Sovereign

"ONS Matriarch seen in the North Allas ocean after repeated air attacks against international civilian shipping heading to North Opellia. The Mandate of Nations raised an alarm today in response, warning that the Orlish Civil War may fully spill internationally."

- Geopol Press

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June 25, 2024

Royalist Frontlines

245th Infantry Battalion

"Someone…"

"Someone…please…help."

No one listened.

"Is anyone…"

"Is anyone over there?"

His voice was weak. Hoarse, and full of pain. Yet no one listened. All there was, was darkness. And the burning flames. The cinders that lit the air.

Why am I here?

He tried to stand up, but he coughed. It smelt bad, the dust. The dust from the broken rubble and cement. It was painful.

His body itself was in pain.

Why…is no one here?

He tried all that he could. To stand up. To return to the fight. But his body was too heavy.

But his duty…for his brothers. For the Queen. For all those…those he defended. He needed to stand up once more.

But he couldn't.

It was too painful.

"Help…"

Nothing came. He could barely even hear anything. All he remembered was that they were desperately holding this block. All alone with his remaining brothers in their Company.

He remembered calling for aid from the radio. He remembered the screams about the wounded. The lack of ammunition. The lack of everything.

The desperate radio chatters.

The curses.

The cries.

Then the boom. And suddenly, he lay here in the rubble. As no one listened to his calls of distress.

All but the cold, yet somehow fiery and hot air that raged above him seemed to respond.

Am I…going to die?

The sounds slowly came back to him. The sounds of distant booms - then the rapid thuds of machine guns and rifle fire. It was a bit far though, unnaturally far.

Almost as if no one was left close to him that could fire his rifle.

Once more, he tried to pull himself up. Something cracked, but he merely winced as he stood up, using his rifle as support. He fixed his helmet a bit, as he took the surroundings around him.

The apartment that they once occupied, seemed to be nothing but rubble now. The buildings adjacent to it, and those that faced the road up ahead. They too seemed empty.

No more gunfire emanated from them. No shouts of young men asking for ammo and artillery support. None.

Only a loud silence.

He staggered forward as he took in the devastation around him. Some bodies lay around the small street, the rubble, and even the highway before their positions.

He lumbered forward, as a jolt of pain shot from his left leg. Did he perhaps break something? He didn't know.

He was aimless now.

He continued on. Slowly but surely, he realized that he was alone. All but him was dead. Again.

Again.

He had seen it before. He had seen it in the Great War. To be alone. To be the only one to see his brothers dead. How cruel. Why him? Why didn't he die too?

When there was no help coming.

He heard shouts, on the other side of the highway. They were loud and angry, and they all shouted, "Push on!"

The enemy.

The Putschists.

Men who claimed to be fighting for their rights. All as they massacre their fellow men. He was no better though, he mused. Their side was massacring fellow men, who were fighting for their rights, for the Queen.

He laughed at the insanity of it all. The insanity young men like him had been placed in.

He walked like a dead shell to another building. It was destroyed, yet some of its walls offered cover.

But what is the use of hiding?

He sat down in the identified hiding place. It was dark and isolated. He settled his rifle on his side, as he removed his helmet from his head.

It was painful.

And…there was blood on it. In fact, he had just realized that he seemed to be bleeding everywhere. He almost laughed at it. His legs didn't look quite right. How he managed to walk was questionable. But it almost didn't matter.

I'm…going to die. I'm going to die. It's over.

He didn't have a chance, that he knew. He finally gave up. Perhaps this was really it. This was his demise.

It was bright. He looked at it.

"Mama!"

"Yes, dear?"

"Why can't I make water fly like Anna did? Do I need a better stick?"

His mother merely laughed at his silliness.

"That's so stupid, Henry. We can try to win this contest. Just because we're boys doesn't mean we're stupid."

"But they have more money to build something better, Richard. We don't. And how will this design even match with their magical ones?"

"Victory with a handicap feels better anyway."

They lost.

"Stop crying, you stupid moron! You're a grown-ass man already!"

"I-I'm trying, dad…"

"Then try harder! Richard, weak men have no place in this world. They die early!"

He stopped crying and tried harder.

"I'd do anything! Anything! Just give me a job."

"You like mopping floors in toxic environments, son?"

"...Yes."

He mopped floors, alone, in an industrial hellhole.

"Free college? Votes? Is that true?"

"I'm not joking dude! The Queen said it herself."

"I see…"

He went to hell for that promise.

"Get on the line, son. You'll be shooting traitor scum by next week."

"But I was just asking for debt ex-"

"Yeah, well, figures. Maybe you'll repay your debt once the Army pays you."

Yet this was how he was repaid.

He realized that the brightness was no afterlife. Someone was flashing him with a flashlight. The soldier, a Putschist, seemed to be looking at him with concern.

He smiled weakly at him.

For some reason, the other soldier understood his plea. He looked around, as he pulled a pistol and aimed down the flashlight held in his other hand.

The gun was aimed at his face.

"Mama…that drawing looks good."

"Is it, dear? It's the goddess. She is pretty, isn't she? She granted the blessing of magic to us women. Now, all of humanity benefits."

"...Can I draw too someday? I want to draw."

"Mhm…maybe someday you will be a painter."

He supposed…this scene of his would be a better painting.

The pistol flashed.

+++

Putschists Frontlines

85th Infantry Battalion

"All units! Charge forward!"

And so Peter charged forward. He had to, or else they would lose. Or so they said.

The guns rained all around him. The bodies dropped one after another, as the distant flashes of heavy gunfire illuminated the darkly lit Royalist trenches.

They shouldn't have been stuck here. They should have reached the capital already. They should have been marching victoriously for the New Republic. A victory for all young men like him. A victory for freedom, liberty, equality, and republicanism.

Triumph against the arcane, the goddess, and the matriarchs that had long stepped on their necks.

Yet it was clear as day. They had been delayed. They had been held off. They had taken severe casualties. All by the same young men that should have been on their side.

Now…they would have to grind and pay for every inch forward. With blood and guts.

And he was one of those.

He zipped through the maelstrom, running as his legs felt an ache as he pushed his muscles to their limits, the adrenaline surging through his veins as he went on.

"We gotta keep going!"

He heard from behind him. And so kept on.

"Dammit, they're aiming at us!"

"Shut up, Karl! I know!"

"Sorry!"

It was his buddy. A man that he knew from his childhood. A friend of his. Both of them, almost always together, through every storm of their lives, now once more braving through another storm.

He looked back at him. He seemed nervous as he ran.

"Karl! Speed those chicken legs up!"

"I know, asshole!"

"And you kept shouting, 'Keep goi-"

Suddenly, he almost flew. It was dark. And he felt his back crack as he slammed on something. He almost wanted to vomit all of his insides. It felt…awful.

There was a thin light as he attempted to open his eyes. A flat, white noise…different from the gunfire and the artillery he was used to.

Somehow, he noticed, he was sitting. He slowly opened his eyes, as he looked around him. There was gunfire and hell all around. He looked at his side.

Karl? K-karl?

He…couldn't look at him. He…didn't see his face. It was all wrong. That was wrong. That wasn't how heads should look…

He's dead…

He didn't know how long he sat there. He said nothing, mind empty, as he sat beside the only man that he knew. The only person that he could call, a 'friend'.

And now…he was gone.

"You know…Karl?"

He simply looked at the skies, as he slowly, and painfully pulled something from his pocket. It was a pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

He took one of them, and lit it up on his mouth, his hands still shaking.

He let off a puff of smoke.

"You always said these things would lead to an early death."

How silly of him.

"You know, you're an annoying guy. What is it with you and caution? Wha…why? Why Karl? Why not take risks? Isn't that how we men are designed to be? To face everything regardless of the risk?"

He still remembered those days.

"You know, you should have joined us back then. We could have raided those snobby girls on that school with our new slingshots."

He laughed at the skies.

"But you didn't. You should have seen it Karl. Those brats were so angry when we fired back at them. They chased us. And they couldn't catch us. Ha! Serves them right."

He lightly gave him a shove with his elbow.

"Should have been there, buddy."

He took another swig of his cigarette, and inhaled it slowly, before letting it out once more.

"You should have asked her out. You're a decent guy, you know? Not like me. You're smart. You have talents. You can understand them, girls. I don't. But you could. But you're a coward, Karl."

He laughed bitterly.

"You said you were for our rights. But you didn't come there, Karl. Why didn't you? It was your duty. You kept away, while we protested for change. You should have been with us. Striking. But you stayed at your work, Karl. You didn't believe Rimpler's message. You said he would be reckless. That men shouldn't be with him. Why Karl? You knew he was the only man that would stand for us."

He continued laughing, as the pain of his shrapnel wounds seemed to dissipate. His head felt light, and he could almost tell that his vision was becoming darker and darker.

"You didn't want to join the fight, Karl. Noo, you told me it was pointless. That we should dodge the draft. But you can't, Karl. This is our war. For our rights. Didn't you know that, Karl?"

He looked down, as he felt weak.

"The Queen is lying, Karl. You should have known that. She…doesn't see us, Karl. She doesn't see you, Karl. That's why I forced you to join here, Karl. For you, for me, for every man, you have to do your part. For the revolution. It's the only…only way…for us men to survive."

He laughed, as his hold on the cigarette felt limp. It fell beside Karl. No…he didn't even believe any of the words that he had uttered. Even till the end, he was in denial.

How foolish of him. Now both of them…

"...You're right, Karl. We should have been…more cautious. We shouldn't have…joined Rimpler's insanity. This is my fault…I should have listened to you…"

The darkness came close…

"...But, too late for that…bud…I believed, the wrong side. I'm…sorry…"

And he let off his last breath. Besides the man that he considered as his brother.