JULY 14 - JULY 21, 1914
AUSTRIA-HUNGARY DELIVERS ULTIMATUM TO SERBIA
"Point 6: The Serbian government should bring to trial all accessories to the Archduke's assassination and allow Austro-Hungarian law enforcement officers to take part in the investigations."
- Austro-Hungarian letter to Serbia -
Visegrad, Austria-Hungary
“So this is where I leave you, boys,” Ljubivoje said as they entered the idyllic town of Visegrad.
The houses lay there so tranquil, as if asleep, surrounded by the majestic green hills, accessible through the old bridge stretching across the river Danube.
Vlad could finally breathe a sigh of relief
He and Bete had barely escaped arrest by the police force in Sarajevo a few weeks back. Bete had grabbed him and pushed him out of the rear window only moments before the police kicked in the front door.
With nothing but the clothes on their back they had trekked East, as Bete remembered the address of the crooks that had smuggled them into the country. The brothers then managed to sneak out as the riots turned into a massive manhunt for every Slav left in the city.
This was not enough for the Austro-Hungarians though. They cracked down hard on the radicals and their smuggler routes. Soldiers had showed up mere minutes before Vlad and Bete. They dragged the crooks out into the street, beat them, and threw them in jail.
It had been a torturous walk East after that.
Bete was chancing on the farmers in the neighboring village still being loyal to the cause.
It took them forever to reach it, and by that time the brothers were both starving and dehydrated.
It was by the grace of God that a farmer by the name of Ljubivoje had found the two exhausted Serbs on the side of the road and taken them in.
‘Sons of Kosovo.’ he had called them, while offering them his finest food and a bottle of wine. Then he cried in front of them as he told them the story of what the soldiers had done to his family. Vlad cried too.
Now with the help of Ljubivoje they had made their slow way towards the border of Serbia; back to their homeland.
“We should have been here a week ago.” Bete whispered to Vlad.
“The old man took his fucking time.”
Vlad kicked him in the shins in return, still smiling and nodding to Ljubivoje.
“You have been nothing but the best of help.” Vlad said, shaking the farmer’s hand.
“I wish you a speedy return.”
“Get home safe, and fight the good fight, boys.”
Ljubivoje replied. “There’s a terrible storm coming, and Serbia will need all of her sons.”
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London, England
“Have you slept at all, sir?”
“Cecil.”
John smiled nervously in response, before handing the jittery General a cup of Earl Grey tea.
The man had obviously not been home for the night.
“I read that the bloody Mexicans are at it again.” John said as he lifted his own cup in unison.
“Ah!” Cecil exlaimed.
"The Mexican Revolution is as complex it is heinous.
I honestly don’t have enough information for you, old chap. Not at this present time, but it does appear their President’s days are numbered.
Revolutionaries such as Poncho Villa have captured several important territories, and they’re making a hard push. Remind me to get you the dossier on this. It might not be of much interest, but you can never be too sure, they did murder the Emperor’s brother.”
“Terrible ordeal,”
John announced, and sipped his tea.
ITALY AND THE LIBYAN ISSUE:
“This one, however, is a tad bit closer to home.”
“North Africa, sir?”
John looked up at the map. Libya lay wedged in between French and British territories.
"The war against the Ottoman Empire was not the glorious invasion the Italians expected it to be. Their large army was stalemated for a year by a few thousand Turks and some local lads.
When they finally did manage to push the Turks out, it left them with a bit of a mess on their hands.”
Cecil picked up his red yarn, and tore off a string. Then he walked over to the map and tied it from Italy to Libya.
Oh, you know, Captain. Africa is rebellious. Tribesmen in Libya have clashed with the Italian troops for years, and this week they shot and killed 100 Arabs in a battle in the Fezzan Region.”
“Not to mention the general strike in Italy last month.”
John interrupted.
“Ah, yes. Leftists fighting in the streets before the Italian Army brought in thousands of men to forcefully restore order.
It’s a new dawn, Captain Robertson. An era of riots and protests.”
THE ROYAL NAVY INSPECTION:
“With this small chaff out of the way, we can focus on what is really of importance! The home front!
We are rather fortunate that the British fleet mobilized to Spithead for the inspection of His Majesty, this week. I believe that the First Lord of Admiralty, Winston Churchill is using this as an excuse to re-organize and re-deploy the fleet to counter the German threat. We’ll need those heavy hitters to force their fleet to stay at port.”
“In Wilhelmshaven?”
John asked.
Cecil ignored him.
IRISH HOME RULE CONFERENCE AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE:
“Right-o” He slammed a large dossier down on the desk, on the front it read ‘Ireland.’
“Now this one is a bloody ordeal.
His Majesty summoned a conference to discuss the Irish Home Rule situation. Irish Nationalists and Irish Unionists are meeting at the Royal Palace for a three-day peace conference. The Prime Minister is there also, with the Speaker of the House of Commons overseeing it.
A tall list of names, old sport, and as far as I can tell, it’s going absolutely nowhere.
SERBIAN PRIME MINISTER RESPONSE TO RUMORS:
“And at long last, we arrive at the meat of the matter: The Balkans, where the hammer will strike.
Early this week, in response to rumors of an Austro-Hungarian ultimatum, Serbian Prime Minister Nikola Pašić told the journalists that he will never accept any measures that will compromise Serbian sovereignty. Oh, how foolish of him.
AUSTRIA-HUNGARY DELIVERS ULTIMATUM:
This arrived yesterday: The Austro-Hungarian minister at Belgrade, presented the ultimatum to the minister for foreign affairs in Serbia.
We do not know the content of said letter, however we have reasons to believe it very much compromises Serbia’s sovereignty, or at the least is close enough to render it impossible to accept.”
“Oh, dear.”
John gasped. “What about the government? What are we doing to prevent this?”
“Hah!” Cecil muttered in his usual manner.
“We are running about the place like headless chickens, dear boy.
FOREIGN SECRETARY SIR EDWARD GREY OFFERS TO MEDIATE:
The British cabinet, after receiving the news, held a meeting in London, the very same that is being devoted to the Irish Rule conference.
In an attempt to stem the tide of emerging war, the Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Grey offered to Russia and Germany to mediate a discussion that should influence Austria-Hungary to back off on Serbia while allowing each nation to save face.”
John lit up.
“Well that’s something!”
“Grey met with the Russian Ambassador who warned that such a conference might actually break our informal triple alliance, or Entente, as the French call it.”
“Oui, oui,” John jested.
Cecil shot him a stern look.
”However… The Russian Foreign Minister accepted Grey’s proposal for a conference despite his reservations about this.”
“So there is hope.”
He sighed.
“Kaiser Wilhelm was not so kind. He rejected Grey’s ‘condescending orders’. Claiming ignorance of the Austrian ultimatum. Germany regards Austro-Serbian relations as ‘an internal affair of Austria-Hungary’, in which they have no standing to intervene.
Cheeky little liars. Aren’t they?” Cecil picked up a red flag from his box and pierced it into the map. Straight into the heart of Berlin.
“So what are we to do now?” John said.
“Well,” He gazed upon the map. His figure appearing small and fragile.
“We wait, and we pray.”
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Manchester, England
The tube scrapped against the back of her throat. Three nurses held her down as the doctor forced the thick rubber inside her.
“Alice, do we have to go through this every single time?” Doctor Franklin said, in a manner akin to that of a tired father lecturing an insolent child.
She made pathetic sounds of terror in response.
The prison had been her home for 6 agonising months now. They had arrested her 5 times on accounts of vandalizing government buildings. There had been three of them: Alice, Marianne, and Martha. Protesters turned inhabitants of the same address: Strangeways Prison.
“This time you best keep it down, Alice.” Doctor Franklin said as he signaled to the nurse to start pumping the food into her stomach.
She closed her eyes and tried to dream of her childhood home, of the garden in the backyard that lead to the swing on the hill. Where the majestic Oak tree stood stretching out into the blue summer skies. Where her sister had once told her about how wonderful men can be, and where babies come from.
She wondered how clean that tube really was and who it had been in before her.
“If you would simply eat the food provided to you. By the prison. Like a reasonable adult. Alice.”
Doctor Franklin complained as he kept preventing the tube from escaping her.
She looked up at him, tears running down her face.
He looked back down at her with pity and disappointment in his eyes.
“I’m doing my job, Alice,” he said.
“What on earth are you ladies hoping to achieve with this nonsense?”