The Empire Strikes Back - Part 4

[Idhrendur]

Alvértos was stunned at the suggestion. Kill his brother? It seemed unthinkable. But everything of the past day seemed unthinkable. His mind swam with the possible consequences. How might that affect his ability to pull the Empire back together? Later, he decided. I’ll figure this out later.

“That’s, uh, quite the suggestion, Senator Favero. I’ll…need some time to consider the consequences. Ahem. In any case, Senator Doukas is right. We’ll need to fund and reestablish the MSI before considering anything of the sort. Which answers the first of my questions. I guess it leaves a minor one, what logo should they use?”

“Next is construction. It sounds like there’s agreement to improve infrastructure. A new supply depot on our side of the Dardanelles will ensure we can defend them or even attack across them. This will take until June to build, so even with resources diverted for the MSI the new rails to it and the Anatolian side of the Bosporus will be completed first.”

“The following issues are orders for the legions, for the navy, and for the air force. Then which units to train, which supplies to build, and which ships to focus on completing.”

“Finally, there are the concerns of diplomacy, longer-term research, and how I should direct my time.”

“Regarding orders for the military. I know it would be better to leave such matters to the General Staff, but unfortunately for now we are the General Staff. I am assuming that Constantinople is already defended and that we won’t have the troops to take it. But I’ll have some of the nearby cavalry make a probing attack to verify this. If I’m wrong on that, we’ve made a major advance in this war. My next plan is to move some of the forces from Smyrna to protect the crossing at the Dardanelles. If possible, to cross them and hold a landing on the western side. A cavalry brigade for speed, and an infantry division to hold against any attacks. General Laskaris would head this force.”

“The remaining infantry in Smyrna should then move as quickly as possible to help defend against attacks from Constantinople. Once in position, some of the cavalry currently doing so can reinforce the Dardanelles.”

“For the air force, I doubt attacking the shipyards would do much good. Either Konstantinos has secured one of the Mediterranean fleets, in which case such an attack is too little too late, or he has not, in which case the shipyards will not be able to produce new ships quickly enough to matter.”

“Instead, I propose to save our oil for the Black Sea Fleet. This fleet would then protect a force that can land north of Constantinople and attack Konstantinos’ forces from the rear.”

“While gathering forces for this attack, we can train light units to secure the Mediterranean coast. Production will focus on weapons to supply them instead of heavier equipment. As we won’t be able to build fighting ships quickly enough to make a difference, our dockyards will focus on ships for the merchant marine, allowing for more trade or troop movements over seas.”

“While research is a longer-term affair and hopefully not relevant to this war, the R&D department will focus on construction technologies, tools for their own use, and methods of detecting military forces using radio waves.”

“Finally, I plan to split my time between diplomacy and organizing the family business holdings. The businesses work on four year plans, and the next one should be focused on supporting the end of the civil war and reuniting the Empire. The exact nature of diplomacy will depend on the disposition of other countries and the various provinces of the Empire, but the goal is to get more troops to support us.”

"Are there further questions or concerns? Or objections to any of these plans?"

 

[zenphoenix]

I guess it leaves a minor one, what logo should they use?”

“The one at the end with the eagle.”

“Next is construction. It sounds like there’s agreement to improve infrastructure. A new supply depot on our side of the Dardanelles will ensure we can defend them or even attack across them. This will take until June to build, so even with resources diverted for the MSI the new rails to it and the Anatolian side of the Bosporus will be completed first.”

Six months feels like a long time. But we can’t have everything at once.

“Regarding orders for the military. I know it would be better to leave such matters to the General Staff, but unfortunately for now we are the General Staff. I am assuming that Constantinople is already defended and that we won’t have the troops to take it. But I’ll have some of the nearby cavalry make a probing attack to verify this. If I’m wrong on that, we’ve made a major advance in this war. My next plan is to move some of the forces from Smyrna to protect the crossing at the Dardanelles. If possible, to cross them and hold a landing on the western side. A cavalry brigade for speed, and an infantry division to hold against any attacks. General Laskaris would head this force.”

Theodoros was in Smyrna? No doubt he had rushed back to the mainland from Africa as soon as he heard the news. Fortunately, he was still with them. Not that he would have supported Konstantinos; Theodora was worried he would have gotten himself killed.

“The remaining infantry in Smyrna should then move as quickly as possible to help defend against attacks from Constantinople. Once in position, some of the cavalry currently doing so can reinforce the Dardanelles.”

A good idea. Everyone will be watching the Bosphorus, which makes the Dardanelles another weak point. On the other hand, it’s also a weak point for the enemy.

“For the air force, I doubt attacking the shipyards would do much good. Either Konstantinos has secured one of the Mediterranean fleets, in which case such an attack is too little too late, or he has not, in which case the shipyards will not be able to produce new ships quickly enough to matter.”

“Even if he has secured one of the Mediterranean fleets, the destruction or at least neutralization of the shipyards will delay his manufacturing capabilities and hamper supply efforts in the Aegean. But if a direct military assault is not strategically feasible, we can still carry it out through covert means, like sabotage from spies or local sympathizers.”

“Instead, I propose to save our oil for the Black Sea Fleet. This fleet would then protect a force that can land north of Constantinople and attack Konstantinos’ forces from the rear.”

“Perhaps we could coordinate it with Laskaris’ operation. Commit more troops to Laskaris’ front and launch a pincer attack from northern and southern Thrace. Then we could cut off Constantinople from the rest of Greece, trapping Konstantinos inside.”

I bet Picardie is jumping at the opportunity to deploy the airship as well.

 

[Michaelangelo]

"I concur with Senator Doukas on the choice of emblem for the Ministry of Security and Intelligence. The eagle has been a symbol of Roman might since the early days of Rome and seems a fitting choice."

Senator Donatello Favero paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I think it might be worth taking a moment to discuss the issue of legitimacy, both for our movement and Konstantinos's. Currently our entire movement is based on resisting the attempted coup attempt by Konstantinos. While this is a noble reason to oppose him, it will be very easy for Konstantinos to accuse us of treason and other crimes and use that as a means of weakening our support with the remaining states of the Empire and abroad. The key to legimitizing our movement is to discredit Konstantinos's."

"Now the question is how do we go about doing that. I think the best way is through the Emperor. Your Highness," Donatello said, looking towards Prince Alvértos, "my recommendation would be for you to make a public statement requesting that this dispute be put before the Emperor for resolution. This will not only not only show that we are willing to respect the Crown's authority but that we are the more conciliatory party. I suspect that this request will be denied, but it will force Konstantinos to respond or otherwise risk losing the support of those on the fence in this conflict if he's seen as not respecting the Crown. Better yet, we should also request, no, demand that Konstantinos allow the Emperor to make a public appearance or provide evidence that he is still alive and unharmed. If he has indeed usurped the throne, following through with this demand would weaken his movement, or in the worst case and something has happened to the Emperor, he won't be able to provide evidence and it will raise suspicion around Konstantinos's rise to power. The onus must be placed on Konstantinos to prove he hasn't overthrown or harmed the Emperor, otherwise he will throw similar accusations at us."

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

The first car was a luxury model, though still an army staff car. It made its intended statement well. The person within was high ranking, but still a solider of the Empire.

Alexander shifted in place one last time and then straightened as the door opened. Two officers in the Imperial Army got out, both wearing fascist armbands, and stood before the back passenger door in a salute. Meanwhile, two trucks full of soldiers came in behind them, and filled the square with infantry.

All of whom, Alexander noted with mounting dread, wore the same armband.

Well, he thought. At least we know what side the Prince’s bread is buttered.

A private strode towards the two saluting officers and opened the door. All the men sprung to attention, as Crown Prince Konstantinos emerged from the back seat.

“Atten-tion!” the Guard Captain commanded behind him, and the Temple Guard followed their Army brethren in noting the arrival of the Royal Family.

The Crown Prince looked around for a moment, and then beamed as he focused on Alexander. He walked forward with a measured pace, with the two officers following closely behind.

Good, Alexander had time to think. He is sober.

As Patriarch, he knew the Doukas Royal line quite well, and was closely connected to several members, including the Emperor. Though he had since abandoned the name, he himself once upon a time had been Alexius Doukas, a minor scion of a lesser line. Even before he began advancing in the Church, he had met Konstantinos.

He had not been impressed.

That was unfair. He had been bemused. That seemed to be the general reaction to the man, actually. The Crown Prince was a relatively tall, relatively handsome man in his late thirties, a few years older than Alexander himself. He had received a good education, though had failed to complete a degree. He had a reputation for being both daft and fairly intelligent when the mood struck, being both prominently lazy but determined when his interest was aroused. Alexander knew he had fought hard to visit the army front lines and been rebuked, and yet still went. He had a full flying qualification and was popular with serving soldiers and veterans.

He was also a drunk, a dandy and a gambler. In earlier years he was prone to fits of rage and sobbing, a practice he had not quite shaken off. He was an excellent polo player, a lover of modern art and music, and a fashion icon. He may well be the most photographed man in the world.

As he approached, and Alexander spied the armband on his own apparel, he also recalled the Prince’s notable and problematic racism. He despised non-Greeks, and especially non-whites, with a passion, and would at length describe his hatred in front of any audience, at any time.

For all that, he was surprisingly interested in the plight of the working classes, or at least, the working classes he approved of. Whilst he had never been particularly political, it was not surprising that he found some sympathy, and many sympathisers with the fascist movement.

This man…should not be Emperor.

Potentially, he already was.

“Most Holy Father,” he said, raising his arms slightly and bowing his head.

“His Royal Highness,” Alexander repeated the gesture exactly.

It was something of an awkward clash of rankings. As great offices of the state would have it, the Ecumenical Patriarch actually ranked second in seniority to the Emperor, with the Crown Prince and Imperial Chancellor taking the third and fourth positions. However, as a member of the family, Konstantinos utterly outranked him. Given they both had equal numbers of troops, and the political tension in the air, it boded well that the Prince was gracious enough to recognise the difficulty and circumvent it by speaking first.

Someone had coached him well.

“We are most pleased to meet your highness and welcome your return to the Holy City.” Alexander gestured with his raised hand to his men, the Guard Captain and the Police Chief. He did not miss the Prince’s face darken upon seeing the latter man.

“Indeed.” He said shortly. Then he blinked, and the smile returned. “It has been too long, Alexander. I do not believe I have seen you since your proclamation.”

“I think you correct sir,” Alexander nodded. “I hope you and your family remain well? I admit to being quite anxious about His Imperial Majesty’s health.”

“Ah…” Konstantious nodded slowly, “yes…I think we best speak in private about that.” He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. “There are a great many terrible things afoot in this city and throughout the Empire. I would speak to you privately.”

Alexander quirked an eyebrow but nodded, “Of course, sir. I would offer to escort you to your usual lodgings, however…there has been some difficulty within the city.”

The Crown Prince held his gaze steadily. “I thought there might be. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

It was not a question. He knew what was going on.

“But of course. Then…shall you walk? I fear the streets may prove a little unsuitable for your car.”

“Ah, why not. Why not indeed! It shall be a pleasant thing to take in my city once more, and catch up with my dear friend.”

“Of course,” Alexander smiled, and did not object to the other man taking his arm. “Guard Captain, please bade the men escort us to the Senate.” Be careful, and watchful, his eyes said.

“Of course, Holy Father. Your Royal Highness,” the solider bowed to both men.

As both groups of soldiers followed in ranked lines, the Prince and Patriarch spoke of various inconsequential topics, as Alexander urged his body to remain calm, and his mind alert.

They were all far from out of danger yet.

 

[zenphoenix]

"I concur with Senator Doukas on the choice of emblem for the Ministry of Security and Intelligence. The eagle has been a symbol of Roman might since the early days of Rome and seems a fitting choice."

Senator Donatello Favero paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I think it might be worth taking a moment to discuss the issue of legitimacy, both for our movement and Konstantinos's. Currently our entire movement is based on resisting the attempted coup attempt by Konstantinos. While this is a noble reason to oppose him, it will be very easy for Konstantinos to accuse us of treason and other crimes and use that as a means of weakening our support with the remaining states of the Empire and abroad. The key to legimitizing our movement is to discredit Konstantinos's."

"Now the question is how do we go about doing that. I think the best way is through the Emperor. Your Highness," Donatello said, looking towards Prince Alvértos, "my recommendation would be for you to make a public statement requesting that this dispute be put before the Emperor for resolution. This will not only not only show that we are willing to respect the Crown's authority but that we are the more conciliatory party. I suspect that this request will be denied, but it will force Konstantinos to respond or otherwise risk losing the support of those on the fence in this conflict if he's seen as not respecting the Crown. Better yet, we should also request, no, demand that Konstantinos allow the Emperor to make a public appearance or provide evidence that he is still alive and unharmed. If he has indeed usurped the throne, following through with this demand would weaken his movement, or in the worst case and something has happened to the Emperor, he won't be able to provide evidence and it will raise suspicion around Konstantinos's rise to power. The onus must be placed on Konstantinos to prove he hasn't overthrown or harmed the Emperor, otherwise he will throw similar accusations at us."

Donatello had raised some good points. Getting the Emperor's statement would undermine Konstantinos and grant them legitimacy. As long as he was absent, Konstantinos was free to say whatever he wanted in his name, and they would invariably be painted as traitors. The rumors of Alvértos ordering the alleged assassination attempt were already spreading like wildfire, despite the news agencies' best efforts to get the truth out. People loved controversy and intrigue. The story of two brothers with knives at each other's throats was far more entertaining than that of a brother's false accusation. The Emperor, though, could cut through the lies with just a single speech. If only it were that simple.

"While you do have some good points, I have to say that is better said than done," Theodora said, "The problem is getting him out in public. Konstantinos knows the symbolic power of His Majesty's word and would likely have him kept under heavy guard in Blachernae. Would he budge if Prince Alvértos makes an ultimatum? And even if he relents, who was to say he hasn't already fed His Majesty the same lies just for this specific scenario?"

That would be the worst scenario. The Emperor already swayed to Konstantinos' side. We'd be screwed.

Theodora's mind raced to other options of getting to the Emperor—more underhanded ones. A well-trained team could probably make use of the secret escape tunnels connecting to the bunkers underneath Blachernae, the same ones the royal family took refuge in during the Sack of Constantinople 25 years ago. But Konstantinos would have known about those tunnels—and how the communists had known about them too—and sealed them off. Perhaps an aerial drop, from a high-altitude transport plane, with the operatives parachuting in at night. No, there was a chance the wind could blow them off course, or that the city lights would illuminate them. How about being deployed from a submarine landing along the northern shore of the downtown waterfront? That could work, but the dockworkers' unions controlled those areas, and after what happened in the Sack, they were intensely distrustful of the government. Though they would probably hate Konstantinos more than they disliked the Senate. And if they did get to the Emperor, what would they do to him? Have him record a speech? No, there would be accusations of falsification. Evacuate him to Trebizond? No, Konstantinos could just say he was abducted. She refused to think of what she would have do if the Emperor had already been swayed by Konstantinos' lies.

"We must tread carefully in this area," she finally said, "The Emperor is the most important man in this nation right now. We take one wrong step, and it could drive all of our fellow citizens right into Konstantinos' hands."

 

[Beaverman1]

Contantinople, later that same day.

Justinian sat on a fishing wharf overlooking the Bosphorus. The sun was starting to set, he turned around just in time to see it crest the top of the Hagia Sophia. Justinian sighed, he had planned to visit it later this week with his brother. His brother told him of a rumor that one of their ancestors, a founding member of the Varagians, had graffitied his name onto one of the domes. Now, all he could do was hope that the city would survive as more plumes of smoke rose into the skyline. Everyone knew Constantinople didn't deserve 2 tragedies so close to each other.

"Okay!" Justinian heard coming from the other side of the dock. It was Marcos, the man he called earlier.

"Your transport is on it's way. Usually I'd just walk you there but eeeehhh... I figured you'd rather enjoy sitting." Marcos said, pointing at Justinian's wrapped leg.

"Thank you, for everything Marcos." replied Justinian.

"No need to thank me. You paid for the service, you got your service." smiled Marcos back. "But, uh, seriously, you should get your leg checked out by a REAL doctor."

"There will be time in Trebizond, plus I have the cane you gave me. I'll survive."

"I had a cousin who got his leg torn up by a loose dog, didn't end well for him." Marcos said closing his eyes and doing a sign of the cross.

"Was it an infection or just the blood loss?" asked Justinian with a cocked eyebrow.

"Oh, neither. He got syphilis from some prostitute in Valencia. But, if his leg had been better... He would've been able to walk farther to find a better whore." Marcos said in a hushed tone.

Justinian burst out laughing at that. He locked eyes with Marcos and his unchanging expression, which made Justinian laugh harder. It was only when Justinian accidently shifted some weight on to his leg that his laughing was replaced with sharp inhales of pain along with some small giggling.

After recovering Justinian tried to stand on his cane. He looked over to Marcos.

"You shouldn't stay in Constantinople, things are about to be ugly here." Justinian said in a serious tone.

"Aye, we're going on an 'indefinite fishing expeidetion' tomorrow. I can carry everything on my back, but some of the guys. They got families here... We've dealt with our fair share of blackshirts, but something changed in them today." Marcos replied while gazing over the Bosphorus.

"You have good instincts Marcos."

Sigh... "A blessing and a curse my friend."

Their solemn conversation was then interupted my the growing noise of a propeller engine. A waterplane strode up to the dock and parked itself a shortwalk away from the men.

"Once again, thank you for everything." Justinian yelled over the roar of the plane.

Marcos grabbed Justinian's shoulder. "I expect the group to remember this next time we are down in Pheonix." Marcos yelled back.

Justinian shot him a smile and a nod. "I'll put in a good word."

Marcos seemed satisfied with that and pated Justinian's arm, before helping him onto the plane. As the plane taxied out into more open waters. Justinian shot Marcos a final wave goodbye. Next stop, Trebizond.

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

The walk was tense. Both sets of soldiers were aware of the issues within the city, and the silent stares of all those who lined the pavements made them even more nervous.

“Subdued bunch,” Konstantinos commented. “You’d have thought they would recognise us.”

Alexander was sure they did. “We have all had a trying night, sir. A lot of lives and livelihoods were torn apart yesterday.”

“We shall soon set that right.”

Alexander inclined his head, and privately disagreed. “This is the capital, and the most holy city. A charitable mission backed by the Church and the Royal Family-”

“Say no more,” the Crown Prince interrupted. “It’s a good idea. Perhaps a free Tax Day too, eh? Raise their spirits.”

Alexander inclined his head again. “As you say.”

“I beg your pardon sire, but we should prepare the way for you,” one of the Prince’s aides rushed forwards. “The Senate may not be safe-”

“Tosh! I will address my people, and they will greet us.”

Alexander kept quiet but met the Guard Captain’s eyes. He nodded and slightly increased his pace to ensure the soldiers ahead of them were at least not in the middle of a standoff.

“How have you been of late?”

The Patriarch took a moment to register the question. “Excuse me. I have been…busy. The Cathedral is nearing completion of restoration work-”

“Excellent. Excellent! That is good. Most vital, in fact.”

“And you, sir, how has the family been? I have not managed to gain further news on the Emperor-”

“As I said,” the Prince cut off. “Best left unsaid for now.

“I understand. The Senate is just up ahead.”

“Aha!”

The procession halted soon afterwards. The main city square looked as though a small battle had erupted through it. Indeed, it had, for the past day and night. A thousand eyes watched the Prince and Patriarch step into the centre of the square, both from around it, and from the building itself.

“I am Konstantinos. Make way in the name of the Emperor.”

He spoke loudly, confidently. A man who thought he knew exactly what was going on.

The huge front doors to the Senatorial Palace slowly swung open. Black shirts poured out. A faint cry of alarm rose from both sets of soldiers as the fascists flooded their half of the square, surrounding the two men on three sides, in a semi-circle. Then three slightly less ragged black shirts, in actual black shirts, strode out of the palace as if they (currently) owned it, and stood before the Crown Prince.

They bowed in unison.

“We welcome you to your Senate,” the centre man said. “We wish you to restore order.”

“And so, I shall,” Konstantinos nodded imperiously. “Now, order your men out. We have much work to do.”

The three ringleaders nodded, and signalled to their mob. The black shirts immediately dropped their various arms on the floor and began applauding.

The Crown Prince beamed in their acclaim, and signalled his own men come forward to take charge of the Senate.

“Peace in our time, eh Alexander.”

The Ecumenical Patriarch smiled. “One can only hope, Konstantinos.”

 

[zenphoenix]

The door swung open with a loud creak. Wilhelm's body ached, and his tired eyes peered through the dim lights to see two men standing in the doorway. They wore the priest-like garbs of Inquisitors. One carried a pistol in his hand. The other held a sphere covered in magic sigils.

"Wilhelm!" the man with the gun said. "We're the resistance. We're here to get you out."

Wilhelm tried answering, but his mouth and tongue refused to move. The man with the gun slapped his face, jolting his senses. His fist swung up and slugged the man, sending him sprawling on the floor. "Hey! We're on the same side!"

"Who are you?" Wilhelm demanded. "What do you want? Are you with the Angeloi?"

The same Angeloi that had imprisoned and tortured him for the last four days, trying to find out how angels worked. He had underestimated how devoted those fascists were to uncovering the secrets of the supernatural world and how much they had infiltrated the Inquisition.

The man with the sphere shook his head. "No, we're with the resistance. Hans here just said that."

"Ow..." Hans rubbed his jaw. "That hurt."

"Is this a trick?" Wilhelm said. "To lower my guard and reveal my secrets?"

"No, not at all," the man with the sphere said, "I'm Conrad Humboldt, an Inquisitor. I got this for you."

He took out a small vial filled with what appeared to be a gaseous substance that glowed white. "Angel grace. Courtesy of Raphael."

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. "Raphael got this?"

"Yes, we're working with him."

"Interesting. I'll have to talk to him once I get out of here. I'll be taking that." Wilhelm took the vial and poured its contents down his throat. He convulsed violently as energy surged through his body. It had been five years since he had his full powers, and his body had forgotten what that felt like. There was pain and cramping, and his mind raced with activity. Words and thoughts and phrases and experiences in hundreds of languages flashed past his eyes.

"Hold him still!" Conrad held his arms, but Wilhelm shook him off.

"No, you'll mess with the grace reintegration!" he said. "This process is unstable, I can feel it. If you intervene, it might cause something unpredictable."

Then they heard the elevator dinging and footsteps echoing down the corridor.

"Frak! The Angeloi!" Hans said.

Conrad held up the sphere, and he and Hans touched it. "Quickly!"

"What about Wilhelm?" Hans said.

Conrad put Wilhelm's hand on the sphere. "We don't have time."

"Didn't the manual say not to use it on angels?"

"There's no time!"

Wilhelm was unable to say anything. His mouth remained frozen, and his mind was going too fast for him to process anything. He could only watch as several Angeloi soldiers burst into the room, led by a man in an oberst's uniform. Klaus Schulz, one of his captors. They raised their rifles and prepared to fire.

"Salire!" Conrad shouted.

The sphere's sigils glowed, and Wilhelm screamed as everything was engulfed in a bright white light. When he came to and his mind had cleared up, he found he was in a decently decorated study room. The furniture looked opulent but not on the level of royalty. A large bookshelf sat against the far wall. He stumbled over and scanned their titles. All were written in Greek script. None seemed to be German. A portrait hung over a desk near the bookshelf. Inspecting it closer, he could tell from the uniform that this was obviously a Kaiser, but he did not look like Karl or Otto. The nameplate was also written in Greek, and it said "Michael." A flag next to the portrait also looked different from the one he remembered. He quickly put two and two together: the ongoing reintegration of angelic grace, combined with the emergency use of the magic transportation device, had sent him here, to another universe. Reading the calendar on the desk, he read the current year as 1919. Great. Not only did he travel across universes, but also space and time.

He heard the click of a gun behind him. "Put your hands up where I can see them."

Not wanting to complicate the reintegration further, Wilhelm obliged.

"Turn around."

Wilhelm did so, seeing a woman wearing a modernized version of purple-colored senatorial garb, more like a business dress than any medieval Greek robes. From the clues in the study, he assumed there was still a Reich, though it was probably Greek and not German centered. If that was the case, this woman was likely a senator. Behind her, he saw another younger woman. Probably Persian, from her skin tone and clothes.

"Who are you?" The senator pointed her gun at Wilhelm. "How did you get into my house?"

Wilhelm racked his mind for the correct language. He settled on Koine Greek. It had remained largely unchanged between the time of Alexander the Great and the present day, so he hoped this woman would understand him. "With all due respect, Senator, I have absolutely no idea."

The senator's eyes narrowed. "How did you know I was a senator? I never told you that."

"It was a safe assumption," Wilhelm said.

"What's with your accent, too? You sound...German?"

"You could say that."

"You must be with the Cult."

"And what would make you say that?" Wilhelm racked his mind again, trying to figure out what she was talking about. She could be referring to all manner of cults. "What Cult are you even talking about?"

"The only one that matters today," the senator said, "The Cult of Chernobog."

That narrowed things down significantly. The Cult of Chernobog typically emerged in timelines when the Slavs were fully Christianized, consoliding the remaining pagan communities under a single religious hierarchy. Their typical goal in any universe was to bring down civilization so they could rebuild it in their image—wait, why did that sound familiar? Wilhelm shook that thought out of his mind. Anyways, the Cult, as evident from its name, worshipped Chernobog, an old Slavic god. It was adjacent to many other secret organizations dedicated to various obscure gods and entities that had arisen in many universes, including the Reich's. A thought at the back of Wilhelm's head disputed the "adjacent," suspecting deeper ties. But he ignored that for now. There was one oddity he noticed in the Cult's presence here, though. Of all of the iterations of the Cult he had seen, none survived beyond the 17th century. So how did this one make it to 1919? He had to figure out why.

"I'm not with the Cult," Wilhelm said, "If I was, you'd be dead already."

"Then who are you?"

He supposed the only way he could get the truth across to this woman was to show her directly. "Be not afraid." He concentrated, tapping into his returning angelic energy to reveal his true form. A piercing ringing noise filled the room, causing the two women to cover their ears. His eyes glowed a pure white. His body began radiating white light, casting the shadows of eagle wings against the wall behind him. To avoid permanent damage to the two in front of him, he quickly returned to normal and stopped the glowing and ringing. Once he was back to being, for all intents and purposes, a regular human, he continued speaking. "I'm an angel of the Lord Almighty. I prefer using the name Wilhelm."

"An angel..." the woman made the sign of the cross. "What are you doing here?"

"You know...that's kind of complicated," Wilhelm said, "I really don't know myself."

The Persian woman spoke up. "You say you are an angel?"

"Yes," Wilhelm said.

"So does Chernobog exist?"

Wilhelm hesitated. "Well...I can't say for sure."

"This is all very suspicious," the senator said, "You showing up here right now."

"Look, I really don't know what's going on here, I just got here five minutes ago," Wilhelm said, "Can you explain?"

"Why should I tell you what's going on?" the senator said.

"Theodora, it's okay," the Persian said, "We can trust him."

"Kira, we just met this man! Are you sure he's not with them?"

"With who?" Wilhelm said.

"The Cult," Kira said, "This is Theodora's residence. The Cult has invaded it."

"That explains a lot." Wilhelm groaned, clutching his stomach as the reintegration continued and pain flared there. "Ow...it's not done yet. Can you tell me more about this home invasion?"

"They've taken hostages," Kira said, "Many senators who were visiting for a social event."

Wilhelm nodded. He stood straight up and composed himself. "Okay, thank you. Theodora, was it?"

"Yes?" Theodora said.

"Don't worry," he said, "You two go rescue the hostages. I'll handle the Cult."

"But you look hurt."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"This is the Cult we're talking about," Theodora said, "They've rampaged through the Empire in recent decades. Even stormed the Senate several times. What makes you think you can take them on?"

"Didn't you listen to what I said?" Wilhelm replied. "I'm an angel. I can defend myself."

"Why are you even doing this?" The senator shook her head. "I don't get it. You say you just got here, and you're already risking your life for us? Why?"

Wilhelm had been asked this question hundreds of times over a thousand years. Every time, his answer was always the same. "Defending the people, protecting the world. It's what I do."


Constantinople - January 1, 1936

Wilhelm could feel the tension hanging in the air. The worst of the violence had died down hours ago, but the threat remained. At least one blackshirt hovered on every block, with a pistol on their belt. Not that their guns could hurt him. He personally was in no physical danger from these blackshirts. But the same couldn't be said for the pedestrians around him. The streets had largely cleared out over the last two days as most citizens took refuge inside. Those who had to go outside kept their heads bowed and dressed in more modest clothes than usual, to avoid drawing attention to themselves. His usual outfit was already nondescript—a trench coat over old factory clothes, which had been with him since his first day here.

It had been 17 years since he arrived in the Empire, but it would still be 5 years before he reached June 10, 1941—the day he left the Reich. In that time, he had traveled across the Empire, familiarizing himself with the sights and sounds of this world. Despite the differences on the surface—different histories, the lack of German as an official language, the prevalence of Greek, and a lack of meritocracy—he found the two countries were remarkably similar. The people here still had the same hopes and dreams as those he knew, the same struggles and issues. There were also darker similarities he noticed the longer he stayed in the world. The blackshirts were one of them.

It's happening here too. The Angeloi... That wasn't Wilhelm's own mind speaking, but that of his vessel, Gavrilo. Their arrangement had been around for years before everything happened with the archangel Gabriel and the Inquisition and the Angeloi rebellion and now this. It would continue until one of them wanted to end it. But they were stuck in another universe, far from anything they were familiar with. It would be better to stick together until they got home.

Things were getting bad when we were still there, Gavrilo thought, So will the same thing happen over here?

I sure hope not, Wilhelm replied, I don't want the people here to suffer the same as yours did.

You know Konstantinos isn't backing down. Everything's happening just as it did in my world, but much faster. These blackshirts are just like the Angeloi.

I know. But I hope Theodora and the others can pull through.

If it comes to it, will you take out Konstantinos?

Wilhelm shook his head. You know I don't intervene like that. Real change must come from the people themselves, not me.

If Gavrilo was in control of the body, he would have sighed. You are quite stubborn with that, you know?

Sorry. I had some bad experiences taking charge in the past. But I can try to push people in the right direction.

And how will you accompany that here?

Wilhelm looked at the street, taking in the pedestrians shuffling along the sidewalks and the blackshirts loitering on the corners. I'm still working on it.

There was a pause. We can't wait too long. I fear for the people of this world.

Yes, me too. But we have to focus on the real enemy, the Cult. We beat them, and humanity here will rest a little easier.

Do you ever think our fight is pointless? That it will never end?

Wilhelm shook his head. No, we can win this fight. And even if it was futile, that's no excuse to give up.

And why's that?

Wilhelm gave his usual answer. Defending the people, protecting the world. It's what I do. What we do.

((Wilhelm backstory time, including another rewrite of my older story content from Part 3. Hope this loosely explains his deal for anyone not familiar with him.))

((Edit: nothing new, just realized the original pair of posts this one is based on were posted exactly 6 years ago. Funny how that works.))

 

[Idhrendur]

“The one at the end with the eagle.”

Six months feels like a long time. But we can’t have everything at once.

Theodoros was in Smyrna? No doubt he had rushed back to the mainland from Africa as soon as he heard the news. Fortunately, he was still with them. Not that he would have supported Konstantinos; Theodora was worried he would have gotten himself killed.

A good idea. Everyone will be watching the Bosphorus, which makes the Dardanelles another weak point. On the other hand, it’s also a weak point for the enemy.

“Even if he has secured one of the Mediterranean fleets, the destruction or at least neutralization of the shipyards will delay his manufacturing capabilities and hamper supply efforts in the Aegean. But if a direct military assault is not strategically feasible, we can still carry it out through covert means, like sabotage from spies or local sympathizers.”

“Perhaps we could coordinate it with Laskaris’ operation. Commit more troops to Laskaris’ front and launch a pincer attack from northern and southern Thrace. Then we could cut off Constantinople from the rest of Greece, trapping Konstantinos inside.”

I bet Picardie is jumping at the opportunity to deploy the airship as well.

"I concur with Senator Doukas on the choice of emblem for the Ministry of Security and Intelligence. The eagle has been a symbol of Roman might since the early days of Rome and seems a fitting choice."

Senator Donatello Favero paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "I think it might be worth taking a moment to discuss the issue of legitimacy, both for our movement and Konstantinos's. Currently our entire movement is based on resisting the attempted coup attempt by Konstantinos. While this is a noble reason to oppose him, it will be very easy for Konstantinos to accuse us of treason and other crimes and use that as a means of weakening our support with the remaining states of the Empire and abroad. The key to legimitizing our movement is to discredit Konstantinos's."

"Now the question is how do we go about doing that. I think the best way is through the Emperor. Your Highness," Donatello said, looking towards Prince Alvértos, "my recommendation would be for you to make a public statement requesting that this dispute be put before the Emperor for resolution. This will not only not only show that we are willing to respect the Crown's authority but that we are the more conciliatory party. I suspect that this request will be denied, but it will force Konstantinos to respond or otherwise risk losing the support of those on the fence in this conflict if he's seen as not respecting the Crown. Better yet, we should also request, no, demand that Konstantinos allow the Emperor to make a public appearance or provide evidence that he is still alive and unharmed. If he has indeed usurped the throne, following through with this demand would weaken his movement, or in the worst case and something has happened to the Emperor, he won't be able to provide evidence and it will raise suspicion around Konstantinos's rise to power. The onus must be placed on Konstantinos to prove he hasn't overthrown or harmed the Emperor, otherwise he will throw similar accusations at us."

The first car was a luxury model, though still an army staff car. It made its intended statement well. The person within was high ranking, but still a solider of the Empire.

Alexander shifted in place one last time and then straightened as the door opened. Two officers in the Imperial Army got out, both wearing fascist armbands, and stood before the back passenger door in a salute. Meanwhile, two trucks full of soldiers came in behind them, and filled the square with infantry.

All of whom, Alexander noted with mounting dread, wore the same armband.

Well, he thought. At least we know what side the Prince’s bread is buttered.

A private strode towards the two saluting officers and opened the door. All the men sprung to attention, as Crown Prince Konstantinos emerged from the back seat.

“Atten-tion!” the Guard Captain commanded behind him, and the Temple Guard followed their Army brethren in noting the arrival of the Royal Family.

The Crown Prince looked around for a moment, and then beamed as he focused on Alexander. He walked forward with a measured pace, with the two officers following closely behind.

Good, Alexander had time to think. He is sober.

As Patriarch, he knew the Doukas Royal line quite well, and was closely connected to several members, including the Emperor. Though he had since abandoned the name, he himself once upon a time had been Alexius Doukas, a minor scion of a lesser line. Even before he began advancing in the Church, he had met Konstantinos.

He had not been impressed.

That was unfair. He had been bemused. That seemed to be the general reaction to the man, actually. The Crown Prince was a relatively tall, relatively handsome man in his late thirties, a few years older than Alexander himself. He had received a good education, though had failed to complete a degree. He had a reputation for being both daft and fairly intelligent when the mood struck, being both prominently lazy but determined when his interest was aroused. Alexander knew he had fought hard to visit the army front lines and been rebuked, and yet still went. He had a full flying qualification and was popular with serving soldiers and veterans.

He was also a drunk, a dandy and a gambler. In earlier years he was prone to fits of rage and sobbing, a practice he had not quite shaken off. He was an excellent polo player, a lover of modern art and music, and a fashion icon. He may well be the most photographed man in the world.

As he approached, and Alexander spied the armband on his own apparel, he also recalled the Prince’s notable and problematic racism. He despised non-Greeks, and especially non-whites, with a passion, and would at length describe his hatred in front of any audience, at any time.

For all that, he was surprisingly interested in the plight of the working classes, or at least, the working classes he approved of. Whilst he had never been particularly political, it was not surprising that he found some sympathy, and many sympathisers with the fascist movement.

This man…should not be Emperor.

Potentially, he already was.

“Most Holy Father,” he said, raising his arms slightly and bowing his head.

“His Royal Highness,” Alexander repeated the gesture exactly.

It was something of an awkward clash of rankings. As great offices of the state would have it, the Ecumenical Patriarch actually ranked second in seniority to the Emperor, with the Crown Prince and Imperial Chancellor taking the third and fourth positions. However, as a member of the family, Konstantinos utterly outranked him. Given they both had equal numbers of troops, and the political tension in the air, it boded well that the Prince was gracious enough to recognise the difficulty and circumvent it by speaking first.

Someone had coached him well.

“We are most pleased to meet your highness and welcome your return to the Holy City.” Alexander gestured with his raised hand to his men, the Guard Captain and the Police Chief. He did not miss the Prince’s face darken upon seeing the latter man.

“Indeed.” He said shortly. Then he blinked, and the smile returned. “It has been too long, Alexander. I do not believe I have seen you since your proclamation.”

“I think you correct sir,” Alexander nodded. “I hope you and your family remain well? I admit to being quite anxious about His Imperial Majesty’s health.”

“Ah…” Konstantious nodded slowly, “yes…I think we best speak in private about that.” He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice. “There are a great many terrible things afoot in this city and throughout the Empire. I would speak to you privately.”

Alexander quirked an eyebrow but nodded, “Of course, sir. I would offer to escort you to your usual lodgings, however…there has been some difficulty within the city.”

The Crown Prince held his gaze steadily. “I thought there might be. Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

It was not a question. He knew what was going on.

“But of course. Then…shall you walk? I fear the streets may prove a little unsuitable for your car.”

“Ah, why not. Why not indeed! It shall be a pleasant thing to take in my city once more, and catch up with my dear friend.”

“Of course,” Alexander smiled, and did not object to the other man taking his arm. “Guard Captain, please bade the men escort us to the Senate.” Be careful, and watchful, his eyes said.

“Of course, Holy Father. Your Royal Highness,” the solider bowed to both men.

As both groups of soldiers followed in ranked lines, the Prince and Patriarch spoke of various inconsequential topics, as Alexander urged his body to remain calm, and his mind alert.

They were all far from out of danger yet.

Donatello had raised some good points. Getting the Emperor's statement would undermine Konstantinos and grant them legitimacy. As long as he was absent, Konstantinos was free to say whatever he wanted in his name, and they would invariably be painted as traitors. The rumors of Alvértos ordering the alleged assassination attempt were already spreading like wildfire, despite the news agencies' best efforts to get the truth out. People loved controversy and intrigue. The story of two brothers with knives at each other's throats was far more entertaining than that of a brother's false accusation. The Emperor, though, could cut through the lies with just a single speech. If only it were that simple.

"While you do have some good points, I have to say that is better said than done," Theodora said, "The problem is getting him out in public. Konstantinos knows the symbolic power of His Majesty's word and would likely have him kept under heavy guard in Blachernae. Would he budge if Prince Alvértos makes an ultimatum? And even if he relents, who was to say he hasn't already fed His Majesty the same lies just for this specific scenario?"

That would be the worst scenario. The Emperor already swayed to Konstantinos' side. We'd be screwed.

Theodora's mind raced to other options of getting to the Emperor—more underhanded ones. A well-trained team could probably make use of the secret escape tunnels connecting to the bunkers underneath Blachernae, the same ones the royal family took refuge in during the Sack of Constantinople 25 years ago. But Konstantinos would have known about those tunnels—and how the communists had known about them too—and sealed them off. Perhaps an aerial drop, from a high-altitude transport plane, with the operatives parachuting in at night. No, there was a chance the wind could blow them off course, or that the city lights would illuminate them. How about being deployed from a submarine landing along the northern shore of the downtown waterfront? That could work, but the dockworkers' unions controlled those areas, and after what happened in the Sack, they were intensely distrustful of the government. Though they would probably hate Konstantinos more than they disliked the Senate. And if they did get to the Emperor, what would they do to him? Have him record a speech? No, there would be accusations of falsification. Evacuate him to Trebizond? No, Konstantinos could just say he was abducted. She refused to think of what she would have do if the Emperor had already been swayed by Konstantinos' lies.

"We must tread carefully in this area," she finally said, "The Emperor is the most important man in this nation right now. We take one wrong step, and it could drive all of our fellow citizens right into Konstantinos' hands."

Contantinople, later that same day.

Justinian sat on a fishing wharf overlooking the Bosphorus. The sun was starting to set, he turned around just in time to see it crest the top of the Hagia Sophia. Justinian sighed, he had planned to visit it later this week with his brother. His brother told him of a rumor that one of their ancestors, a founding member of the Varagians, had graffitied his name onto one of the domes. Now, all he could do was hope that the city would survive as more plumes of smoke rose into the skyline. Everyone knew Constantinople didn't deserve 2 tragedies so close to each other.

"Okay!" Justinian heard coming from the other side of the dock. It was Marcos, the man he called earlier.

"Your transport is on it's way. Usually I'd just walk you there but eeeehhh... I figured you'd rather enjoy sitting." Marcos said, pointing at Justinian's wrapped leg.

"Thank you, for everything Marcos." replied Justinian.

"No need to thank me. You paid for the service, you got your service." smiled Marcos back. "But, uh, seriously, you should get your leg checked out by a REAL doctor."

"There will be time in Trebizond, plus I have the cane you gave me. I'll survive."

"I had a cousin who got his leg torn up by a loose dog, didn't end well for him." Marcos said closing his eyes and doing a sign of the cross.

"Was it an infection or just the blood loss?" asked Justinian with a cocked eyebrow.

"Oh, neither. He got syphilis from some prostitute in Valencia. But, if his leg had been better... He would've been able to walk farther to find a better whore." Marcos said in a hushed tone.

Justinian burst out laughing at that. He locked eyes with Marcos and his unchanging expression, which made Justinian laugh harder. It was only when Justinian accidently shifted some weight on to his leg that his laughing was replaced with sharp inhales of pain along with some small giggling.

After recovering Justinian tried to stand on his cane. He looked over to Marcos.

"You shouldn't stay in Constantinople, things are about to be ugly here." Justinian said in a serious tone.

"Aye, we're going on an 'indefinite fishing expeidetion' tomorrow. I can carry everything on my back, but some of the guys. They got families here... We've dealt with our fair share of blackshirts, but something changed in them today." Marcos replied while gazing over the Bosphorus.

"You have good instincts Marcos."

Sigh... "A blessing and a curse my friend."

Their solemn conversation was then interupted my the growing noise of a propeller engine. A waterplane strode up to the dock and parked itself a shortwalk away from the men.

"Once again, thank you for everything." Justinian yelled over the roar of the plane.

Marcos grabbed Justinian's shoulder. "I expect the group to remember this next time we are down in Pheonix." Marcos yelled back.

Justinian shot him a smile and a nod. "I'll put in a good word."

Marcos seemed satisfied with that and pated Justinian's arm, before helping him onto the plane. As the plane taxied out into more open waters. Justinian shot Marcos a final wave goodbye. Next stop, Trebizond.

The walk was tense. Both sets of soldiers were aware of the issues within the city, and the silent stares of all those who lined the pavements made them even more nervous.

“Subdued bunch,” Konstantinos commented. “You’d have thought they would recognise us.”

Alexander was sure they did. “We have all had a trying night, sir. A lot of lives and livelihoods were torn apart yesterday.”

“We shall soon set that right.”

Alexander inclined his head, and privately disagreed. “This is the capital, and the most holy city. A charitable mission backed by the Church and the Royal Family-”

“Say no more,” the Crown Prince interrupted. “It’s a good idea. Perhaps a free Tax Day too, eh? Raise their spirits.”

Alexander inclined his head again. “As you say.”

“I beg your pardon sire, but we should prepare the way for you,” one of the Prince’s aides rushed forwards. “The Senate may not be safe-”

“Tosh! I will address my people, and they will greet us.”

Alexander kept quiet but met the Guard Captain’s eyes. He nodded and slightly increased his pace to ensure the soldiers ahead of them were at least not in the middle of a standoff.

“How have you been of late?”

The Patriarch took a moment to register the question. “Excuse me. I have been…busy. The Cathedral is nearing completion of restoration work-”

“Excellent. Excellent! That is good. Most vital, in fact.”

“And you, sir, how has the family been? I have not managed to gain further news on the Emperor-”

“As I said,” the Prince cut off. “Best left unsaid for now.

“I understand. The Senate is just up ahead.”

“Aha!”

The procession halted soon afterwards. The main city square looked as though a small battle had erupted through it. Indeed, it had, for the past day and night. A thousand eyes watched the Prince and Patriarch step into the centre of the square, both from around it, and from the building itself.

“I am Konstantinos. Make way in the name of the Emperor.”

He spoke loudly, confidently. A man who thought he knew exactly what was going on.

The huge front doors to the Senatorial Palace slowly swung open. Black shirts poured out. A faint cry of alarm rose from both sets of soldiers as the fascists flooded their half of the square, surrounding the two men on three sides, in a semi-circle. Then three slightly less ragged black shirts, in actual black shirts, strode out of the palace as if they (currently) owned it, and stood before the Crown Prince.

They bowed in unison.

“We welcome you to your Senate,” the centre man said. “We wish you to restore order.”

“And so, I shall,” Konstantinos nodded imperiously. “Now, order your men out. We have much work to do.”

The three ringleaders nodded, and signalled to their mob. The black shirts immediately dropped their various arms on the floor and began applauding.

The Crown Prince beamed in their acclaim, and signalled his own men come forward to take charge of the Senate.

“Peace in our time, eh Alexander.”

The Ecumenical Patriarch smiled. “One can only hope, Konstantinos.”

The door swung open with a loud creak. Wilhelm's body ached, and his tired eyes peered through the dim lights to see two men standing in the doorway. They wore the priest-like garbs of Inquisitors. One carried a pistol in his hand. The other held a sphere covered in magic sigils.

"Wilhelm!" the man with the gun said. "We're the resistance. We're here to get you out."

Wilhelm tried answering, but his mouth and tongue refused to move. The man with the gun slapped his face, jolting his senses. His fist swung up and slugged the man, sending him sprawling on the floor. "Hey! We're on the same side!"

"Who are you?" Wilhelm demanded. "What do you want? Are you with the Angeloi?"

The same Angeloi that had imprisoned and tortured him for the last four days, trying to find out how angels worked. He had underestimated how devoted those fascists were to uncovering the secrets of the supernatural world and how much they had infiltrated the Inquisition.

The man with the sphere shook his head. "No, we're with the resistance. Hans here just said that."

"Ow..." Hans rubbed his jaw. "That hurt."

"Is this a trick?" Wilhelm said. "To lower my guard and reveal my secrets?"

"No, not at all," the man with the sphere said, "I'm Conrad Humboldt, an Inquisitor. I got this for you."

He took out a small vial filled with what appeared to be a gaseous substance that glowed white. "Angel grace. Courtesy of Raphael."

Wilhelm raised an eyebrow. "Raphael got this?"

"Yes, we're working with him."

"Interesting. I'll have to talk to him once I get out of here. I'll be taking that." Wilhelm took the vial and poured its contents down his throat. He convulsed violently as energy surged through his body. It had been five years since he had his full powers, and his body had forgotten what that felt like. There was pain and cramping, and his mind raced with activity. Words and thoughts and phrases and experiences in hundreds of languages flashed past his eyes.

"Hold him still!" Conrad held his arms, but Wilhelm shook him off.

"No, you'll mess with the grace reintegration!" he said. "This process is unstable, I can feel it. If you intervene, it might cause something unpredictable."

Then they heard the elevator dinging and footsteps echoing down the corridor.

"Frak! The Angeloi!" Hans said.

Conrad held up the sphere, and he and Hans touched it. "Quickly!"

"What about Wilhelm?" Hans said.

Conrad put Wilhelm's hand on the sphere. "We don't have time."

"Didn't the manual say not to use it on angels?"

"There's no time!"

Wilhelm was unable to say anything. His mouth remained frozen, and his mind was going too fast for him to process anything. He could only watch as several Angeloi soldiers burst into the room, led by a man in an oberst's uniform. Klaus Schulz, one of his captors. They raised their rifles and prepared to fire.

"Salire!" Conrad shouted.

The sphere's sigils glowed, and Wilhelm screamed as everything was engulfed in a bright white light. When he came to and his mind had cleared up, he found he was in a decently decorated study room. The furniture looked opulent but not on the level of royalty. A large bookshelf sat against the far wall. He stumbled over and scanned their titles. All were written in Greek script. None seemed to be German. A portrait hung over a desk near the bookshelf. Inspecting it closer, he could tell from the uniform that this was obviously a Kaiser, but he did not look like Karl or Otto. The nameplate was also written in Greek, and it said "Michael." A flag next to the portrait also looked different from the one he remembered. He quickly put two and two together: the ongoing reintegration of angelic grace, combined with the emergency use of the magic transportation device, had sent him here, to another universe. Reading the calendar on the desk, he read the current year as 1919. Great. Not only did he travel across universes, but also space and time.

He heard the click of a gun behind him. "Put your hands up where I can see them."

Not wanting to complicate the reintegration further, Wilhelm obliged.

"Turn around."

Wilhelm did so, seeing a woman wearing a modernized version of purple-colored senatorial garb, more like a business dress than any medieval Greek robes. From the clues in the study, he assumed there was still a Reich, though it was probably Greek and not German centered. If that was the case, this woman was likely a senator. Behind her, he saw another younger woman. Probably Persian, from her skin tone and clothes.

"Who are you?" The senator pointed her gun at Wilhelm. "How did you get into my house?"

Wilhelm racked his mind for the correct language. He settled on Koine Greek. It had remained largely unchanged between the time of Alexander the Great and the present day, so he hoped this woman would understand him. "With all due respect, Senator, I have absolutely no idea."

The senator's eyes narrowed. "How did you know I was a senator? I never told you that."

"It was a safe assumption," Wilhelm said.

"What's with your accent, too? You sound...German?"

"You could say that."

"You must be with the Cult."

"And what would make you say that?" Wilhelm racked his mind again, trying to figure out what she was talking about. She could be referring to all manner of cults. "What Cult are you even talking about?"

"The only one that matters today," the senator said, "The Cult of Chernobog."

That narrowed things down significantly. The Cult of Chernobog typically emerged in timelines when the Slavs were fully Christianized, consoliding the remaining pagan communities under a single religious hierarchy. Their typical goal in any universe was to bring down civilization so they could rebuild it in their image—wait, why did that sound familiar? Wilhelm shook that thought out of his mind. Anyways, the Cult, as evident from its name, worshipped Chernobog, an old Slavic god. It was adjacent to many other secret organizations dedicated to various obscure gods and entities that had arisen in many universes, including the Reich's. A thought at the back of Wilhelm's head disputed the "adjacent," suspecting deeper ties. But he ignored that for now. There was one oddity he noticed in the Cult's presence here, though. Of all of the iterations of the Cult he had seen, none survived beyond the 17th century. So how did this one make it to 1919? He had to figure out why.

"I'm not with the Cult," Wilhelm said, "If I was, you'd be dead already."

"Then who are you?"

He supposed the only way he could get the truth across to this woman was to show her directly. "Be not afraid." He concentrated, tapping into his returning angelic energy to reveal his true form. A piercing ringing noise filled the room, causing the two women to cover their ears. His eyes glowed a pure white. His body began radiating white light, casting the shadows of eagle wings against the wall behind him. To avoid permanent damage to the two in front of him, he quickly returned to normal and stopped the glowing and ringing. Once he was back to being, for all intents and purposes, a regular human, he continued speaking. "I'm an angel of the Lord Almighty. I prefer using the name Wilhelm."

"An angel..." the woman made the sign of the cross. "What are you doing here?"

"You know...that's kind of complicated," Wilhelm said, "I really don't know myself."

The Persian woman spoke up. "You say you are an angel?"

"Yes," Wilhelm said.

"So does Chernobog exist?"

Wilhelm hesitated. "Well...I can't say for sure."

"This is all very suspicious," the senator said, "You showing up here right now."

"Look, I really don't know what's going on here, I just got here five minutes ago," Wilhelm said, "Can you explain?"

"Why should I tell you what's going on?" the senator said.

"Theodora, it's okay," the Persian said, "We can trust him."

"Kira, we just met this man! Are you sure he's not with them?"

"With who?" Wilhelm said.

"The Cult," Kira said, "This is Theodora's residence. The Cult has invaded it."

"That explains a lot." Wilhelm groaned, clutching his stomach as the reintegration continued and pain flared there. "Ow...it's not done yet. Can you tell me more about this home invasion?"

"They've taken hostages," Kira said, "Many senators who were visiting for a social event."

Wilhelm nodded. He stood straight up and composed himself. "Okay, thank you. Theodora, was it?"

"Yes?" Theodora said.

"Don't worry," he said, "You two go rescue the hostages. I'll handle the Cult."

"But you look hurt."

"Nothing I can't handle."

"This is the Cult we're talking about," Theodora said, "They've rampaged through the Empire in recent decades. Even stormed the Senate several times. What makes you think you can take them on?"

"Didn't you listen to what I said?" Wilhelm replied. "I'm an angel. I can defend myself."

"Why are you even doing this?" The senator shook her head. "I don't get it. You say you just got here, and you're already risking your life for us? Why?"

Wilhelm had been asked this question hundreds of times over a thousand years. Every time, his answer was always the same. "Defending the people, protecting the world. It's what I do."


Constantinople - January 1, 1936

Wilhelm could feel the tension hanging in the air. The worst of the violence had died down hours ago, but the threat remained. At least one blackshirt hovered on every block, with a pistol on their belt. Not that their guns could hurt him. He personally was in no physical danger from these blackshirts. But the same couldn't be said for the pedestrians around him. The streets had largely cleared out over the last two days as most citizens took refuge inside. Those who had to go outside kept their heads bowed and dressed in more modest clothes than usual, to avoid drawing attention to themselves. His usual outfit was already nondescript—a trench coat over old factory clothes, which had been with him since his first day here.

It had been 17 years since he arrived in the Empire, but it would still be 5 years before he reached June 10, 1941—the day he left the Reich. In that time, he had traveled across the Empire, familiarizing himself with the sights and sounds of this world. Despite the differences on the surface—different histories, the lack of German as an official language, the prevalence of Greek, and a lack of meritocracy—he found the two countries were remarkably similar. The people here still had the same hopes and dreams as those he knew, the same struggles and issues. There were also darker similarities he noticed the longer he stayed in the world. The blackshirts were one of them.

It's happening here too. The Angeloi... That wasn't Wilhelm's own mind speaking, but that of his vessel, Gavrilo. Their arrangement had been around for years before everything happened with the archangel Gabriel and the Inquisition and the Angeloi rebellion and now this. It would continue until one of them wanted to end it. But they were stuck in another universe, far from anything they were familiar with. It would be better to stick together until they got home.

Things were getting bad when we were still there, Gavrilo thought, So will the same thing happen over here?

I sure hope not, Wilhelm replied, I don't want the people here to suffer the same as yours did.

You know Konstantinos isn't backing down. Everything's happening just as it did in my world, but much faster. These blackshirts are just like the Angeloi.

I know. But I hope Theodora and the others can pull through.

If it comes to it, will you take out Konstantinos?

Wilhelm shook his head. You know I don't intervene like that. Real change must come from the people themselves, not me.

If Gavrilo was in control of the body, he would have sighed. You are quite stubborn with that, you know?

Sorry. I had some bad experiences taking charge in the past. But I can try to push people in the right direction.

And how will you accompany that here?

Wilhelm looked at the street, taking in the pedestrians shuffling along the sidewalks and the blackshirts loitering on the corners. I'm still working on it.

There was a pause. We can't wait too long. I fear for the people of this world.

Yes, me too. But we have to focus on the real enemy, the Cult. We beat them, and humanity here will rest a little easier.

Do you ever think our fight is pointless? That it will never end?

Wilhelm shook his head. No, we can win this fight. And even if it was futile, that's no excuse to give up.

And why's that?

Wilhelm gave his usual answer. Defending the people, protecting the world. It's what I do. What we do.

((Wilhelm backstory time, including another rewrite of my older story content from Part 3. Hope this loosely explains his deal for anyone not familiar with him.))

((Edit: nothing new, just realized the original pair of posts this one is based on were posted exactly 6 years ago. Funny how that works.))

 

[Idhrendur]

“Radio broadcasts telling my side of the story and asking for father to adjudicate is an excellent idea. I will begin sending those daily. Thank you everyone. We will meet again soon. In the meantime, I will have the good people of this town turn this conference room into a better long-term meeting room and seek to improve accommodations for everyone.”

 

[Idhrendur]

(( And with that I'll actually unpause the game! ))

 

[zenphoenix]

"One last thing before we wrap up today," Theodora said, "We still need to come up with a name for the airship. But if nobody has any suggestions, I'll just tell General Picardie to figure it out himself."

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

“Radio broadcasts telling my side of the story and asking for father to adjudicate is an excellent idea. I will begin sending those daily. Thank you everyone. We will meet again soon. In the meantime, I will have the good people of this town turn this conference room into a better long-term meeting room and seek to improve accommodations for everyone.”

[[That's going to go down like cold sick in Constantinople. Wonderful.]]

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

"Not a bad decision. Does anyone here have any objections?"

[[You don't traditially name any vessel after a living person. Bad luck for both the vessel and the person.]]

 

[Idhrendur]

[[You don't traditially name any vessel after a living person. Bad luck for both the vessel and the person.]]

(( Ah, shoot. Uh, let's revise that history then, because that's something we'd all have known. I'll delete my response, @zenphoenix please also delete yours. ))

 

[zenphoenix]

(( Ah, shoot. Uh, let's revise that history then, because that's something we'd all have known. I'll delete my response, @zenphoenix please also delete yours. ))

((Done. Let’s pretend we didn’t say that.))

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

(( Ah, shoot. Uh, let's revise that history then, because that's something we'd all have known. I'll delete my response, @zenphoenix please also delete yours. ))

((Done. Let’s pretend we didn’t say that.))

[[I like to think everyone else in the room looked at the two a little strangley, and then no one ever mentioned that again.]]

 

[zenphoenix]

Nobody said a word. Theodora waited about a minute, but nobody budged. When it became clear nobody had any ideas, she resumed speaking.

"Alright, I'll just let General Picardie come up with something. Good work, everybody. Let's get on with saving this nation, once again."


Trebizond Airport - an hour after the end of the session

John-Loukas was incredulous. "Those senators did what?!"

"Look, I tried," Theodora said, "But nobody had any good ideas."

"They didn't try hard enough!"

"John-Loukas, we have other more pressing matters to discuss beyond naming an airship." Theodora crossed her arms. "So please reset your expectations, because we're busy trying to hold the Empire together."

John-Loukas sighed. "Alright, alright, fine. I guess it's up to us two in the end, huh?"

"More like just you," Theodora said, "I've got nothing."

"But surely you can help me brainstorm!"

"Look, I just came here to tell you the news. I have to get back to the MSI as soon as I can. Need to start allocating funds from the new budget."

"But you can spare a minute to think of a name!"

"General, I really don't have the time to spend on something as trivial as this," Theodora said, "And can't you figure it out yourself?"

"Well...about that..." John-Loukas hesitated. "I'm stuck too."

Theodora facepalmed. "Of course you are. That's why you kicked the can to the goddamn Senate."

"Sir, if I may..." Basil walked over and saluted. "Commander Basil Kolovos, First Officer of the still unnamed airship, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Commander Kolovos." Theodora shook his hand. "You had something you wanted to add?"

"Perhaps we should pick a name symbolic of our plight," Basil said, "How about Scipio? After Scipio Africanus. He survived the disastrous Battle of Cannae, took command of the survivors, and began fighting back as soon as he could."

"Not a bad choice," John-Loukas said, "What do you think, Theodora?"

Theodora thought for a moment. The symbolism is on point. Classical antiquity is something all of us in the Empire largely appreciate. Drawing from it will no doubt prevent Konstantinos from laying claim to the whole thing. Let's do it.

She nodded. "That's a great name. Henceforth, this airship will be known as the Scipio."

 

[Michaelangelo]

((Private))

Private Journal of Donatello Favero
January 2, 1936

As I put the ink to this page, I realize that I do not even know why I have chosen to start this journal. Perhaps it is to record these momentous events that are surely about to occur for posterity? Maybe it's to help collect the thoughts of a man struggling with his own sanity in a world that seems intent on driving him mad? Or it could be simply because I have nothing better to do, trapped in this city, exiled from my home, waiting for the world to crumble around me. Most likely it is a combination of all three. Regardless, here I am and here are my thoughts.

The last few days have been trying. To have everything you have known and your life turned upside down for a second time would test even the best of men. I feel as thought I have aged a decade in less than a week. I can sense similar weariness in the other senators, although some are better at hiding it than others. Some hide it by throwing themselves into their work, dedicating every spare moment to returning the Empire and their lives to some form of normalcy. Others indulge in liquor or women, sometimes both, to forgot the trauma. The rest, like me, are in a constant state of melancholy as we contemplate everything that has brought us here.

I have found myself wondering how much my words and actions have brought us to this point. For the past two decades, I have been the foremost voice for restoration of the Empire at the point of a bayonet. The rebel states needed to be reclaimed, by force if necessary, to restore the glory and prosperity we had lost. How many over the years heard my words and took it to heart? How many of those same men are now clad in black and marching in the name of their esteemed leader? Did the men who tried to arrest me once see my words printed in a newspaper and nod their heads in agreement? Perhaps my words even had an impact on the Crown Prince. Would he have pursued such a path if he had not known of such vocal supporters of the violent march to restoration? Perhaps, but I suspect this darkness has always been in his heart.

I feel as though I have brought this on myself. I wished for a quick and violent restoration of the Empire, and now that I see how it will be realized, I shirk away in disgust. Perhaps it is because this aggression is misplaced. The rebel states have always been the enemy, not our own people. Konstantinos seems intent on purging all opposition within before he seeks glory in battle against the rebel states. It is a dangerous path, and as we can see by the mix of senators gathered in Trebizond, one that has alienated people from many walks of life. It is no small thing that at the last senate session I called for the death of the Crown Prince. I now see where the path I had started on would have led by looking at Konstantinos and it fills me with dread.

All this pain and suffering that is to come, the final breath of a dying empire, has made me realize what is important in life: my family. Too long I have sought to return home with no success, when I should have appreciated what I had with me all along. My estates outside Venice would be nothing without my wife and daughter. And yet as I now see this, they could not be farther from me. My wife is presumably on a ship to Valencia, assuming she made it out of Constantinople before the docks were overrun. As for my daughter, she should have been in Valencia, but my in-laws mentioned she had left a month ago to travel home. I know that I have placed such a heavy burden on her these last few years and she has resisted attempts to guide her. I would not be surprised if she took the opportunity to be free from me and her mother and travel abroad. Yet the timing could not be worse. I pray that she is safe and sound, wherever she is.

The senate will soon meet again. Our first meeting ended in meaningless prattle about symbols for new ministries and the name of some airship. Who cares what a ship is called when we are in a civil war! We have far more important matters to discuss than the mundane minutia of this new government. Our sole focus should be on winning this war. Konstantinos must be captured or killed, and Constantinople reclaimed. The Emperor must be freed, assuming he is not already dead. I pray that is not the case, but I fear that Konstantinos would not be above speeding his way to the throne with a well-placed knife. We must act and act fast if we want any hope of success. Let us hope that the other senators are more action-orientated at our next meeting.

- Donatello Favero

 

[Beaverman1]

Trebizond January 2nd

Justinian awoke to the sound of an ambulance siren from the street below. At first he had no clue where he was or what had really happened.

"Was it a dream, a nightmare?" he pondered as his vision cleared to a Red and Yellow Eagle on the far side of the room.

Then the pain.

It felt like a lightning bolt made of fire shot through his entire body, originating at his leg.

"No... no it was a waking nightmare." he sputtered as he started to sweat.

Justinian shifted himself to the corner of the bed and grabbed grabbed the bed post, hoping to use it to stand up.

Halfway through he must've put some weight on his leg. "CHRIST" he cried out collapsing back on the bed.

The door to the room bust open. "Sir? Sir!" a bellhop said frantically. The boy darted around the room, Justinian could here his shoes thumping on the carpet.

"Ah! Finally! Why the hell would Barbas not leave it next to the bed?" he heard him whisper to himself.

Justinian felt the boy sit next to him on the bed, handing something into Justinian's hand.

"Your cane, sir." After a few more deep breaths, Justinian lifted his head and eventually himself off the bed.

"Please be careful, sir." the boy continued, "You've made it to Trebizond."

"Trebi-" Justinian muttered. "What do you know about me?"

"N-n-nothing sir!" responded the boy raising his arms. "T-that is what the man who checked you in told me to say when you awoke! I promise!"

Justinian could see the boy's knees quivering. He took a deep breath. "You are telling the truth, boy."

The bellhops shoulders immediately sank down with relief. "I-I was also instructed to give you this message sir." he said holding out a folded letter.

Justinian took it and sat down on at the dining table in the hotel suite. He tore open the top and then glanced back at the bellhop.

The boy still in a tizzy from the interaction, immediately jumped. "AH! S-s-s Of course! I uh, I will... I will have your breakfast brought up immediately a-and leave you to your business, sir!"

And with a graceful bow that betrayed the boy's nerves he exited the room, closing the door behind him.

Justinian looked back at the letter. The envelope itself was pristine. "Imperator Hotels" the address read. "Must've ended up in one in Trebizond" Justinian mumbled to himself.

The actual letter was on dirty and oily paper. Justinian carefully unfolded it, making sure none of it would rip.

"Hola,

You don't know me and that's probably for the best. I was the pilot that got you here to Trebizond. After we took off you fell asleep pretty quick. Marcos told me on the radio you had a long day. I'm not one to pry, so I let it be. About an hour away from Trebizond we hit some major and sudden turbulence. It did a number on my bird, but worse, it reopened your leg. Not worse for you however, you know how long it's going to take me to clean out the pool you left in the back. I jest, I jest. Point is, you were out cold and I didn't even notice you bleeding until my foot slipped on something wet under my seat. I landed and got you into a doctor very fast. Turns out the words 'The Purple Group' can open quite a lot of doors, especially with you colonials. Anyway, I had a doctor seal up your leg for good this time, it's going to leave a nasty scar. I radio'd Marcos what happened and he said he would pass it on to your people.

Have a good life,

A faceless Spaniard."

The writer wasn't wrong. Justinian couldn't remember anything about the plane ride. All he could do is be silently grateful to this guardian angel.

There was a sudden knock at the door. Justinian folded the letter into the envelope and beckoned in the visitor. It was the same bellhop as before, this time with a cart of various covered foods and a small bucket of ice with a champagne bottle sticking out. Silently, the boy began to place the various dishes before Justinian, finishing with a glass of champagne. Justinian was salivating as soon as he saw the cart, he didn't even remember eating at all yesterday.

When the boy finished he cleared his throat. "We have received a telegram from a Leonidas Varangios, addressed to your room sir."

Justinian didn't even respond, and just decided to dig in to his food.

The bellhop placed it at the edge of the banquet and excused himself as elegantly as he had came in.

After he downed his first glass of champagne, he reached over and ripped open the other letter.

DEAR BROTHER
STOP
THAT SURE WAS FAST
STOP
I HAVE ARRANGED YOU AN IN FOR YOUR QUEST
STOP
YOU ARE TO MEET DOUKAS THEODORA TOMORROW 1400 HOURS
STOP
WEAR SOMETHING NICE AND TRY NOT TO GET SHOT AGAIN
STOP

Justinian had to reread the message a second time. "THE DOUKAS?!"