Bastions
Chapter Forty Two: Twilight in the East
Part 2
Prelude:
The fall of the Seljuk Empire was a bloody and messy affair. Dozens of Warlords fought to rebuild the Empire, but none seemed to have the strength to do so. It quickly became apparent that there were six main Warlords, who united their respective regions, then looking for a fight, would raid and pillage the lands of neighboring Warlords. But the Seljuks had grown fat and lazy, their once fast and mobile troops slogged under their own inexperience. They were no match for the soldiers of Egypt. But more importantly, they were no match for the Turks of the Steppe, relatives of the Persianized Seljuks. The Turks themselves were a divided group, mostly due to their wide-spread nature. In the north they were a nomadic people, usually dominated by a local power or employed by the Yuan. Those closest to the Yuan were Hindu; those furthest away where still pagan. In the south they were the Seljuks, but there were no Turks amongst the Seljuks, only wistful dreams of past glory. The Seljuks were Persians and Arabs who happened to be descended from a Turk in the past. With their Empire no more, the scavengers began to close in, nibbling away at their lands. Syria, centered on Latakia, claimed not only the mantel of the Seljuks, but also the mantel of the Romans. They called for a Muslim Rome to arise from the ashes of the failures of Christianity. But Syria attracted the attention of Egypt, who was looking to unify the Near East.
The Near East following the collapse of the Seljuk Empire (outlined in red) as well as the Egyptian Empire and its vassals (outlines in purple). The color around the country name indicate's its religious affiliation. Light Green for Shiite, Medium Green for Sunni, Khaki Green for Ibadi, Cyan for Hindu, Orange for Edessan Catholic, Red for Roman Orthodox, and Burgundy for Prussian Orthodox.
August 3rd, 1992
A cool summer's breeze wafted in through an open window, brushing over the bare skin of a lovely woman sleeping soundly in her bed. Unknown to her she was being watched. A particularly strong breeze blows the curtains and a plastic cup falls off its perch on a table and spills water across a shag carpet. The muffled sound does not stir the sleeper; instead she smiles as dreams of good fortune cross her mind. Shadows race across the room, almost too quick for the eye to perceive. She is not alone. From the corner, a shadow takes form and emerges as a man, his features graceful and strong. He seems to mourn his predicament, but then slowly lowers himself onto the girl. Fangs extended he bites her neck and her eyes open in a flash, "Vámpir! Tu bist ien Vámpir!"
"Son of a bitch!" Demetri shouted, causing many people in the theater to throw things at him. He stood up and stormed out, cursing under his breath. His friends, shocked, looked at each other and eventually elected one to go talk to their missing comrade.
"Dude, what the fuck was that?"
"Why are all our movies in fucking Prussian and not in Greek? Last time I checked this was Romania, not Prussia!" Demetri said.
"What is with you? All you do is bitch and moan about Prussia this, Prussia that. It is going to take some time, don't worry... soon they'll all be in French or English. Is that any better?"
"At least the French aren't a bunch of murdering rapists."
"Demetri, we get it. Your dad got killed at Athens. That was seven years ago, and he was a hero. Instead of complaining all the time, you ever think of respecting his memory by moving on? Growing up? Plus even Prussia isn't a communist state anymore. Let it go. We felt bad for you, but dude it is starting to get old. You aren't some revolutionary politician; you aren't some soldier of Romanian policy. You are a twenty-something loser who carries his baggage as some kind of armor against life. Now shut up and watch the fucking movie."
"What the hell do you know? What the hell do you know about the war and where I am coming from? Nothing! You know nothing!"
"I know what it is like to be a war baby. To not know who your father was, or even what side he was on. To know your mother doesn't love you and wishes to take it all back. You're lucky. But no, you're right. No one lost anything during that war but you. In sixteen years of fighting only one Greek died: your dad. God you are stupid." He turned and left Demetri standing there, alone. But he couldn't help but think that is what Demetri wanted all along.
Demetri headed to the front desk and returned his ticket for a refund, remarking he didn't speak Prussian very well. The clerk apologized, stating that one couldn't get far in Eastern Europe without speaking some Prussian. The young man sneered at him and left in a huff. The sun hung low, blocked mostly by the row housing. Turning east he could see the Emperor's palace, sitting above the Queen of Cities as it had for centuries. He began walking in that direction. Eventually he stood under the massive walls that surrounded the palace; all over the flag of Romania was draped. It was practically wallpaper for the nation. In front of the main entrance there was a memorial to those who had died to restore the Monarchy. At its center was another Roman flag, this time with the old communist symbol cut out from its center. The names were etched in marble walls that ringed around with the flag at their center.
The two silent guards watched as the young man walked over to the block that read "1985" and began searching for a name. Demetri saw it, "Sgt. Leonidas Sakellarios, Constantinople - Athens". When the guards noticed that Demetri had found a name of interest, one of them silently walked over and removed a strip of paper from a pouch and placed it over the name, then quietly rubbed a charcoal stick over the paper. With the name left on the paper, he turned to Demetri and handed it to him. Then he stood at attention, saluted, and returned to his post. Demetri watched and then looked down at the paper. He had been fifteen when his father had died. The next year he was going to enlist and join his father, but after his father died his mother refused, and he had been forced to finish high school. Now he was in college and was supporting himself. His mother lived comfortably off the funds given to the widows and widowers of the War for Independence as well as a part-time job on the side.
But where was he going? Did he just drag his baggage around as a shield? He sat down and rested his back up against the marble wall. The one soldier returned and extended his hand. Demetri grabbed it and was hoisted up and dusted off. The soldier looked at him and then, almost instinctively knew what was going on. He handed Demetri a small business card, on it was the name and phone number of a local army recruiter. Demetri took it and put it away in his wallet. He thanked the soldier and saluted before running off. He was his own man now; he could join the Army like he had planned. He could make his father proud; just he had wanted to when he was young.