this that was happening to the elf, from the Diet to this was her fault. She had pushed, pressured the elf into being able to get her to be able to come with Feliks to the Japanese homeland. Now, she didn't know if the elf would ever wake up. If, when she did, Ianthe promised that if took the rest of her life, she would make it up to Luella. Whatever it took.
xxx
Feliks put up an out of order sign on the entrance to the washroom, deterring people from entering for a little while anyways. There was little possibility of hiding a triple homicide like this. Given time, he could move the bodies, dismember them and dispose of them, but without a support team and in a major metropolitan area under close escort like he was, he could scarce do more than that.
Ianthe followed close behind him, her ice chip blue eyes constantly scanning the area around them, wary for any more attacks on them or the small elf.
Whoever had done it was either very confident or entirely stupid. Did they really think that they could snatch a diplomat from a group and get away with it unnoticed? Then again, maybe they didn't care if they were noticed. They had been armed, with guns that lacked silencers in a crowded city like Tokyo. Even where Feliks came from, where the cold war was routinely called the murder war by those in the KGB and the GRU for the amount of blood that was covertly shed away from prying eyes, they would never consider being so open about it.
Perhaps a traffic accident, a suicide note, making someone simply disappear in the middle of the night, but never something like this in broad daylight. Either they were rank amateurs or they were incredibly desperate, both possibilities worried Feliks tremendously. You could anticipate what professionals would do to an extent. Understand what their motives would be, what they would be willing to do to achieve their objective, and how to avoid it.
With amateurs, you could be walking in a crowded mall and they would start spraying with an Uzi indiscriminately trying to take you out. Messy, disorganized, impossible to hide. Yet even as Feliks thought of all the different reasons that someone would try to take Luella, he couldn't help but feel an intense rage and bloodlust build inside of him.
The one girl, the one person who never wished harm upon anyone or anything, that only ever tried to help all she met had been their target. They had hurt her, and Feliks felt the old him, the one that he thought he had left behind in the jungles of Vietnam coming to the fore again, just as it had when he had killed the man with the gun.
They left the metro and found Itami and the rest of the group waiting for them. Most seemed to have no idea what had transpired, especially with Luella merely looking like she was sleeping peacefully, cradled as she was in Ianthe's arms.
"She must have been exhausted from today, we found her sleeping in the washroom," lied Feliks easily.
"And you got her out of there like that?" asked Itami surprised.
"Well, Ianthe did. I don't really want to make the nightly news," said Feliks with a short laugh that sounded natural.
"I suppose not. Komakado doesn't like waiting though, Come on."
"Alright," said Feliks, following Feliks, but distracted by a laugh and girlish giggle, seeing the creepy girl Rory Mercury staring at both him and Ianthe. She licked her lips and smiled coyly at them, her lipstick a dark purple in color.
She went between him and Ianthe, grabbing hold of his arm and smiling up at him, revolting a part of Feliks, but another part of him analyzing how quickly he could kill her and with what.
"I knew I was right when I said you reeked of death," giggled the apostle. "Next time you two give praise to Emroy in such a joyous way, I want to join in too. It would be absolutely sublime."
xxx
At the mine that Alexandrov had ordered his men to liberate known locally as the Big Deep, he and his intelligence officers had been expecting some 20 000 people in need of liberation, food, shelter, and medical attention. However, their estimates had proven to be far too conservative. The Big Deep linked to dozens of other mines, perhaps hundreds. Some were open pit, but many more were shaft mines, reaching deep into the earth like greedy tumors. Instead of 20 000 slaves they had found over 50 000 souls once the shanty towns that had serviced the guards were taken into account. A veritable city set in the winding catacombs of narrow tunnels held up by creaky boards, brittle nails, and luck. With every new tunnel they explored, another dozen glossy eyed stick thin slaves were found.
It had been only a few days since his return, but Alexandrov had already erected a massive tent city outside the walls of Camp Zhukov when it became apparent that they would not have the barracks room to process all of the newcomers without disrupting the settlers from the Union or kicking his own men out of Barracks. That being said, Alexandrov had still managed to find room for 20 000 inside the walls of Camp Zhukov. The elderly, women, and children were chosen, but even those would have to be vetted out for the healthiest to avoid the spread of disease. With more being brought from the mines every day, that number of 20 000 would fill quite quickly.
In his course of his duties, he had almost forgotten about the delegation that they had sent to Japan, well, the other Japan, but he had been assured that they would be arriving back soon and in good health.
The flow of traffic from the Gate had increased, but instead of tanks, fuel, or ammunition; they brought doctors, nurses, antibiotics, and medicine. Many of those they had rescued were malnourished, sickly, and quite weak. The worst of which were the ones rescued from the shaft mines. All but blind in the light of the sun, they had been forced to tie bands around their eyes to spare them the agony their long disused retinas would bring them. It would take a great deal of time to readjust them to the outside world again. Some would simply not survive, others were expected to return to full health quite quickly. There were still many more to come though, columns of Ural trucks brought them in every hour, all needing treatment, and all needing food.
Despite the monumental logistical and humanitarian task it had turned into, the resources of the Soviet Union were as near infinite as its reserves of manpower. The stroke of a pen from Alexandrov had seen those considerable resources put to use. The past few days had been hectic with near all other operations ceasing completely to cope with the influx. The average motostreleki found himself not practicing shooting skills or land navigation, instead he found himself spending all day setting up tents and digging latrines. Such actions had yielded some rather...unexpected results though.
The now freed slaves revered the Soviets as not quite gods, but deities all the same. Offerings were left at the concrete walls almost surrounding the camp. Handmade jewelry, candles, flowers, parcels of food, anything and everything that the slaves could spare, and some things they couldn't were left as offerings. The Communist party was officially atheist and the irony of the situation was not lost on Alexandrov in the slightest. Rissien had told him that the freed slaves saw the Soviets, or Mottled Men as they called them, like angels that had finally answered their prayers and delivered them from their misery. Their weapons and technology had made them seem all the more ethereal.
As fate would have it, it seemed that the largest group that had made up almost an entire third of the mine had consisted not of humans, but rather warrior bunnies. It seemed that after the Prince Zolzal had conquered their lands, many of those sold into slavery were either taken into the sex trade or the mines. So in the very near future, some 15 000 warrior bunnies would soon call Camp Zhukov home.
"Do you have everything you need Doctor?"
"I believe so. To be honest General we haven't even finished unpacking all of our supplies, but we're getting crates full of penicillin, painkillers, anesthetics, and basic anti inflammatory and antihistamine medications. I didn't even know they came in crates," said the doctor with a short laugh. He was typical of the current era of Soviet doctors, young and eager to work. With Nearly 65% of the Soviet Union under the age of 30 and that margin growing they had earned the name the young empire. Though Alexandrov disliked the word empire put in with the Soviet Union.
"Nothing is lacking then?"
"No. I've got manifests of well, everything either arriving or already here. I don't even know how this was all assembled so quickly. I mean a lot of this stuff can take a while to get the paperwork through for. It's fairly restricted. Supplies are good anyways, just could use more hands to help with the work. The motostrelekis are a good help at doing the grunt work, but they can't sort through patients. Setting up triages and diagnosing everyone has me and my colleagues stretched way too thin. Even with the medical staff from Zhukov we're not sure how we're going to do it. They're pulling in people from all over to help with this, I mean I'm from Isida Hospital in Kiev."
"You'll find that when the Red Army wants something it gets it in rather short order. As for more medical personnel we've put in a request for the Universities around Kiev to temporarily halt their studies of all their medical students and allow them to lend you assistance. Obviously first year students will be exempt for lack of sufficient knowledge, but you'll be getting all the rest of them. They should be some help at the very least. We're also redirecting every medic, dentist, doctor, and nurse that we can spare from all surrounding units in the Ukraine. I think that you'll have all the hands you need Doctor."
"Oh, well, that should be more than enough. I guess the Red Army hasn't changed much from when I mustered out. They have you sit forever, but when they say jump you hit the roof and keep going."
"We may be inactive at times, but we're never lazy. What unit did you serve in?"
"I was with the 45th AA division in Germany General. Nice country."
"Yes, very beautiful. It was good to meet you Doctor, but I'm afraid I must continue my inspection, there is still a lot more of the camp to see."
"Of course General, thank you for stopping by," said the Doctor shaking Alexandrov's hand before returning to the inside of his drab army issue tent, sorting through the boxes of medical supplies with his staff.
Alexandrov continued his walk on the grassy turf through the massive tent city, flanked by his protection detail of sptesnaz guards and a few staff officers. Many of the soldiers around him were so involved in their tasks digging latrines or setting up tents that they didn't all notice him and Alexandrov left them to continue working. They had more important things to do than salute or stand at attention. As Alexandrov went deeper into the camp, he began to hear more voices speaking words he didn't understand and the activity seemed more frantic. They weren't raised in anger or hysteria, rather it was the sound of thousands of voices merely conversing with each other. The smell of antiseptic and soap became more overpowering the further in they went, with hundreds of showers set up for the freed slaves to both clean themselves from the mine and remain clean. Most of them here were wearing surplus PT clothing of simple gray shorts and shirt. Peering out from inside their drab green tents with cautious as Alexandrov passed, sitting on their cots. Others were still in the coarse garments they had worn in the mines, filthy and ragged as they were and had yet to be processed. Standing or milling around seemingly aimlessly.
The heat had abated thankfully meaning they didn't have to worry too much about heat dehydration, though it would definitely still be a concern. Despite himself, Alexandrov distanced himself from one refugee, a Medusa creature whose snaky mane hissed and raised itself at his approach. The Union demanded tolerance for all races, but what of those whose existence was sustained by feeding on the life force of others? Such were questions that he didn't have the answer for at the moment.
"Rissien, why are all the bunny women missing half of an ear?"
"It's a sign of servitude and slavery for a warrior bunny, General. When one of their ears is cut off it signifies their defeat and subjugation," answered the elf dutifully.
"What is the point of such mutilation though?"
"So that the slave and everyone they meet will forever know that they are a slave General. A slave is a slave for life in the Empire unless they are a gladiator and are awarded freedom."
"That is something that I intend to change Rissien. In Short order," said Alexandrov, his voice taking on a growl as he felt his anger rise, his pace quickening.
They stopped and spoke to several more doctors and officers, as well as a few common soldiers for a few words. They all seemed to say the same thing really: things were going good and they had all the supplies they needed, they just needed more hands to help with the work, as well as more clothing for the new arrivals. Merely two sets of clothing for each arrival would be a 100 000 shirts, a 100 000 shorts, a 100 000 pairs of socks, and a 100 000 undergarments. A monumental task in its own right. Not to mention the fact that they didn't have shoes that would fit most of the freed slaves.
Alexandrov walked deeper into the camp, lost in thought of how to bring enough water into the camp for both consumption and hygiene. Zhukov was supplied by both underground sources and a river that ran down the mountain to merge with a larger river. An aqueduct perhaps could be constructed? A few pumps, some pipes and they'd have all the fresh purified water they could handle. Lost in his musings he almost missed it.
It was a foot, calloused and dirty sticking out from the edge of a tent, only barely visible and near the edge of the forest. Alexandrov stopped and looked. It could be someone resting, but it didn't appear to be that.
Careful not to trip on the tent pegs, Alexandrov cut in between two of the tents and found a woman, one of the warrior bunnies missing half of an ear in a dirty dress face down on the ground. Ignoring protests from his bodyguards, Alexandrov was quickly at the girls side, and rolled her over. She was covered and dirt and filthy, but she was sweating profusely, and her pulse was rapid and fluttery when he put a finger to her neck. The arm of her dress was dark and soaked through, rolling it up revealed a nasty gash that was swollen with infection and filled with dirt. Her eyes fluttered beneath their lids, her breathing shallow.
Without even needing to think about it, Alexandrov put his arms under the girl's brown furred legs and another under her back. In one smooth motion he lifted her up, far too light for her size, but emaciation having taken its toll on her.
He carried her quickly, bodyguards and aides clearing a path to a medical triage station. It smelled of alcohol and antiseptic in the tent. He set her down on a cot and soon doctors and nurses were swarming around her, washing the dirt off of her and cutting back the shirt to reveal the gash that cut deeply into her arm. Angry yellow pus bubbling up from the torn flesh, foul smelling and viscous.
Alexandrov was still standing over her, when her eyes fluttered open, a deep jade green and fixed on him. She looked at him for half a moment, before her eyes rolled buck up inside her head and she lost consciousness again. Falling slack against the white cotton sheets of the medical cot.
"Will she be alright?" asked Alexandrov to one of the present doctors.
"It's too early to tell sir, but we'll have to get some fluids into her right away. We will need space to work."
"Of course, I'll leave you to it," said Alexandrov leaving the medical tent and stepping out into the bright noonday sun. He stopped when he saw a large gathering of the refugees present outside the tent, most of them warrior bunnies. Many others, with bandages wrapped around various limbs or their head stared out intently from within the gloomy interior of Soviet issue tents. As yet, his guards were not pointing their rifles at them, but their hackles were up so to speak.
"Rissien, what do they want?" asked Alexandrov, never taking his eyes from the assembled group of women. The elf made his way to the forefront and began speaking to them. One word seemed to take root and it repeated like a ripple throughout the crowd, in hushed, excited murmurs. General, general, general, over and over again.
One of them, a bunny woman with bright orange hair spoke animatedly to Rissien and Alexandrov watched the elf nod repeatedly, before speaking again. After a short time, a look of the utmost glee broke the bunny's face and what ever she said to the rest of her kind started a chorus of discussion. Rissien stealthily made his way back to Alexandrov's side while they were distracted.
"What did they want?"
"They wanted to see the general of the Mottled Men Sir. They also saw you carry an injured warrior bunny personally for treatment. That shocked them, but they did like it," assured the elf. "Then I told them that you personally ordered their liberation and continuing aide. That they will not have to pay for any of the food or medicine that they are given, or clothes."
"So why are they all looking at me like that?" asked Alexandrov, feeling a tad uncomfortable as over a hundred warrior bunnies gazed at him intently, intermittently arguing with each other. With a smattering of other races mixed in amongst them.
"They are deciding whether to pledge themselves to your service General. The warrior bunnies are a martial culture, pride and strength comes before anything else for them. Intensely independent to the point of xenophobia even. They lost their pride and strength when they were made slaves, made less than dirt in their eyes and that of their kin who are yet free. The strongest amongst them who can best fend for the tribe is elected as their leader. When they were defeated and enslaved, it made them lose faith in their own ability and that of their race. When you freed them, you provided for them, gave them their strength and pride back, and as shown when you helped that injured woman, you do care for them."
"So you're saying that they're deciding if they want me to be their queen?" asked Alexandrov incredulous.
"Well they call it taisech which means chieftain, though she is usually called a queen, but in essence, yes. General, I think that they've decided."
The crowd of assembled warrior bunnies had indeed fallen silent, and the orange haired one who had been speaking with Rissien from before started forward towards Alexandrov. She walked up to him and went down to her knees, grabbing his hand as she did so, and kissed it. A ceremonial act and even though he was ignorant of the custom, it was obviously done with great care and formality. She was followed by another, and another, who all pledged their allegiance personally to Alexandrov. Each in turn kneeling and kissing his hand.
How was he going to explain this to the Politburo?
AN: Well that's another chapter, sorry for the delay, but I went and wrote a couple of chapters for another one of my stories in the interim. Leave a review and tell me what you think of it and I'll be sure to get back to you.