The Empire Strikes Back - Part 4

[zenphoenix]

Trebizond - January 31

Her workday was over, but the work never ceased. Even though Theodora had finished her paperwork today, there was one more thing she still had to do. For that, she took a taxi to the military base. Once she arrived, she showed her credentials to the guards on duty and entered. The base had changed significantly since she first arrived in Trebizond, having been expanded and overhauled as the primary command center of Anatolian military operations. Nicaea and Nicomedia would probably complain they weren't given priority, but she couldn't dictate where Alvértos chose to set up shop.

What concerned her today was the inner wall of the base, blocking off several buildings with a perimeter of barbed wire and electrified fencing. The guards here were given authorization to shoot any unauthorized individuals approaching. Fortunately, she had the required clearance—since she had issued it to herself. Only a handful of others, like Ioannes, had the same clearance. Not even Irene was allowed in.

She showed her credentials to the guard at the main gate, who let her in. Officially, this inner complex was a detention center for high profile informants and defectors from Konstantinos' side, kept here for their own safety. In a way, that was technically true. But there was only one resident here, and she wasn't exactly a defector from Konstantinos.

Theodora stepped into one of the buildings and was instantly greeted with the fragrant smell of saffron in the air. The rooms inside had been decorated richly, unlike what one would expect out of a prisoner's cell or informant's temporary hiding place. A Persian rug covered the floor of what was supposed to be the living room. Persian cultural iconography adorned the walls. A phonograph in the corner played soothing traditional Persian music at a low volume. Next to it was a bookshelf covered in books about various topics, focusing on philosophy and religion. Her host, Kira, was currently meditating on the rug.

"Theodora." Kira's eyes remained closed. "I've been expecting you."

One of the main benefits of visiting a foreseer was that she did not have to announce her visit in advance—Kira already knew.

"You are here about my ability again," Kira said.

"Yes," Theodora said.

"What would you like to know?"

"If we can use it for tactical benefit," Theodora said.

Kira opened one eye. "Use it for the military?"

"Yes," Theodora said, "You can significantly help us in this fight. Imagine if we knew where the enemy was going and what their goals were. We could take back Constantinople and defeat Konstantinos."

"You know my ability isn't that specific," Kira said, "I can influence what I see, but I can't control the details. And even then, you might not have the context for what I see."

"But still, what little you see can still help us."

Kira opened her other eye. "You're starting to sound like Ignatieff. Wanting to direct the future however you want, and only seeing me as a means to that."

"I really think I'm not as bad as some deranged cultist who wants to wipe out all of human civilization."

"Yes, but you could end up like him," Kira said, "I've seen a handful of possible futures where you do."

Theodora was curious. "And what do I do there?"

"You want that future?"

"No! God no! I don't want to be like Ignatieff!"

"Then why are you making use of me the same way he is?"

"I just thought..." Theodora said. "That you could help us."

"I can help you," Kira said, "I never said I wouldn't. That's why I defected in the first place. But we must do it on my terms. Where I am treated like a person, not as a vessel. Can you at least do that much?"

"I'll try." Theodora nodded.

"Alright, then," Kira said, "I do have something you might be interested in right now."

"What is it?" Theodora's interest was piqued.

"An upcoming operation involving the Scipio. You'll know it when you see it. The details are hazy, but you should be watching this one closely."

Theodora scribbled down the revelation in a notepad. "Got it. Thanks, Kira. That'll be all for today."

"It was nice talking to you."

"Likewise."

Theodora turned and headed for the door.

"Next time, you don't have to show up unannounced. I'll call in."

"I'll keep that in mind," Theodora said as she left.

 

[Michaelangelo]

Somewhere outside Venice
January 1936

Artemisia Favero hopped out of the back of the truck at a crossroads somewhere outside Venice. She had hitched a ride with a friendly farmer who was returning to his home. It was unfortunate that his farm was not closer to her destination, but this was close enough. She estimated that she was only a few kilometres away. She wasn't adverse to a brisk walk even in this chilly winter afternoon. She waved at the farmer as he pulled away and then turned down the other road and started on her way.

It only took a few minutes before Artemisia regretted her decision. She had underestimated how cold it was. She had just spent the last few months in Valencia and grown used to the balmy weather. She had thought Italy would be just as pleasant, but Venice must be far enough north and close enough to the Alps to see colder weather than elsewhere in the Mediterranean. Perhaps it would have been better to rent a car, although she had hesitated due to the unwanted attention it would have drawn. Renting a car would have required her to provide identification, which would have revealed her to be a Roman citizen. In a young country floundering to form its own identity separate from the empire, it was only natural that there was hostility towards imperial citizens. It was best to keep that to herself.

The purring of an engine drew Artemisia's attention as a sleek roadster drove up next to her in the other lane. The gentleman driver cranked down the window and leaned his head through the opening. With a smile, he said, "Can I offer you a ride, miss?"

Artemisia flashed him a smile back, hiding her wariness. Accepting such offers from strange men was a good way for a young woman to get killed. She had to stifle a chuckle though as she acknowledged that in all likelihood it would be this man who would end up dead in a ditch if he tried make an improper advance on her. She was more than capable of defending herself. Still, it was awfully cold. Deciding it was best to remain somewhat cautious, she said, "Perhaps, if we are heading in the same direction."

"Well where would you be heading, miss?" the man said, watching her with his dark eyes. His black hair was cut short and he had the faintest hint of stubble growing on his face. She estimated him to be in his early 30s. He continued to watch her, a patient look rather than anything conveying a more sinister intent.

Figuring it didn't matter if this man knew where she was headed, Artemisia said, "I'm heading to the old Favero estate. I... knew someone who once lived there."

The man's smile widened. "Why, that's where I'm heading too. I'm visiting some old friends. Hop in and I'll give you a lift." The car gave a creak as he put it in park and leaned over across the passenger seat, opening the door for her.

Artemisia stepped around the vehicle and slid into the passenger seat, closing the door behind her. Now that she was in the vehicle, she got a closer look at the driver. He wore a business suit, one that seemed well-worn but of fine quality. More noticeable was the medal dangling from the breast pocket. Clearly the man was former military and quite proud of his achievement. He must have done well to afford such an expensive car.

"Giuseppe," the man said, extending his hand.

It took a moment for Artemisia to realize that the man was sharing his name. She awkwardly took his hand and shook it. "Artemisia."

"Ah, that's a lovely name," Giuseppe said, cranking the car into gear and driving on. "Named after the Greek goddess of the hunt, I presume."

Artemisia smirked. "Actually, I'm named after Artemisia Gentileschi, the famous Baroque painter. You see, my family has a thing for artists, God knows why."

"Ah, beautiful and cultured, a combination rarely found in women these day."

Artemisia refrained from rolling her eyes. Just what she needed, a lovesick puppy. She expected Giuseppe to continue making advances, but he seemed content to keep driving while admiring the scenery. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was a hard man to read, seemingly content and pleasant at first glance, but something in his eyes betrayed that there was a lot more going on in his head than he wanted to let on.

"There's the estates up ahead," Giuseppe said, breaking the silence. He pointed off to the side of the road to the rolling hills covered in grapevines. Artemisia's father had always told her that the estate had been destroyed, the fields torched, but it looked as though the vineyards had been regrown. It made sense rather than leaving land barren for decades. As they turned off the road into a long driveway, she finally got a look at the building itself. She had never seen the original manor other than in photographs, and it had burned down before she was born. Yet looking at it now, she couldn't help but notice the stark resemblance to the images her father had shown her. Walls of white stone and marble, pillars in old Roman style, now blended with modern architecture in a grand display. A fantastical fountain of plump cupids and satyrs spitting water. A grand chapel with beautiful stained glass windows stood next to the manor, the reworked remains of the cathedral built by its brief papal owner. And while she didn't remember her father mentioning one, she swore she say a hedge maze next to the manor.

Giuseppe pulled the car up to the front of the house and a servant rushed outside to open the door for Artemisia. She thanked the servant and stepped out of the car. He then sped around the car to open Giuseppe's door, but the driver had already exited the car. When the servant saw the driver, he stopped in his tracks, straightened his back, and gave a stiff salute.

Giuseppe gave a slight chuckle and waved the man away. "At ease, soldier. We're not in the military anymore."

The servant relaxed but diligently walked back to the front door and opened it for the guests. With a grand voice, he announced inside to no one in particular. "Sir, Mr. Lombardi and a guest are here to see you."

Artemisia was halfway up the front steps when she pulled together what the servant had just said. She had spent her entire life hearing about the great evils the former king of Italy had wrecked on her family to not recognize that name. She spun on her heels, facing Giuseppe who was just approaching the steps. "Excuse me, but did that man just call you Mr. Lombardi, as in Giuseppe Lombardi, the former king of Italy? Didn't he pass away years ago?"

Giuseppe gave a wan smile as he stepped up beside her. He gently grabbed Artemisia by the arm and guided her to the front door. She was so shocked by the realization that she let him guide her around without protest. "He did," Giuseppe said with a nod. Looking Artemisia in the eyes, he added, "He was my father."

Artemisia was not sure how to process all this. Here were the children of two men who had destroyed each other's lives meeting by happenstance. She knew that she should hate this man, that her father would want her to plant a knife between his shoulder-blades, but the reveal of his identity didn't inspire any such emotions in her. Her father's vendetta was not her own, and she had longed for him to give up the hatred he had carried for so long. It was partly why she was here. She had thought seeing the remains of her father's home, or at least what she thought would be remains, she would be able to better understand her father.

"Does that bother you?" Giuseppe asked, drawing Artemisia back into reality. She must have remained silent for far too long. They had even entered the entrance hall without her noticing, a grand open room with white marble floors and two curved staircases leading up to the second floor.

Artemisia chuckled, a bit too awkwardly for her liking. "No, not at all. It's just, well, our fathers did not have the best relationship."

"Your father?" Giuseppe said. He opened his mouth as if to say more but was interrupted by a side door swinging open and a jubilant man prancing into the room.

"Giuseppe, my dear friend!" the man said, the owner of the manor based on his extravagant smoking jacket and excessive amount of jewelry he wore. His hair was long and flowing, constantly brushing in front of his face as he moved. He opened his arms and wrapped Giuseppe in a warm embrace. Stepping back, he eyed Artemisia and said, "And who is this? Your lover?"

Artemisia's cheeks reddened and she resisted slugging their host in the face. Giuseppe wisely stepped between them before anything happened. "This is Artemisia," he said, waving his hand at her. "I met her on the road here and offered her a ride." He frowned a bit, looking back at her. "She said she knew the owner."

Based on the narrowed eyes she was receiving from both men, Artemisia realized she better explain herself before she got booted out of the manor. However, she couldn't hold back her temper entirely. "I said that I knew someone who once lived here, not the current owner. My father once owned this estate before it was stolen from him by separatists and burned to the ground."

Giuseppe's eyes widened, perhaps now realizing what Artemisia meant by her earlier comment about their fathers. Their host just continued to stare at her, squinting his eyes. Then he suddenly smiled and open his arms. "Cousin Artemisia, it's so good to see you." He rushed over to her, wrapping her in a hug so quickly that she couldn't push him away. He pulled away just as quick, and clapped her on the forearms. "You must forgive me for not recognizing you. I've only ever seen you in pictures, and you were a lot younger in those." He scanned her body up and down, a bit too closely for her liking. "A lot younger."

"Well it's good to meet you," Artemisia finally said, gently pushing him away. "And you are?"

The man looked stunned, and shook his head. "Your father never told you about me?" He placed a hand on he chest and said, "I'm Paolo, your second cousin."

Paolo stood there, an expectant look on his face. If he thought she would recognize the name, he was going to be disappointed. Her father had never mentioned any relatives other than her aunt Elisabetta. She didn't even know there was another branch of the Favero family.

Eventually Paolo just sighed. "I suppose I'm not surprised Uncle Donatello never mentioned me. He apparently had quite the spat with my father about ownership of these estates."

Artemisia rubbed her forehead. Not only did she have relatives, but they were the ones that owned her father's old estates. Why had he never mentioned that? "I thought the estates were destroyed. How did they get rebuilt?" Looking at Paolo with a sneer, she added, "And how did you get them?"

Paolo scrunched his face up in annoyance, a biting retort about to escape his lips. Giuseppe beat him to it though, sensing the tension in the air. "I helped with that." When Artemisia turned his way, he continued. "I had some family friends in government who were willing to do me some favours. I thought it was the least I could do for your family after my father confiscated the property during his reign."

"And why then was it not returned to my father, the rightful owner?" Artemisia said, putting her hands on her hips.

Paolo let out a snort, drawing an indignant look from Artemisia. "As if the Italian government would hand over such valuable land to a traitor."

"Traitor!?" Artemisia said, her voice raising in volume. "You should be glad my father is not here or he'd have strangled you for uttering such words."

Paolo shrugged, and Artemisia was starting to imagine how pleasant it would be to punch her second cousin in the face. "It's a matter of perspective. Your father sided with the empire and lost. Mine sided with the Italian separatists and won. Your family was deemed traitors and had your property confiscated; ours were rewarded for our loyalty with said property. You should be glad it wasn't given to random strangers but instead stayed within the Favero family."

Artemisia was about to utter something quite unladylike when Giuseppe gently grabbed her by the arm and guided her towards the room Paolo had entered from. "Perhaps we should go sit down." He glanced over his shoulder at Paolo. "If you wouldn't mind asking your servants to prepare some tea, that would be appreciated."

Paolo blinked his eyes a few times before nodding. "I'll go ask them, and make sure they make it properly." He shuffled away, perhaps somewhat relieved to be able to excuse himself.

Artemisia allowed herself to be guided to a cushioned armchair. She sat down in a huff, crossing her legs and slouching in the chair. Giuseppe sat down on a nearby sofa, sitting up straight and perfect. He eyed Artemisia but said not a word, giving her the chance to speak when she was ready. She noticed and appreciated the silence. At least here was a man who knew how to show proper respect. She opted to remain in silence, stewing in her own thoughts until Paolo returned.

* * * * *

((That dragged on longer than I thought, so to be continued when I have the time.))

 

[zenphoenix]

Theodora Doukas' estate, Athens

Igor's car stopped in front of a gate guarded by two blackshirts. His blackshirt escort opened the door and motioned for him to get out. He didn't need to see the pistol in the militiaman's hand to know it was a bad idea to refuse. The guards pulled open the gate, and Igor followed the blackshirt onto the property. The main house was just up ahead, at the end of a moderate-sized front yard filled with neatly organized flowers and trees. It was clearly a noble's estate—orderly gardens were a popular trend among the upper class, showing mankind's superiority over nature through bringing order to chaos. Of course, that meant little to non-nobles, who were more concerned about their next paycheck for the most part. Igor personally was more fortunate than most. Perhaps that was why he was here. They had noticed his talents.

Two more blackshirts stood guard at the door. These were armed with full submachine guns, unlike the riflemen at the gate and the pistol-toting militiaman. Igor shuddered at the sight of the large guns. What—or who—was so important here that they needed all this firepower?

Compared to the ornate exterior, the interior was completely barren. All of the furniture was gone. The walls were bare, with dust-free squares showing where paintings once hung. No carpets covered the cold wood floors. The militiaman jabbed him in the back with the pistol, pushing him into one of the offices. There, he got his answer. Prince Konstantinos sat behind a desk, hands clasped. He wore the same uniform he always appeared with. When he began speaking, it was with that same slick smile he showed at public events. Igor never expected to be meeting the prince in person, but here he was.

"Good morning, my guest." He didn't mention Igor's name. Perhaps he already knew it. "I apologize for the lack of furnishings in my new vacation property and the circumstances of your trip here. I had to take appropriate security measures."

Like abducting me from my house at 6 in the morning? "It is...okay, Your Highness."

"Thank you for your respect and understanding," Konstantinos said, "It is something many of your kind lack towards us Romans."

"That is most...regrettable." Igor held back the urge to wince. He had immigrated to the Empire in search of better business opportunities, but the downside was he had to put up with this. "I can only hope that my countrymen will eventually...come to an understanding. But know that I am first and foremost an imperial citizen, loyal to the Empire despite my country of birth."

"I am glad to hear that," Konstantinos said, "In the dark times ahead, what the Empire needs is unity and strength. You can break a single stick with your bare hands, but tie ten, twenty, forty of them into a fasces, and they will be unbreakable. No matter what our enemies—be they separatist traitors, communist saboteurs, or our national rivals—throw at us, we will bend but not break."

Igor didn't care much for that kind of talk. He would rather go to church than talk politics. That was for other men to handle. "Yes, yes, of course."

"Now, on to why you are here," Konstantinos said, "The Empire requires unity and strength. But it is not enough to simply have the spirit of unity, the appearance of strength. One must always back up their words and ideas with blood and steel. Guns win wars, not paperwork. And we need every advantage we can get. Not only to defeat my rogue brother, but to restore the Empire to its former glory afterwards. And that is where you come in."

"What can I help with?" Igor said.

"Don't play dumb with me," Konstantinos said, "I know what you are capable of. You have built military aircraft for the last 25 years. Some of your designs were used in the fighter wings of the Veronica-class airships during the Sack of the Capital. You've designed later airships, such as the one the Anatolian rebels stole. And we know about your new project—a rotary wing vertical-takeoff design. I am not asking for your help. I am requiring your work in service of the Empire. Am I perfectly clear?"

"Uh...yes, Your Highness," Igor said.

"Good," Konstantinos said, "Starting tomorrow, you will report to the Kodima Barracks in downtown Constantinople, where you will begin working on prototypes with a team I have picked out for you. I expect results from you soon. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Dismissed," Konstantinos said, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Sikorsky."

The blackshirt pushed Igor out of the room. As he returned to the car, he could only think to himself, Why did he only say my name once?

 

[Beaverman1]

Trebizond,

A set of footsteps echoed through the lobby of the hotel. It was a walk accompanied by the thump of a wooden cane. The sound was familiar, so familiar that the concierge barely raised his head from the guestbook to check who was approaching.

"Good evening, sir." the concierge said, trying to hide the drowsiness of his own voice. The man simply walked past the desk and down the hall towards various meeting rooms, where 4 Imperial guards stood at attention behind a small desk with a equally small man seated in it.
"Papers please" the small man said with a yawn. After looking over the various parchments presented, the small man looked back towards one of the guards and nodded. The guards proceeded to part, opening the rest of the hall.

"Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Varangios" sighed the seated man.
Justinian continued his hobbled walk down the hall until reaching one a storage closet. Through the opaque glass he could see the "reception area" lights were still on. Justinian didn't think there would be anyone here at this hour, in fact that would make this easier. With a swift inhale he turned the handle and opened the door. Irene was at her desk, typing away on a writer while reading a stack of documents to her side.

"I was about to ask if you planned on just looming on the other side of the door all night." Irene said without taking her eyes of the various forms on her desk.
Justinian smirked. "If you're here, Theodora must be too. Is she available? I have something she needs to approve."
"One moment, please." Irene walked over to the door, knocking before sticking her head inside. The conversation was quiet, Justinian could not even make out any of the words being exchanged.

"Or maybe it's the Tinnitus..." he thought to himself. "Probably the Tinnitus."

Irene opened the door fully. "She will see you now." she said flatley. Justinian tried to give her a courteous smile before entering the room.

Justinian entered the room and laid his files in front of Theodora.
"Here is what I have..."

OPERATION LIGHTHOUSE:
HAVING IDENTIFIED AN OPENING INTO THE MAINTENANCE AND HOUSEKEEPING STAFF OF THE PATRIARCH, AGENT TETRAITES WILL INFILTRATE PRIVATE QUARTERS IN DISGUISE AND LEAVE PARCHMENT ADDRESSED TO PATRIARCH. PARCHMENT CONTAINS FUTURE PARAMETERS FOR COMMUNICATION BETWEEN PATRIARCH AND MSI. ESCAPE ROUTE IS LEFT TO AGENT'S DISCRETION. RENDEZVOUS POINT HAS BEEN DETERMINED. EXTRACTION TEAM AND AGENT HAVE FULL AUTHORITY TO CREATE ALTERNATIVE EXTRACTION PLAN IF NEEDED.

The folder continued to list minor aspects of the mission.

"All we are missing is your seal in invisible ink." Justinian said sliding a paper across the table.

"Something to confirm this isn't a test of loyalty by Konstantinos. As soon as you stamp it, we can expect the note to be in the Patriarch's hands by the end of tomorrow. Maybe even speaking with him directly before the end of the week." Justinian continued as Theodora read through the papers.

"Once we get in contact with the Patriarch, we can move onto setting up in Constantinople. I have a few ideas in mind, but we should see how to Patriarch responds first."

Justinian took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept in how long? Ah, maybe if this gets approved he can at least go to sleep tonight.

"Is there anything you would like to add to the current operation?"

 

[zenphoenix]

Trebizond,

A set of footsteps echoed through the lobby of the hotel. It was a walk accompanied by the thump of a wooden cane. The sound was familiar, so familiar that the concierge barely raised his head from the guestbook to check who was approaching.

"Good evening, sir." the concierge said, trying to hide the drowsiness of his own voice. The man simply walked past the desk and down the hall towards various meeting rooms, where 4 Imperial guards stood at attention behind a small desk with a equally small man seated in it.
"Papers please" the small man said with a yawn. After looking over the various parchments presented, the small man looked back towards one of the guards and nodded. The guards proceeded to part, opening the rest of the hall.

"Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Varangios" sighed the seated man.
Justinian continued his hobbled walk down the hall until reaching one a storage closet. Through the opaque glass he could see the "reception area" lights were still on. Justinian didn't think there would be anyone here at this hour, in fact that would make this easier. With a swift inhale he turned the handle and opened the door. Irene was at her desk, typing away on a writer while reading a stack of documents to her side.

"I was about to ask if you planned on just looming on the other side of the door all night." Irene said without taking her eyes of the various forms on her desk.
Justinian smirked. "If you're here, Theodora must be too. Is she available? I have something she needs to approve."
"One moment, please." Irene walked over to the door, knocking before sticking her head inside. The conversation was quiet, Justinian could not even make out any of the words being exchanged.

"Or maybe it's the Tinnitus..." he thought to himself. "Probably the Tinnitus."

Irene opened the door fully. "She will see you now." she said flatley. Justinian tried to give her a courteous smile before entering the room.

Justinian entered the room and laid his files in front of Theodora.
"Here is what I have..."

OPERATION LIGHTHOUSE:
HAVING IDENTIFIED AN OPENING INTO THE MAINTENANCE AND HOUSEKEEPING STAFF OF THE PATRIARCH, AGENT TETRAITES WILL INFILTRATE PRIVATE QUARTERS IN DISGUISE AND LEAVE PARCHMENT ADDRESSED TO PATRIARCH. PARCHMENT CONTAINS FUTURE PARAMETERS FOR COMMUNICATION BETWEEN PATRIARCH AND MSI. ESCAPE ROUTE IS LEFT TO AGENT'S DISCRETION. RENDEZVOUS POINT HAS BEEN DETERMINED. EXTRACTION TEAM AND AGENT HAVE FULL AUTHORITY TO CREATE ALTERNATIVE EXTRACTION PLAN IF NEEDED.

The folder continued to list minor aspects of the mission.

"All we are missing is your seal in invisible ink." Justinian said sliding a paper across the table.

"Something to confirm this isn't a test of loyalty by Konstantinos. As soon as you stamp it, we can expect the note to be in the Patriarch's hands by the end of tomorrow. Maybe even speaking with him directly before the end of the week." Justinian continued as Theodora read through the papers.

"Once we get in contact with the Patriarch, we can move onto setting up in Constantinople. I have a few ideas in mind, but we should see how to Patriarch responds first."

Justinian took a deep breath and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't slept in how long? Ah, maybe if this gets approved he can at least go to sleep tonight.

"Is there anything you would like to add to the current operation?"

Theodora looked over the papers. Everything seemed in order. "No, I don't have anything else at the moment."

She picked up her pen and signed. "Operation Lighthouse is a go."

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

Early morning, 21st January 1936 - Constantinople​

“Excuse me, could you say that again?”

The Crown Prince looked distinctly annoyed at having been interrupted, but given it was the Patriarch of Rome who had spoken, he had to answer.

“The Emperor is dead.”

“This has been announced publicly?”

“It will be in the morning papers, yes. What-”

He paused as the three churchmen sharply breathed in as one.

“What?”

“Who was his confessor?” Alexander asked, after collecting himself. Seeing the confusion on the face of his distant cousin, he snapped. “Which priest was with him on his deathbed?”

“I’m sure I-that is…”

“Good God,” the Rector quietly expressed, raising a hand to his face. “There wasn’t one, was there?”

The Prince had gone through embarrassment remarkably quickly and now had reasserted to anger. “Now see here,” he blustered.

“You fool!” the old Patriarch roared. “The Emperor of Rome requires a sanctification in the last days of life, and immediate anointing after death, by the highest authority in the Empire. Did you carry this out? No, you did not – for Alexander was here under guard. The Emperor could also be prepared by the next highest authority should he be too far away from the Ecumenical Patriarch. Did you do that? No, because I am the said authority. Having given the due respect and decency of Christian rites to the Father of the Nation, it is then incumbent upon the Church to announce His Imperial Majesties death, reassuring all that his last rights were carried out. You have just made clear to the entire Orthodox world that the Emperor was left to die alone, without Christian aid, and that your representatives are taking responsibility for his death. Were we not in a time of civil war, this would be an absolute scandal. As it is, it is tantamount to treason, publicly confessed!”

“That will do, Franciscus,” Alexander quietly said, touching the older man’s arm to sit him back down from where he had half-risen in fury. He glared at the ashen face of the Crown…the new Emperor. “You have behaved most foolishly, Konstantinos. This places the Church in an incredibly awkward position. We must see your father’s body immediately.”

“I had hoped to move on from it quickly and speak on my coronation,” the former Prince said sulkily.

Alexander grasped the Patriarch’s arm again to stop him speaking out, and thus could do nothing but groan when the Rector slammed his palm onto the desk.

“Listen here, boy! There will be no coronation unless and until we can satisfy to everyone else in the Church that the Emperor has been taken care of. He must be anointed. He must be carried to this cathedral and held in state for a period of no less than three days. He must then be buried with all the honour and dignity due to a great and noble man. To do otherwise would see riots across the Empire and the vast majority of the Church looking to crucify everyone in this room!”

Konstantinos worked his jaw but no words came out for several seconds. “Alexander?” he said, weakly.

“I’m sorry, Konstantinos but they are correct for the most part. This has the potentially to split the Church at a time when we can ill afford it. I, personally, must go and perform the last rites on your father’s body, preferably with multiple church witnesses. We will then make all arrangements for the funeral and care of the soul…and only then, can we think on your own coronation. It will take months to prepare and plan regardless.”

“My advisors-”

“-in this instance, they are incorrect if they have told you anything but that which we have discussed today. No one within or without the Empire will accept such a rush, a disrespect or an unholy disorder of a succession. Please, sire,” he leaned forwards letting all his worries show, “the Empire cannot take this blow.”

The new Emperor sat back and nodded dumbly. “Yes…yes, of course you are right. I will…hmm…could the body be sent here, rather than you go to the palace?”

Alexander closed his eyes briefly and then nodded. “If we must. But I caution you that any further delays will make us all look worse in the eyes of the Christian world. I speak now not only of the Empire but the lands beyond.”

“What can we do to hurry this along?”

Alexander stared him down. “If you want it done at all, you had best think of several offerings of forgiveness to the Church, so that we might at least waive this off as difficulties during the current crisis rather than the new Emperor’s complete lack of faith or respect-”

“I take your point,” he waved them off. “I shall think of something. And my father’s body will be here within 48 hours. Will that suit, gentlemen.”

Alexander glanced to his left and right. “It will have to do.”

The Emperor strode out of the Cathedral with his ego rapidly recovering, whilst behind him in the office, the three holy men slumped in their seats.

 

[05060403]

January 17th

To say that Nikos and his men were held in abhorrent conditions would be an understatement, being stuffed in a damp basement, filled with rats and a rotting corpse - presumably, someone found guilty of being a traitor - and the goons' "interrogation" dragged on longer and longer. Some of Nikos's men returned in one piece, some came with clear signs of beatings, bruises, cuts, a broken arm, or a leg. It all was quite upsetting, but there was little Nikos could do from this position, especially after they had their guns confiscated "for the cause". So Nikos waited. He waited for his turn to answer whatever questions the fascists would have for them, and he wouldn't wait long - within the next 10 minutes he was forced to stand up and practically dragged up the stairs and through the street to a now abandoned cafe down the road. The two goons who so graciously "escorted" Nikos over here forced him to take a seat at a table across which sat another black shirt. However, this young man, perhaps half of Nikos's age, maybe a bit older, with sharp steely eyes that could pierce a tank, an equally sharp chin, well-kept short black hair, a proper black pressed shirt, nice leather strap crossing his chest and going down to hid hip, surely leading to a holster.

"Come, come, sit down Lieutenant! I do hope my friends didn't cause you much trouble."
The man's voice was overly friendly and sweet, it wasn't hard to tell that he was putting up a facade.

"Well, they're no worse than Russians during the great war."
Nikos retorted, already getting tired of this conversation. But he felt like this would go on for quite a while, so he steeled himself, reminding himself that he wasn't in control here and one wrong move could cost him and his men their lives.

"Ah, I'm terribly sorry to hear that. But I hope that you won't hold this against me, or my men. Surely you understand the circumstances we find ourselves in. Everyone's on edge. Would you like some tea, Lieutenant Stavros? Ah don't be so shocked, I've had the pleasure of seeing your file Lieutenant, I'm quite curious to know what you're doing here."
The young black shirt drone on, keeping up a very unpleasant, forced smile as if trying to fool Nikos into thinking this is a conversation between good friends who are reuniting after a long time spent apart.

"No thank you, I'm more of a coffee person rather than a tea person. And before I answer any of your questions... Sir...? I have a question of my own, and I will not speak a word more until it is answered."
And now the Lieutenant waited for a response, his eyes darting around the room to gauge the atmosphere and properly analyze his situation. The pair of thugs who brought him in was behind him, guarding the entrance, those two only had batons. There was the creepy young one, right in front of him, and further back two more, in proper uniforms, one with a submachine gun, one with a pistol carbine. Nikos felt himself sink into the chair at that moment, no matter how he'd approached this, the situation was hopeless, he could only try to talk his way out.

"Very well, if that's all it'll take for you to cooperate - what is your question?"

"I'd like to know the reasoning behind the violence committed against some of the men under my command."

The blackshirt leader chuckled, as if in mockery of the question, or perhaps imagining Nikos's reaction.
"It's quite simple actually. They weren't Romans. Well, not true Romans. Anyway..."

The old soldier couldn't believe that he was hearing, how could the soldiers of the Empire not count as true Romans? He heard rumors that some of these fascists held extreme views, but this was simply outrageous, these people had no shame, no human decency in them.
The young man clasped his hands, resting his elbows on the table to support himself as he leaned forward.
"I believe that answers your question, you didn't specify how detailed of an answer you want. Regardless, you're a traitor, I'm showing you some kindness by acknowledging your question. Now, now, don't be so shocked. I've taken the liberty of reading your file, I know you shouldn't be here, and yet you're right in front of me - in the flesh. So now humor me and answer the few queries I have on my mind. If your answers aren't satisfactory, well, it could cost you your life."

For a brief moment, the thick atmosphere in the room became even denser, everyone, including the blackshirt soldiers tensing up, raring to go at the slightest of movements, the quietest of sounds. Nikos tried his best to keep a straight, unaffected face, but his eyes darted around the room, he could feel his heart speeding up adrenaline pumping. But this deadly silence was quickly broken by a burst of laughter from the "host" who looked back to his men, the two armed guards following suit with nervous, shaky laughs of their own.
"Oh, you should've seen the look on your face Lieutenant."

At that moment everyone collectively sighed in relief before the young man continued.
"Ah well, I've had my fun, so let's not waste any more time. I'd like to know why you're here, instead of your post, how you got here, and on whose orders did you make your way here." a sly smirk formed on his face, he smacked his lips and added "And just so you know, I know how to spot a liar, there's no point in hiding the truth. I'll know. So I highly advise you to not try any tricks with me."

Nikos took a moment to calm his breathing, and collect his thoughts. It was hard to know what the radical in front of him wanted to hear, and he must've heard the story from all the men questioned before Nikos.
"I'm sure my men told you the same thing. I gave the order, we wanted to join the fight against the Anatolian rebels. Whatever was left of the command structure in Sicily was left in chaos, the indecisiveness was worse than inaction. We boarded a cargo plane, and we arrived at an airstrip near the town of Komotini about 3 days ago, around 10 a.m. After gathering our equipment we marched towards Constantinople, the journey itself was quite uneventful. That is God's honest truth, and there isn't anything worth hiding. I was fed up with the chaos in Sardinia, both the civil government, and the military not being able to decide what path to follow, and concluded the best course of action was to join the fight to squash the rebellion. The men who followed me did it out of their own free will."

"Mhm. I see."
The blackshirt nodded his head and began writing in a notebook in front of him. The silence felt like it dragged on forever, the only noise coming from the pen leaving its mark on the paper, no one daring to make a sound. Finally after finishing the leader clapped his hands, and a beaming smile spread on his face.
"While I appreciate your eagerness to fight the good fight, it was quite irresponsible to abandon your post like that. And a crime cannot go unpunished. It just so happens I have a task in mind for someone like you. You see, there are many... Undesirables on our side, people who under normal circumstances would be of little use. Of course, we have everything under control, however, the traitor prince's forces are proving... Tougher than expected. Thus as penance for your crime, you'll be given command of a special force made up of those... less strategically important. You will learn the details later. However as a sign of goodwill, I will allow you to take your wounded men to the Cathedral, I believe the priests organized a relief station there. While some of your men may not be true Roman citizens, they still have valuable experience which we'd like to use. Take them there for treatment, then tomorrow report here with the rest of your men, those still fit for combat, and you shall be instructed about your new task, as well as meet your other subordinates. Now, take this scoundrel back."

That was a lot to take in. But at least Nikos was spared from the worst. He stood up from the chair, walked outside, and waited for the two goons that took him here in the first place to escort him back. Just as they were leaving the blackshirt officer called out.
"Oh, and I'm sorry I couldn't treat you to some coffee, Lieutenant! Maybe some other time!"
As Nikos and the thugs slowly walked away, he could only hear the young fascist's cackling laugh. What a long day it was, and it wasn't over just yet.
Now to gather his men and make his way to the Cathedral, even if those radicals saw some of his men as lesser, he was still responsible for them, and it was his fault they ended up beaten and bruised. Hopefully, the priests still left in the city were kinder towards their fellow men.

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

Hopefully, the priests still left in the city were kinder towards their fellow men.

“Good God,” the Rector exclaimed at the sight. “What’s all this?”

“Deserters from the Italian Border,” the guardsman replied, holding up one of the imperial soldiers as a dozen others were escorted or carried towards the medical wing. The hospital and medical chapel of shelter had of late been overflowing, and thus two more locations had been converted into places of rest and care, and a third into a rotating soup kitchen for the infirm, and the poor of the city.

“And they just walked into the city?” the Rector said, hurrying over to one of the unconscious men on a stretcher. He was no older than seventeen. His rank and service regs sewn onto his filthy uniform indicated he’d been in the army for less than a year.

“Apparently, they were looking to fight the good fight.”

The Rector looked up sharply at the guard’s scoff, but privately agreed. That was an extraordinarily foolish thing to do.

“Did they have a leader?”

“He’s being interviewed by the Guard-Captain now. The gate sentry’s impression was he was a naïve patriot. Must have had a hell of a shock when he led those fellows to the black shirts.”

“Monsters,” the Rector murmured. The young solider had been badly beaten about the face and chest. One of his legs was broken and he had been bound at the hands for hours at least. “Get them to the doctors. I’ll check in with the Captain.”

“Sir,” the guardsman shifted slightly as the man he was supporting fainted outright onto his shoulder, “is everything…alright, with the Prince?”

“Unfortunately, my son, I fear not.”

…​

Nikos was far more intimidated by the Άγιος Guard than the fascists. The infantry spoke often about them, and the Varangians. They were elite forces, every one of them with at least two tours of service and a personal invitation to join their special ranks.

They were not best pleased to see imperial soldiers at their doorstep, especially when he told them what had happened.

“You deserted your posts at a time of war, reported to a non-military official and volunteered to command an illegal outfit of private forces to commit war crimes.”

Nikos winced at the Guard-Captain’s tone. Put like that, it really didn’t seem like a wise course of action. A messenger had entered and left before he looked up again.

“Your men are badly hurt. Most of them will not be leaving on their own two feet for some weeks, if at all. Fortunately or unfortunately, we have no facilities to detain criminals for if we did, you will be in a cell facing charges against the Empire and Emperor’s Regulations right now.”

Another knock at the door followed, and the terrifying older man leant back to admit an ancient priest in robes.

“Rector,” he said respectfully.

“I see you have been talking to our latest guest,” the old man said, looking over Nikos.

“A fool. An honest fool, if that helps him some.” The commander of the guard leant back in his chair. “Get out and go get that cut looked at. Do not make any trouble here, or the black shirts will be the least of your worries.”

Nikos did not need to be told twice. He leapt out of his seat and through the door, only to find himself utterly lost in the cavernous halls and confusing maze of halls and passages.

“Come with me,” the old man, the Rector, said, tapping him on the shoulder. “And tell me everything.”

 

[05060403]

Nikos was far more intimidated by the Άγιος Guard than the fascists. The infantry spoke often about them, and the Varangians. They were elite forces, every one of them with at least two tours of service and a personal invitation to join their special ranks.

They were not best pleased to see imperial soldiers at their doorstep, especially when he told them what had happened.

“You deserted your posts at a time of war, reported to a non-military official and volunteered to command an illegal outfit of private forces to commit war crimes.”

Nikos winced at the Guard-Captain’s tone. Put like that, it really didn’t seem like a wise course of action. A messenger had entered and left before he looked up again.

“Your men are badly hurt. Most of them will not be leaving on their own two feet for some weeks, if at all. Fortunately or unfortunately, we have no facilities to detain criminals for if we did, you will be in a cell facing charges against the Empire and Emperor’s Regulations right now.”

Another knock at the door followed, and the terrifying older man leant back to admit an ancient priest in robes.

“Rector,” he said respectfully.

“I see you have been talking to our latest guest,” the old man said, looking over Nikos.

“A fool. An honest fool, if that helps him some.” The commander of the guard leant back in his chair. “Get out and go get that cut looked at. Do not make any trouble here, or the black shirts will be the least of your worries.”

Nikos did not need to be told twice. He leapt out of his seat and through the door, only to find himself utterly lost in the cavernous halls and confusing maze of halls and passages.

“Come with me,” the old man, the Rector, said, tapping him on the shoulder. “And tell me everything.”

"That's not-..."
"I didn't-..."
After telling the guard captain his story, every attempt to correct the misunderstandings ended up futile as Nikos kept getting cut off before getting his word in. It was infuriating, he felt like a child being berated, and just like a child, he could only wallow in his frustration.
Of course, the Guard-Captain wasn't completely wrong, and Nikos was well aware of it all, and it felt pointless to argue, even if the guard was wrong on some details.

"Thank you. Taking care of the wounded is all I ask, not for my sake, but for theirs. None of them deserve what they've gotten."

A sudden knock on the door and an old priest entered the room. Even from his position, Nikos felt it was someone worthy of great respect, so when the Rector entered Nikos saluted the clergyman.
As soon as he was dismissed, Nikos didn't waste time in an attempt to get out, but the Cathedral was vast, far larger than he ever imagined it to be, and the architecture inside was quite beautiful, captivating, even for a simpler, less religious man like himself.
A tap on the shoulder brought the Lieutenant back to his senses.

"Ah, uhm, yes sir. To be quite honest this conflict is tearing the empire apart, and even in Sicily things descended into a form of chaos. Not quite anarchy, but the local government, the local military, they're all confused, unsure of what to do, like a blind man in a vast open space, left alone to search for a path home. I imagine the same is happening in other provinces."

As the two walked through the corridors of the great temple, Nikos pondered if the cathedral was this... marvelous at a dreadful time like this, how breathtaking could it be at a time of peace? How captivating was it during its best of times?
Nikos once again returned from his thoughts, he wasn't sure if the Rector responded anything, he didn't pay attention as he wandered through his thoughts. Regardless he continued to tell his story.

"I did my best to fulfill my duty, for roughly two weeks of the conflict. But every day, sometimes every hour I kept getting new orders, and sometimes two contradictory orders came at the same time. The senior officers didn't know what to do, they squabbled over what line on the map held without any regard for the troops on the ground. So a few times just as we were prepared to move to a new position, we received orders to dig in right where were. It all was infuriating. And it all felt futile. This is the reason I couldn't take it anymore, the nobles who kept squabbling over a line in the sand, those simply born into their position without earning it, without any experience were causing more troubles than they were fixing. I couldn't do anything from Italy, so I thought if I come here I'll at least be able to do my tiny part in ending this madness quickly."

Nikos sighed, his heart felt heavy, and the vastness of this war, the absurdity, and insanity of the conflict weighed the old soldier down.

"I didn't order any of those men to come with me. I would've come alone if they didn't willingly choose to follow me. And had I known what would happen, I would even order them to stay back. But now I'm stuck here, caught in this quicksand of hysteria, trapped by the fascist's paranoia. I didn't want any of this, but if I don't follow the orders of the blackshirts, I fear the worst will happen to those soldiers. I don't care what happens to me, I fully deserve whatever fate awaits me. But the men who came with me deserve none of it. I wanted to join the army forces, but I'll be stuck with whoever the blackshirts assign to me."

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

As soon as he was dismissed, Nikos didn't waste time in an attempt to get out, but the Cathedral was vast, far larger than he ever imagined it to be, and the architecture inside was quite beautiful, captivating, even for a simpler, less religious man like himself.

The leader of these men was typical of the imperial lower ranks, of the imperial lower classes even, to the mind of those who should know better. He looked to be middle-aged and yet had not risen above the rank of lieutenant. A man lacking both family and talent, it seemed.

"Ah, uhm, yes sir. To be quite honest this conflict is tearing the empire apart, and even in Sicily things descended into a form of chaos. Not quite anarchy, but the local government, the local military, they're all confused, unsure of what to do, like a blind man in a vast open space, left alone to search for a path home. I imagine the same is happening in other provinces."

The Rector sighed. It probably was the same all over, more the pity. The power of Rome was in its unity of purpose and spirit. The provinces, already seeing some of their number leave a scant few decades ago, were now being left to fend for themselves yet again. Certainly, all the allies and client states of the Empire would be running wild and free, and really, who could blame them?

In a civilized world in which the citizens lived in, no order meant utter chaos and confusion, not so much a return to Eden as to Babel.

As the two walked through the corridors of the great temple, Nikos pondered if the cathedral was this... marvellous at a dreadful time like this, how breath-taking could it be at a time of peace? How captivating was it during its best of times?

The Rector noticed his wondering gaze and smiled slightly. At least the temple was back to its proper glory and restoration…albeit in time for another host of vandals to ruin it all anew.

The solider seemed to be in a revere of confession, and thus the Rector kept mum and continued to listen.

Nikos once again returned from his thoughts, he wasn't sure if the Rector responded anything, he didn't pay attention as he wandered through his thoughts. Regardless he continued to tell his story.

"I did my best to fulfil my duty, for roughly two weeks of the conflict. But every day, sometimes every hour I kept getting new orders, and sometimes two contradictory orders came at the same time. The senior officers didn't know what to do, they squabbled over what line on the map held without any regard for the troops on the ground. So a few times just as we were prepared to move to a new position, we received orders to dig in right where were. It all was infuriating. And it all felt futile. This is the reason I couldn't take it anymore, the nobles who kept squabbling over a line in the sand, those simply born into their position without earning it, without any experience were causing more troubles than they were fixing. I couldn't do anything from Italy, so I thought if I come here I'll at least be able to do my tiny part in ending this madness quickly."

"I didn't order any of those men to come with me. I would've come alone if they didn't willingly choose to follow me. And had I known what would happen, I would even order them to stay back. But now I'm stuck here, caught in this quicksand of hysteria, trapped by the fascist's paranoia. I didn't want any of this, but if I don't follow the orders of the blackshirts, I fear the worst will happen to those soldiers. I don't care what happens to me, I fully deserve whatever fate awaits me. But the men who came with me deserve none of it. I wanted to join the army forces, but I'll be stuck with whoever the blackshirts assign to me."

“Your men will be staying here, as they have all been unfortunately too injured to leave,” the Rector said calmly, once the soldier had clearly said his piece.

“But-”

“They are far too injured to leave,” the Rector insisted, compelling the younger man to understand.

“I…I see.”

“Good.”

They walked together till they reached the infirmary. Nikos saw a flurry of activity but it barely registered as his attention quickly fastened to the fate of the soldiers.

“Will they be alright?”

“Broken bones and wounds, we can heal sure enough. The damage that has been done to them goes beyond the body, however. Torture is never so lightly brushed off the soul.”

Nikos gulped and looked away, then started as a chaplain approached them.

“You have two large cuts on your face and head that need cleaning,” the Rector said quietly. “And some quiet reflection to recover from the shock. At least a day of rest.”

“The…they said to come back with the men by tomorrow morning.”

The Rector looked at him. “Indeed.”

“They might come looking for us.”

“They might.”

The old man seemed distinctly nonplussed at the idea of the fascists showing up at the gates, and so Nikos decided to trust he was safe. For the moment.

Unfortunately, the stress and stimulant of the situation had been thus far keeping him upright and pain-free, and so, having accepted hospitality, the man promptly keeled over in a dead faint.

“Take care of them,” the Rector said to the waiting medical staff. “I wish…” he tailed off and walked away before finishing.

He nodded to the patrolling temple guards and made his way through to the Patriarch’s offices.

“I hear we have new arrivals?” Alexander said, looking up from some papers he and the Patriarch of Rome had clearly been discussing.

“Yes, Holy Father. From southern Italia.”

“Any problems?”

“Nothing that needs concern you.”

Alexander peered over his reading glasses for a moment, before letting it go. In all honesty, they all had far too much to be getting on with.

“Any headway?”

“Some,” Franciscus replied. “Believe it or not, this has happened before in the millennia of Roman rule. But not so flagrantly as this since the troubles in the classical empire.”

“We cannot refuse to crown him though?”

“No, the Emperor in Constantinople is the supreme governor of the Orthodox Church…although we are looking through the proclamation of Saint Konstantinos the Holy [Konstantinos XI] of 1511. The Unam Sanctum does declare the Ecumenical Patriarch the Sovereign Head of the Orthodox Church and the Christian world, and this is backed up by his later orders to separate the legal code and courts into secular and ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The Emperor is the secular head of the empire, the law, and it could be said, the Church. However, the All Holy is the ultimate sovereign of religious matters throughout the Empire and the Church as distinct from the Empire. “

“And?”

“All legal and political matters since then have relied upon this wording and the opinions of this Emperor, and have never since been changed or diverged, more added to and agreed upon.”

The Rector sat down. “So we could actually tell him no?”

The two patriarchs looked at each other.

“Yes, but it would be opening such an almighty legal and liturgical mess that the Church and State have never wished opened.”

Franciscus explained: “It would be to highlight and make issue of the separation of Church and State. With so many of the Faith outside the Empire now, this would be popular amongst many, but for the hierarchy of the Church, it would open us up to questions about our position on governing bodies, councils, the Senate, the Province Parliaments, our tax status, etcetera.”

“It would also place the Church leaders outside the Empire in a difficult position, as many of them hold important offices in their own lands. Brazil and the former provinces have no end of Archbishops serving in government and in their parliaments and senates.”

“These are questions worth raising…”

“But not now, and not like this.”

The Rector nodded. “So, what do we do?”

“Pray for divine intervention,” the Patriarch of Rome said.

“Pray also that we can handle the Crown Prince and his minders. And hope whoever wins this civil war is smart enough to share our fears.”

 

[Beaverman1]

It was a brisk, cloudy morning in Constantinople. Four Άγιος Guards stood in front of the main door to the Patriarch's Quarters. The quarters themselves a pleasant villa next to the Hagia Sophia. The guards stood in complete silence, however it was soon broken up by the light pitter-patter of rain.

"Have you seen the price of Italian wine?" one asked, just loud enough so that only the others could hear him.

"Shhh!" hissed back another guard, with the same volume.

"I haven't even seen any wine from the peninsula. Hell, any wine at all." whispered a different guard.

"What did I just say!?" the second guard said through clenched teeth.

"Sir, permission to speak." the fourth guard said.

"What is it?!"

"Housekeeping is approaching, I hear their van." meekly responded the 4th.

The leader let out a sigh.

"Also, Italian wine is shit compared to Anatolian, Sir."

The officer chose not to react to that, much to the disappointment of his 3 underlings.

The usual group of nuns approached the guards, followed in tow by a group of actual laborers.
"Good day, gentlemen." The first nun said as they approached the guards. They deftly stepped aside, allowing the posse to enter. Half-way through the captain stopped the group and pointed towards one of the women in the labor group.

"I do not recognize her face, who is she?" the officer asked the first nun. The old sister adjusted her glasses and walked up to
where the guard was pointing.

"Ah, yes! This is Sister Phoebe's cousin. She came to the abbot just this morning seeking shelter. A few of our other helpers haven't reported in
this morning, so we are bringing some of the volunteers from the shelter today." she said in a voice with an elderly quiver.

The officer looked back at the nun. His face showing that he did not like this story. The nun then beckoned him to lean closer to her.

"She told me her story. Her husband and her house burnt down in the ongoing street battles. The poor girl just needs something to do. Something to keep her occupied." she whispered to him.
The nun saw the slight concern pierce the officer's steely gaze.
"Don't worry my son, she will be with me the whole time."
The officer finally relented with a sigh. "Fine... as you were."
"Thank you sweetheart." the old sister said with a smile. Even the officer repricated with a stifled smile of his own.

"Come along now. We have much work to do!" the elderly nun said with surprising enthusiasm.

AGENT TETRAITES HAS ENTERED THE OPERATION ZONE. OPERATION LIGHTHOUSE IS GO.

 

[05060403]

January 20th

The last few days were mostly a haze, Nikos remembers confessing to the old Rector at the Cathedral, walking to the dedicated hospital wing, and then promptly collapsing, all the borrowed energy finally running out. Then he remembers waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panicking and uneasy, but once he realized he was in no danger he went back to sleep.
After regaining his strength, or as much as he could, he reported to the high-ranking blackshirt in the repurposed cafe, the exact details of the meeting were a blur, but it was during that meeting that the old soldier received his orders, and was introduced to his new subordinates, mostly older men too old to serve in the army, and young boys, too young to be accepted into the Imperial forces, but zealous enough to don the fascist's attire. Besides those, there were also men deemed "lesser" by the fascists, those of "impure" Roman heritage. It was with these men, roughly two squads worth, designated the XXXVI and XXXVII Volunteer Infantry Squads, that he was to cross the Bosphorus and eliminate a mortar encampment that was shelling this side of the city. The difficulty of the mission didn't lie in the complexity of the task, but this rag-tag force was scarcely equipped, with old, leftover rifles, hunting rifles, pistols, and a few grenades, but it had to do. And somehow they did it, with minimal losses. And now came the boring part of documenting the action. With a pen in his hand and a piece of paper, Nikos began writing the after-action report.

Record of Events, XV Volunteer Infantry Platoon
January 19th- January 20th
​

The XXXVI and the XXXVII Volunteer Infantry Squads, under the command of Ypolochagos Nikos Stavros, gathered at a wharf located on Flavius Belisarius street. at around 1:30 a.m. Upon checking all the equipment both squads boarded 10 wooden rowboats and began crossing the strait. Upon disembarking on the opposite shore, both squads proceeded on foot in search of the target - an enemy mortar emplacement.

There was a surprising lack of enemy patrols near the shoreline, however, the numbers increased once the squads marched further into the city. Both the XXXVI and the XXXVII avoided confrontation with the enemy forces by allowing the patrols to pass through and by staying behind cover, in buildings, and behind piles of rubble.
At roughly 2:10 a.m. enemy forces noticed the presence of friendly troops and a brief exchange of fire occurred. XXXVI Squad suppressed the enemy while the XXXVII maneuvered around to outflank and eliminate the threat.

The confrontation resulted in minor wounds for five of the soldiers participating in the operation, which were treated on-site. During the treatment of the wounded, the remaining troops scavenged the enemy corpses for supplies, supplementing their own fighting force with two S1-100 Machine Pistols, a Breda Model 30 light machine gun, and six fragmentation grenades.
After consolidating the supplies and treating the wounded, both squads proceeded on foot toward the target.

Upon reaching the target location at 2:37 a.m., the squads found the position heavily fortified with sandbag barricades, barbed wire obstacles, and a machine gun nest in one of the windows, overlooking the entrance to the emplacement.
In order to limit possible casualties, the XXXVII squad was detached and ordered to cause a distraction a few blocks down to pull away enemy forces while the XXXVI squad prepared for the assault.
At 2:58 a.m. sounds of a firefight and explosions could be heard a few streets down, and a large section of rebel forces left the encampment to investigate. After waiting for a few minutes to give the enemy forces time to move away the XXXVI squad launched the attack and was able to push through and overrun the defenders, securing the emplacement.
The mortar crew attempted to flee but were quickly killed. Explosive charges were placed and detonated, causing significant damage to the structure and rendering it unusable, as well as destroying the equipment of the mortar battery.

The XXXVI squad then withdrew from the area, reconnected with the XXXVII squad, avoided enemy patrols, and made their way back to the wharf where they had originally disembarked. Upon arriving, they boarded the rowboats and made their way back across the strait to friendly territory.
​

Results:
​

The raid was a resounding success, with the enemy mortar emplacement destroyed and the crew killed. The successful execution of the diversionary tactic ensured that the enemy was caught off guard and unable to mount a significant defense.
Friendly troops suffered minor casualties during the raid, with one soldier sustaining a minor shrapnel wound, and six soldiers suffering non-fatal gunshot wounds. All casualties were treated on-site and remained in combat condition.
​

Lessons Learned:​

The use of diversionary tactics proved to be an effective means of achieving surprise, and should be considered in future operations. The quick and decisive action taken by our troops was instrumental in the success of the raid, and further training should be conducted to ensure all soldiers are able to respond appropriately in high-stress situations. Furthermore, the flexibility offered by the use of small-scale units provided the tactical advantage to achieve success with such a low casualty ratio, and deployment of further units of similar size should be heavily considered.

Submitted by:
Ypolochagos Nikos Stavros Commanding Officer, XXXVI, and XXXVII Volunteer Infantry Squads.

 

[Idhrendur]

(( Those who are enjoying the interactive parts of this should also check out https://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/threads/suryavamsavali-an-iaar.1563922/ ))

 

[Michaelangelo]

Somewhere outside Venice
January 1936

Artemisia Favero had calmed down somewhat by the time her second cousin Paolo and a servant returned with the tea. She had spent the last ten minutes sitting in silence, while Giuseppe Lombardi read a newspaper one of the servants had brought for him. At times she had thought to speak up, but decided against it. Giuseppe seemed content to keep reading, acknowledging that Artemisia needed time to process her thoughts. She had come to the Favero estates expecting to find ruins, not her family home restored and in the hands of relatives who had sided with the Italian separatists. Part of her was still indignant, seeing her cousin prosper while her father suffered from being separated from his home for so long. Yet another part of her could not fault him. Paolo had not even been alive when the Favero estates had been seized. She knew more than most that the grudge of a father did not need to be held by their child. Why should she fault this man for something that had not been his decision to begin with? And she supposed she should not blame part of her family for siding with the separatists. It would not have been easy to give up everything and go into exile like her father had. Not everyone was willing to give up everything for principles.

The servant handed Artemisia a cup of tea, which she took with a word of thanks. She took a small sip, enjoying the hint of ginger as her cousin Paolo plopped down into an armchair across from her. He watched her carefully, appraising her temperament, seeing as they had been about to butt heads before he left the room. Deciding to be the better person and move on, she let out a content sigh at the pleasant taste of the tea and said to her cousin, "Thank you for the tea."

A grin spread across Paolo's face and he relaxed in his chair. He let his two guests enjoy their tea for a moment, eyeing them both. "I must say that I was surprised to have a relative visit so unexpectedly, even more so in the company of a good friend."

"As I said before," Artemisia said between sips, "I came here to see my father's old estates." She glanced over at Giuseppe. "How do you two know each other?"

Paolo grinned again, admiration in his eyes as he looked over at Giuseppe. "Why Giuseppe here is an up-and-coming politician and I am his most dedicated supporter. He's going to fix this country and I am doing everything in my power to ensure that he has the chance to do just that. Isn't that right, Giuseppe?"

Giuseppe nodded as he looked down into his cup of a tea with a smile, reminiscing on some distant memory. "I wouldn't be here without Paolo. We met just as I was entering politics. He shared my vision and has generously funded my campaign ever since. Italian politics is riddled with corruption these days and you'd be surprised how difficult it is to get anywhere without either the backing of the elite or a lot of funding."

"You're underselling yourself," Paolo said. "You had plenty of supporters before I showed up." He looked over at Artemisia. "Giuseppe is quite popular amongst the lower ranks of the army these days."

"They support me because I was one of them and understand their plight," Giuseppe said matter-of-factly. "The army was overrun with foreign elements controlling the highest positions in the military. They used their position to keep the average Italian in their place, even going so far as to coup the government. While the army's control of the government has been removed, it is understandable that there is still foreign influence in both the army and government that must be purged. The hardworking Italian soldier can sense this and desires nothing more than throw off these shackles and gain control of their own destiny. I intend to see the nation reforged to best serve the Italian people first and foremost."

Artemisia had watched Giuseppe carefully as he was speaking. She couldn't help but notice the passion in his eyes as he spoke of the army and his vision for Italy. It was perhaps the first time she felt she saw somewhat into the mind of this man she had just met. He meant every word he said, and he fully intended to carry out his plans for Italy. It was a deep-seated ambition that she hadn't noticed until now. Men with such ambitions could prove dangerous, but if he truly had the best interests of the Italian people at heart, then perhaps this would benefit them all in the end.

"Well said," Paolo said, lifting his cup to acknowledge the truth behind Giuseppe's words before taking a sip. He crossed his legs, eyeing Giuseppe with a half-smile. "Don't forget though who it is who got you here. There are those in this country other than the working man who would see a reborn Italy unified under a strong leader, preferably one of a more regal nature."

Giuseppe gave a wan smile. "I have not forgotten, my dear friend. I will see Italy freed from this mire it has found itself stuck in and reborn in its newfound glory. How that is best achieved will be decided by the people who are willing to take up the call."

"Well here's hoping that they take up the call sooner rather than later," Paolo said, "before the turbulence of the current government drags us all under."

Giuseppe gave a stern nod. He then glanced over at Artemisia, seeming to assess her reaction to all this. A hint of concern on his face, he said, "I hope this talk of Italy does not bother you, what with your father's position on Italy's fate."

Artemisia couldn't help but smirk at that comment. Of course they would want to tiptoe around this topic, with her father being the most diehard supporter for the restoration of Italy to the empire. A strong unified Italy would not be a good thing if her father ever wanted his goals realized. Yet that was her father's vision, not hers. Having grown up in a generation that had never known a fully unified and stable empire, she had acquired varying opinions on the matter, ones she refrained from sharing in the presence of her family.

"I am not bothered at all," Artemisia said. "It is only natural for the people of any country to want to seek what is best for themselves. If that requires an independent Italy separate from the empire, then so be it."

Paolo nearly dropped his teacup at that statement, while the only reaction from Giuseppe was the subtle raising of an eyebrow. Artemisia shrugged. "Did you expect me to be a diehard imperialist like my father, demanding that the empire be restored at all costs?" She let out a chuckle, shaking her head. "I may be young, but I have learned enough to know that the empire has become decadent and out of touch. Resting on its laurels, and with such a massive empire ruled by a single distant figure, it is only natural that certain parts of the empire felt they were not receiving the attention or respect they deserved. And when they finally aired their grievances, rather than addressing them the imperial government decided the best course of action was to force them back into the fold. Should the parent who neglected and ignored their children be surprised when those same children decide to leave the home and never turn back?"

When Artemisia finished, silence filled the room for a good minute. Paolo's mouth remained agape, while Giuseppe gave her a respectful nod, admiring her principles. Eventually Paolo broke the silence once he regained his senses. "Well that was not the response I was expecting, especially from the woman who was berating me earlier for calling her father a traitor."

"I am not my father," Artemisia said, adjusting the folds of her dress. "I can view the empire with a critical eye and see its faults. I mean, we are seeing the empire dragged into yet another civil war. Is that the sign of a strong and stable empire worthy of ruling the civilized world? The imperial family does what it wants with impunity and with a lack of accountability. Perhaps that was fine a few centuries ago, but it is no longer feasible in this modern age."

Giuseppe ever so subtly leaned forward in his seat. He placed his teacup down on the table and stared into Artemisia's eyes. "Perhaps we share a similar vision."

Artemisia met his gaze with cold determination. She could sense him assessing her, judging her worth. All men did that, no matter what they claimed. She had always had to prove herself. Yet there was something different here. She could see that same passion from earlier in Giuseppe's eyes, not directed at her but the words she had spoken. This was a man who did not have time for superfluous flirtations when he was already married to a cause. That ambition sent chills down her spine more than if he had been interested in her for less honourable purposes. Eventually she leaned forward and said, "Perhaps we do."

Paolo looked back and forth between his two guests, trying to figure out what was going on between the two. Lacking the awareness to grasp it in the end, he let out a light-hearted laugh and said, "Why don't we discuss something other than politics. It becomes such a droll topic after a while."

The three remained in conversation for another hour or two, discussing their lives and other details. Artemisia slowly let down her guard, although she still had difficulty tolerating her cousin's smugness. When it became late, Giuseppe gave Artemisia a ride back to her hotel. The car ride was a bit more lively than the one to the Favero estate, with the two continuing their discussion from the manor. By the time he dropped her off, she felt that she had a much greater understanding of this complex man, although she could still sense there was something being held back that he was not willing to reveal. She brushed it off as she entered her hotel room, her mind wandering to another topic. Perhaps it was time that she let her father know that she was alive and safe before he died of stress. She took up a pen and paper and wrote a short letter to her father.

 

[Beaverman1]

Patriarch's Quarters

The young woman pushed a cart with the nun throughout the lavishly dressed villa. The small courtyard contained all manner of plants from the familiar to the exotic, all of them beautifully maintained. A monk was tending to one in particular. She saw it was a smaller plant, one with a bloom of a deep purplish, red. The flower itself looking like the maw of a mythical monster.

Above them were articulately designed stained-glass windows, each one depicting an Apostle or a Saint. Some were in the old Byzantine style, while some where modern, having incredible similarities to real people. The vibrant colors of the windows seemed to glow, despite the gray weather outside.

Each pillar the two walked passed were wrapped in a meticulously kept ivy that somehow made the columns seem rustic and pristine at the same time.

They walked past a clock, the time was almost noon.

"Quite an exquisite place isn't it dear?" The old nun mumbled. "A true testament to the enginuity the Lord blesses us with."

"Indeed." the woman replied meekly, still taking in the architecture.

"I've always enjoyed tending to these quarters. Each piece of this place is from somewhere the Empire calls or used to call its domain."

The lady listened silently.

"The marble in these columns were from Tuscany. The older stained glass came from Acre. The newer ones from Barcelona. Even those plants come from everywhere, from the New World to East Asia."

"The Church is rather influential." is all the lady could muster.

The nun chuckled "I suppose you could say that dear. I prefer to think of it as a testament to God's domain. While the basilicas and cathedrals maybe grandiose and bodacious monuments to God's grace." she paused and caught herself staring at the impressive garden. "This is the closest thing to the true wonder of the Lord. The closest we can get to a Garden of Eden. The closest we can come to being true stewards of God's Domain... maybe if others could see that. Maybe there wouldn't be rebellious provinces, maybe there wouldn't be this royal feud. Maybe there wouldn't be war." the nun said, her kind face slowly turning to a frown.

Almost on cue, a low, deep chanting began to echo through the breezeway. Byzantine Chants the woman assumed.
"Ah, it must be noon. Come dear, we still have quite some work to do." the sister said, snapping herself out of her dour mood.

After a few minutes, the two entered the chambers of the Patriarch of Constantinople. It was remarkably well kept, he must not have been here much recently.
"Ah he must still be busy," whispered the nun "Oh the boundless energy of youth!" she continued with a chuckle. "We shall just dust the furniture and change the sheets dear. Best not disturb his business too much."

The younger woman proceed to dust off the various types of tables, dressers and so on in the room. The older woman proceeded to walk over to the bed and remove the sheets.

They were done in a relatively quick amount of time. Finally the nun walked over to his desk and pulled out a drawstring bag.

"What is that?" asked the other.

"During the time of the troubles, the Patriarch of that era drank a special type of wine from the coast of Sicily during his nightly business. I had noticed the bottle one day and decided to leave one in his chambers once a week for the entire time of the troubles. Even when we had to flee the city, I still made sure he could enjoy one glass a night." The nun remained silent for a moment. "It might sound strange, but I like to believe that the wine he had was lucky and helped bring the Empire out of those dark times. Maybe the new Patriarch can enjoy this beverage too. Or it can least bless him with any luck, something I'm sure he'll need in these trying times too."

"I would have never expected that kind of superstition from someone of the cloth." the woman said in return, making sure not to sound ungrateful for the help she had received.

The nun let out another chuckle "Believe me dear you don't become as old as I am without some wine, luck, and a little bit of superstition." she said coyly with a wink.

The nun turned to the service cart and proceeded to lead it out of the room. "Are you coming dear? We have more quarters to attend to."

"Coming!" said the other woman, walking up to help her push the cart.


Trebizond

Justinian stood next to Irene's desk. His cane leaning on the side of her desk.

"I'm just saying IF I fall, I know you are going to help me up." Justinian said, his grip tight on the edge of the desk.

"Can't you bother anyone else about this?" Irene said back, not looking up from her typewriter.

Justinian took that as confirmation and let go, putting his full weight on his injured leg. It stung, but it was much more manageable. He was about to try walking when the telephone in his office began to ring

"Looks like I'll have to keep my audience in suspense for a little longer." Justinian said looking back just in time to catcher Irene rolling her eyes.

Grabbing his cane he hobbled over to his desk and answered the phone. The operator started immediately.

"Priority 1 message, confirm?" The operator asked.

"Confirm."

"Message reads: Agent Tetraites extract equals successful. Operation Lighthouse equals success. Full after action tonight. 17:00 hours."

"Thank you operator."

Justinian ended the call and leaned back in his chair. Smiling smugly to himself.

"The first brick has been lain, on the road that leads to Rome."

 

[zenphoenix]

January 20th

The last few days were mostly a haze, Nikos remembers confessing to the old Rector at the Cathedral, walking to the dedicated hospital wing, and then promptly collapsing, all the borrowed energy finally running out. Then he remembers waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, panicking and uneasy, but once he realized he was in no danger he went back to sleep.
After regaining his strength, or as much as he could, he reported to the high-ranking blackshirt in the repurposed cafe, the exact details of the meeting were a blur, but it was during that meeting that the old soldier received his orders, and was introduced to his new subordinates, mostly older men too old to serve in the army, and young boys, too young to be accepted into the Imperial forces, but zealous enough to don the fascist's attire. Besides those, there were also men deemed "lesser" by the fascists, those of "impure" Roman heritage. It was with these men, roughly two squads worth, designated the XXXVI and XXXVII Volunteer Infantry Squads, that he was to cross the Bosphorus and eliminate a mortar encampment that was shelling this side of the city. The difficulty of the mission didn't lie in the complexity of the task, but this rag-tag force was scarcely equipped, with old, leftover rifles, hunting rifles, pistols, and a few grenades, but it had to do. And somehow they did it, with minimal losses. And now came the boring part of documenting the action. With a pen in his hand and a piece of paper, Nikos began writing the after-action report.

Record of Events, XV Volunteer Infantry Platoon
January 19th- January 20th
​

The XXXVI and the XXXVII Volunteer Infantry Squads, under the command of Ypolochagos Nikos Stavros, gathered at a wharf located on Flavius Belisarius street. at around 1:30 a.m. Upon checking all the equipment both squads boarded 10 wooden rowboats and began crossing the strait. Upon disembarking on the opposite shore, both squads proceeded on foot in search of the target - an enemy mortar emplacement.

There was a surprising lack of enemy patrols near the shoreline, however, the numbers increased once the squads marched further into the city. Both the XXXVI and the XXXVII avoided confrontation with the enemy forces by allowing the patrols to pass through and by staying behind cover, in buildings, and behind piles of rubble.
At roughly 2:10 a.m. enemy forces noticed the presence of friendly troops and a brief exchange of fire occurred. XXXVI Squad suppressed the enemy while the XXXVII maneuvered around to outflank and eliminate the threat.

The confrontation resulted in minor wounds for five of the soldiers participating in the operation, which were treated on-site. During the treatment of the wounded, the remaining troops scavenged the enemy corpses for supplies, supplementing their own fighting force with two S1-100 Machine Pistols, a Breda Model 30 light machine gun, and six fragmentation grenades.
After consolidating the supplies and treating the wounded, both squads proceeded on foot toward the target.

Upon reaching the target location at 2:37 a.m., the squads found the position heavily fortified with sandbag barricades, barbed wire obstacles, and a machine gun nest in one of the windows, overlooking the entrance to the emplacement.
In order to limit possible casualties, the XXXVII squad was detached and ordered to cause a distraction a few blocks down to pull away enemy forces while the XXXVI squad prepared for the assault.
At 2:58 a.m. sounds of a firefight and explosions could be heard a few streets down, and a large section of rebel forces left the encampment to investigate. After waiting for a few minutes to give the enemy forces time to move away the XXXVI squad launched the attack and was able to push through and overrun the defenders, securing the emplacement.
The mortar crew attempted to flee but were quickly killed. Explosive charges were placed and detonated, causing significant damage to the structure and rendering it unusable, as well as destroying the equipment of the mortar battery.

The XXXVI squad then withdrew from the area, reconnected with the XXXVII squad, avoided enemy patrols, and made their way back to the wharf where they had originally disembarked. Upon arriving, they boarded the rowboats and made their way back across the strait to friendly territory.
​

Results:
​

The raid was a resounding success, with the enemy mortar emplacement destroyed and the crew killed. The successful execution of the diversionary tactic ensured that the enemy was caught off guard and unable to mount a significant defense.
Friendly troops suffered minor casualties during the raid, with one soldier sustaining a minor shrapnel wound, and six soldiers suffering non-fatal gunshot wounds. All casualties were treated on-site and remained in combat condition.
​

Lessons Learned:​

The use of diversionary tactics proved to be an effective means of achieving surprise, and should be considered in future operations. The quick and decisive action taken by our troops was instrumental in the success of the raid, and further training should be conducted to ensure all soldiers are able to respond appropriately in high-stress situations. Furthermore, the flexibility offered by the use of small-scale units provided the tactical advantage to achieve success with such a low casualty ratio, and deployment of further units of similar size should be heavily considered.

Submitted by:
Ypolochagos Nikos Stavros Commanding Officer, XXXVI, and XXXVII Volunteer Infantry Squads.

Nicomedia - January 20

Ioannes looked over the paperwork Paul had sent him.

"There's no sugarcoating it, Megas Domestikos," Paul said, "Those blackshirts got the drop on us."

"So, you're telling me that a bunch of untrained men, with nothing to their credit but their radicalism, managed to cross the Bosphorus from Diplokionion, take out an entire mortar crew that was aiming at that part of the city, and then cross back with no fatalities?"

"Yes." Paul didn't hesitate. "I must take full responsibility for this. The crew was Navy, and the mortar was one of our coastal batteries we moved from the northern coast—"

"Admiral, it's just one mortar," Ioannes said, "We can replace it, eventually. And you still have your ships, right?"

"But the crews can't be replaced as easily."

"We'll make do, Paul. I know we will."

"How do we prevent future incursions like this one?"

Ioannes looked over the report. "The way I see it, it seems our organization on the capital East End was lacking. We lacked patrols on the shoreline, having assumed any major offensive would come across the bridges. The enemy strike force then proceeded to avoid the patrols they did find, showing our existing coverage is lacking. They then created a diversion to lure away any reinforcements that could have protected the mortar crew. Clever, for blackshirts. Didn't think they had it in them."

"The blackshirts in the city aren't organized or competent enough to carry out such a sophisticated operation," Paul said, "Conventional military troops and officers had to have been involved."

"Which is worrying. That means Konstantinos is already deploying his regular troops in the capital, while our defenses are lacking."

Ioannes laid a map of the city on his desk and drew a circle around the location of the destroyed mortar. "Here is their target. The mortar." He next circled an area a few blocks away. "The distraction, here." He then drew a line back to the mortar, and from there he drew a line back to the waterfront. "If they meant to draw away forces from the area, they wouldn't lure them closer to their extraction point. This route here might not be the exact one they used, but it's the one I'd use to avoid my own patrols. I'm going to double the patrols in this area. Add more machine gun nests on the waterfront, as well as patrols there. Paul, can you move your smaller ships into the strait and conduct your own patrols?"

"What, like the Limitanei?"

"Yes, the Limitanei. Didn't you temporarily absorb them into the Navy?"

"Yes, but we only have a few patrol boats in the Bosphorus right now—"

"I want them to begin regular patrols of the straits ASAP. Make sure to cover all hours of the day. Especially nighttime. If you come across any enemies attempting to cross, you are clear to shoot on sight."

Paul nodded. "Of course, Megas Domestikos."

"Don't blame yourself for what happened," Ioannes said, "We're all at fault here. But God willing, we're not going to let it happen again."

Some were in the old Byzantine style,

((FYI, the word "Byzantine" as in the Byzantine Empire would have never existed in this timeline as it was only invented a hundred years after the Ottoman conquest. For the specific style, I imagine they'll probably use another name based on either what it looks like or who was the emperor at the time.

Edit: fixed some bad history here.))

Trebizond

Justinian stood next to Irene's desk. His cane leaning on the side of her desk.

"I'm just saying IF I fall, I know you are going to help me up." Justinian said, his grip tight on the edge of the desk.

"Can't you bother anyone else about this?" Irene said back, not looking up from her typewriter.

Justinian took that as confirmation and let go, putting his full weight on his injured leg. It stung, but it was much more manageable. He was about to try walking when the telephone in his office began to ring

"Looks like I'll have to keep my audience in suspense for a little longer." Justinian said looking back just in time to catcher Irene rolling her eyes.

Grabbing his cane he hobbled over to his desk and answered the phone. The operator started immediately.

"Priority 1 message, confirm?" The operator asked.

"Confirm."

"Message reads: Agent Tetraites extract equals successful. Operation Lighthouse equals success. Full after action tonight. 17:00 hours."

"Thank you operator."

Justinian ended the call and leaned back in his chair. Smiling smugly to himself.

"The first brick has been lain, on the road that leads to Rome."

Trebizond - January 31

Justinian was bothering her again. Irene did her best to ignore the man, instead focusing on her typewriter. She had dealt with men like him before. He was no different.

"I'm just saying if I fall, I know you are going to help me up." Justinian kept his hand on her desk, way too close for comfort.

Irene sighed and rolled her eyes. "Can't you bother anyone else about this?" Go bother the women in the computations department down the hall. Lord knows they love a man with a war wound.

Fortunately, Justinian took that as his cue to leave. I guess he does know when to stop. At least for now. He straightened up and returned to his office, where his phone had started ringing. "Looks like I'll have to keep my audience in suspense for a little longer."

Irene made sure that Justinian noticed her subsequent eye-rolling. Then the man returned to his desk and picked up the phone.

"Confirm."

Seriously, what did Auntie see in this guy? I'd have thrown him into field duty, leg injury be damned.

"Thank you, operator." Justinian hung up and leaned back in his chair, grinning widely. "The first brick has been lain on the road that leads to Rome."

Must be his work. I don't deny he gets results, but seriously, can I just get my own office? I'll have to ask Auntie about it later.

 

[Damian0358]

Aotearoa, South Island - January 23rd

For the Thaddai and Waata families, the past two days had been spent in as much peace as much as stress. An excursion out to the Aotearoan countryside, away from the hustle and bustle of Komnenion and Otago, witnessing the silent beauty of nature, was bound to be of some help, but everyone present, from Timon and Kyrene, to the Waata in-laws, couldn't help but wonder what Nestorius was thinking.

Much of Ol' Ness' usual jolly had vanished at this point, and while he seemed to enjoy the sights, everyone noted how he kept looking in one direction. Looking above the sights, far beyond the horizon, as if attempting to look towards the one place truly on his mind - home. For all involved, it seemed surreal in some way.

Whenever they returned back to the Waata home to rest, Nestor would always ask for his favorite station, known for soothing jazz, to be played over the radio, before sitting down in the living room lounge chair and just... remaining there, listening to the music. This pattern continued on until the 23rd.

That Thursday evening, another long day had been spent out in nature, yet it seemed nothing would help. Nestor returned to the chair to listen to the music which seemed to at least serve as another coping mechanism. Kyrene's family requested her aid around the back of the home, and Timon found himself joining his father in the living room.

The two sat quietly as the music continued playing, before abruptly, Nestor seemed to stand up without reason. Before Timon could ask him what was going on, he spoke: "...I could use a snack."

Timon watched as his father left the living room, following him soon after into the kitchen. Timon seemed to note that his father seemed familiar to the fact that the pantry there had biscuits, presumably the ones he enjoyed snacking on back home at the estate in Komnenion.

"...lend me that stool," Nestor pointed, with Timon swiftly bringing it over to him. He watched as his father ascended the stool, using his cane as a balancing aid.

Timon stood by as he watched his father began reaching into the pantry, breathing heavily as he attempted to locate the biscuits. As the seconds passed by, Nestor seemed incapable of finding them, struggling to reach for anything resembling them. Timon began looking increasingly concerned as it seemed his father was exerting himself far beyond what he should.

"H-hey, m-maybe we can wait until the others are back until-"

"I can find them!" Nestorius yelled back at his son's attempt to stop him, in an almost confused tone. "Why can't I find them? he thought to himself. Were they not there anymore? That can't be right... right??!

And in one sudden motion, just as Nestorius thought he had finally found them, an awful cough erupted from his mouth, forcing him to bend forward, nearly losing his balance on the stool.

"FATHER!"

Timon just barely stopped his father from falling over from the stool, though Nestor would drag his body weight from parts of the pantry, causing foodproducts to fall over onto the floor, making a mess. Timon could hear his father struggling to maintain steady breath, as he clutched at himself in pain. He leaned him back onto the stool and against the wall, rushing to the nearby window. He yelled out for his mother to come quickly, as Nestor looked upon the broken package of biscuits on the floor.

Thereafter, Kyrene called for an ambulance, to get him to Otago as quickly and discreetly as possible. They needed to keep what had just happened on the downlow, at least until they figured out what was ailing Nestor. But unfortunately, as they moved him from Otago to Komnenion, the news would spread.

At both HQs, at home, and at the hospital in Komnenion, as the days passed, Hindemith's Trauermusik would play, to mourn now not just the Emperor, but the ill Nestorius Thaddas.

Spoiler

This event actually fired on the 13th of January, but it seemed more appropriate to have it occur after the death of the Emperor, hence the scene being set later.

 

[05060403]

Nicomedia - January 20

Ioannes looked over the paperwork Paul had sent him.

"There's no sugarcoating it, Megas Domestikos," Paul said, "Those blackshirts got the drop on us."

"So, you're telling me that a bunch of untrained men, with nothing to their credit but their radicalism, managed to cross the Bosphorus from Diplokionion, take out an entire mortar crew that was aiming at that part of the city, and then cross back with no fatalities?"

"Yes." Paul didn't hesitate. "I must take full responsibility for this. The crew was Navy, and the mortar was one of our coastal batteries we moved from the northern coast—"

"Admiral, it's just one mortar," Ioannes said, "We can replace it, eventually. And you still have your ships, right?"

"But the crews can't be replaced as easily."

"We'll make do, Paul. I know we will."

"How do we prevent future incursions like this one?"

Ioannes looked over the report. "The way I see it, it seems our organization on the capital East End was lacking. We lacked patrols on the shoreline, having assumed any major offensive would come across the bridges. The enemy strike force then proceeded to avoid the patrols they did find, showing our existing coverage is lacking. They then created a diversion to lure away any reinforcements that could have protected the mortar crew. Clever, for blackshirts. Didn't think they had it in them."

"The blackshirts in the city aren't organized or competent enough to carry out such a sophisticated operation," Paul said, "Conventional military troops and officers had to have been involved."

"Which is worrying. That means Konstantinos is already deploying his regular troops in the capital, while our defenses are lacking."

Ioannes laid a map of the city on his desk and drew a circle around the location of the destroyed mortar. "Here is their target. The mortar." He next circled an area a few blocks away. "The distraction, here." He then drew a line back to the mortar, and from there he drew a line back to the waterfront. "If they meant to draw away forces from the area, they wouldn't lure them closer to their extraction point. This route here might not be the exact one they used, but it's the one I'd use to avoid my own patrols. I'm going to double the patrols in this area. Add more machine gun nests on the waterfront, as well as patrols there. Paul, can you move your smaller ships into the strait and conduct your own patrols?"

"What, like the Limitanei?"

"Yes, the Limitanei. Didn't you temporarily absorb them into the Navy?"

"Yes, but we only have a few patrol boats in the Bosphorus right now—"

"I want them to begin regular patrols of the straits ASAP. Make sure to cover all hours of the day. Especially nighttime. If you come across any enemies attempting to cross, you are clear to shoot on sight."

Paul nodded. "Of course, Megas Domestikos."

"Don't blame yourself for what happened," Ioannes said, "We're all at fault here. But God willing, we're not going to let it happen again."

(( Technically a battery implies at least 2 mortars/artillery pieces, usually more, but 2 at the very least. ))

Constantinople, January 21st

"Looks like your little raid stirred the hornet's nest, Lieutenant!"
The overly sweet, fake voice shook Nikos awake from his deep rumination. He's gotten used to the blackshirt's commander voice. He didn't like it one bit but hear someone enough and become numb.

"Yes, at this rate another raid like that won't be possible. Not with those patrol boats about."
A rational reaction. By the book, not very imaginative. Probably a high-ranking officer, someone who doesn't always see the chaos of a battlefield, Nikos thought.
"But I already have an idea of how to deal with them. Well, some of them, I doubt they'll keep falling for the same trick once they suffer the initial losses."

"Oh? And what that might be?"
Hook line and sinker, just like that Nikos managed to gain a bit of leverage over that bastard. It might've not been much, but it was the first time Nikos could feel in control of the situation when dealing with this man. And once he would be fully in control, he'd make sure this twisted radical gets brought before the court-martial. Surely the military would understand. Surely once the Crown-... No, he's now the Emperor, when he hears of the atrocities, he'd do something.

"Yes, but I'll need to go visit one of the men who came with me in the Cathedral hospital. A sapper, you know. I need to get his opinion on the matter."
The blackshirt commander raised his brows in a questioning manner, gesturing with his hand to Nikos to continue his explanation.
"But the gist of it is - we take a look back in history, we rig some of the rowboats with explosive, prepared bomb ships. Once the patrol craft gets close - kaboom. Scratch one PT boat."

"Yes, yes that's very lovely. But they'll sink your little rowboats before they get close."

"I'm willing to take that risk if the boat has some decoys-..."

"They'll still shoot until it sinks, but you know, Lieutenant, you gave me an idea. I can help you with your little plan, so you worry about your part. I'll handle mine."

And just like that the black shirt left, leaving Nikos with a knot tied in his stomach. Whatever that man had planned sounded ominous, twisted. But it waslatelater to stop him. If Nikos could even do that. The soldier mulled over those dark thoughts while he headed to the Hagia Sophia. The guards thoroughly checked him, and he could feel them looking at him with disgust. He came to accept that feeling, the best way to redeem himself was through merit, he'd do everything in his power to clean the name of the Imperial Army and detach it from the fascist militants.
Finally arriving at the bed of the wounded soldier, Nikos sat down and waited a moment in silence for his subordinate to sit up before giving him a firm handshake and a salute.

"You feeling okay well, Diakos?"

"Aye, still hurting all over, Lieutenant, but I'm getting better. And what brings you here? I thought you'd be busy running errands."

"Well, that's partially why I'm here. I'm sorry to bother you, but I need to know how much explosives you'd need to take down a Limetani patrol boat. And how long the detonator cables can be, can they survive underwater?"

The sapper pondered for a moment, stroking his bushy beard, the only noise coming from other patients and a clock ticking away seconds.
"I think I know what you're planning. It could work. 250lbs or so worth of TNT should do. Easy enough to come by. The cables should be able to take it if they're kept shallow enough and the boat is slow, distance shouldn't be an issue as long as you have enough wire."

"Thank you, Diakos. That's all I needed from you. Now focus on resting and getting better."

And with a plan in his head, the old soldier headed back to inform his... Supervisor about the details, and what he'd need. It would take until the evening, nearly nighttime for them to meet again. At which point Nikos was greeted with a disgusting sight - tens of men, women, and children tied up, gagged, and kneeling on the ground.

"What is the meaning of this?!"
Nikos roared in fury, his face turning red. This man, no, this rat is truly despicable, whatever plan this black shirt scum has come up with was surely truly disgusting.
"These are imperial citizens! It's our duty to protect them, not whatever you're doing to them!"
And just like that the Lieutenant turned on his heel and was ready to leave until two fascists strongarmed him into staying.

"Oh don't you worry, Nikos, my friend. These aren't Romans, they're disposable. At least this way they'll serve the Empire in a useful way. Do you want to know why they're here? Don't answer that."
The black shirt leader snickered, clasping his hands before pointing towards one of the men tied up on the shore."
"That man - he's a communist. That woman? Italian. She sought a better life. Like Rome would ever accommodate a traitor and her spawn. And they're all like this. Not a single pure Roman among them. So we'll send them to those who welcome them."

"No!"

"Oh yes, they'll surely be treated much better on the other side. If they make it of course. Alright men, commence the operation!"
Signaling with his hand, the fascists began to load some of the tied-up people onto boats. But not all. Some of them were cut loose before being shot in the back of their heads and sat in the tiny wooden rowboats. It was a massacre, a disgusting act of mass murder. And when the many, many boats were prepared, they were sent off towards the other end of the strait, with both the alive and the dead - but all heading towards the same destination - sure death at the hands of the rebel troops. But at this moment Nikos truly began to doubt he picked the right side to fight for.

January 22nd

Whatever the rebel's reaction to yesternight's operation was, Nikos knew without a doubt that every single one of those soldiers on the patrol boats would think twice about shooting. But the thought of so many innocent lives lost lingered in the Lieutenant's consciousness. He could only hope that at least a few made it safely to the other side.
But it was a war, and the enemy still needed to be defeated. So Nikos prepared to launch his gambit, to make the rebels hesitate to patrol the strait this heavily.
Nikos ordered his "volunteer" troops to prepare some more wooden boats, drill a hole in the bottom and connect the detonator cables to a prepared explosive on the boat, then seal up the hole to ensure it stays afloat long enough. Then decoys were put in, to make it look like the boats are full of people, at least at a glance - at night it'll be harder to tell, even with a searchlight directly illuminating the boat, and with the events of yesterday? Some of those crews surely would sail close enough to get caught in the blast.
And so at exactly midnight, the bomb ships were launched into the middle of the straits, at various points of the shore. It took some time, but eventually, Nikos could hear some explosions going off, be it from his soldiers detonating the charges, or the patrol craft shooting and detonating the explosives from afar. One, two, three, four, six, ten, elev-... A loud ringing pierces Nikos's ears as the bomb ship nearest to him blew up. The Lieutenant turned toward the source of the sound only to see a burning patrol boat in the middle of the strait, illuminating the dark night, and he could hear the screams of the burning crew. Poor bastards, they were just following orders.
But that's at least one down. Soon men charged with detonating explosives started arriving to give their reports - failed to destroy the target, failed to destroy the target. Most of the reports he heard that night were like this. Most of the bombs failed to sink the enemy crafts, either by not detonating, by being disarmed in time, or simply by being gunned down after being examined from a distance.
But two men reported something different, one claimed to have sunk another ship, a big gaping hole being left in the hull, and one claimed minor damage, which while not ideal was still a better result than most others.
Now to wait for the rebel's response, thinning out the patrols is all he needed to see, leaving him an opening to exploit to conduct another raid. But Nikos couldn't stop wondering - where are the heavy machine guns, where's the allied artillery to strike those pesky patrol craft? Why are so many soldiers here so pathetically underequipped? Do the Imperial forces care so little about the Capital?

 

[Michaelangelo]

((Private))

Private Journal of Donatello Favero
January 21, 1936

After three weeks, we have finally received the news we have all been dreading: the Emperor is dead. Assuming this news is true and not a machination of Konstantinos to cement his position, this has dealt a great blow to our cause. As long as the Emperor lived, we could accuse the Crown Prince of overstepping his father's authority and demand an end to this conflict to allow the Emperor to mediate. Now with his death, we must acknowledge that the matter of succession may work against us. As the eldest son, Konstantinos is next in line for the throne. This conflict has now changed from a fight between two princes to a fight between the new emperor and crown prince. This change in dynamic will only aid Konstantinos's cause, for now he has the power of the crown backing him, and can accuse Prince Alvértos of attempting to supplant him. We must tread carefully moving forward or risk losing what support we have left.

Our options are limited in how we can undermine Konstantinos's position. We could claim that his actions against his own brother and the senate constitute acts of treason. However, this is a dangerous path, for unless we can justify that his actions constituted treason against the crown, we could instead end up damaging the institution of the crown. We would instead be claiming that Konstantinos is unfit to rule because of his actions or temperament, and thus oppose the principle that the emperor is appointed by God through divine right. Even implying that the people have a say in who rules over them will undermine the crown irreparably. I do not believe this worth the risk, for we may never be able to recover from the damage that would be caused to the crown.

The best path forward then seems to be to raise doubt around the circumstances of the Emperor's death. While I despise the idea of using the Emperor's death to our advantage, it is our best way to undermine Konstantinos's position and dispute his claim to the throne. Suggesting that Konstantinos is responsible for the Emperor's death would provide one of the few legitimate excuses for removing Konstantinos from succession, for the murder of one's sovereign is inexcusable, let alone one's own father. The difficulty comes with not knowing whether the Crown Prince is responsible for the Emperor's death and not having access to the body to prove it. For now all we can do is suggest the idea and hope that enough people believe it.

Even as I contemplate this strategy, I find myself hesitant to consider the possible implications if the Crown Prince is not responsible for the Emperor's death. If the Emperor died of natural causes and the current conflict was just a matter of bad timing, then this would mean that Konstantinos remained the heir and thus the crown is his by the laws of succession. This would mean that we now oppose the lawful emperor and our movement loses all legitimacy. How am I to reconcile my personal feelings against Konstantinos's actions with the fact that God chose him to rule? I have always dedicated my life to serving the crown, and now I may find myself working against it. I feel deep regret that I find myself desiring that the Crown Prince is actually responsible for his father's death. It will make the coming days that much easier to tolerate knowing that our cause is truly just and we are not all opposing the will of God to put a madman on the throne. And even if he isn't responsible, I find myself now committed towards perpetuating a lie for the sake of the empire and the crown. May God have mercy on us all.

- Donatello Favero

* * * * *

Private Journal of Donatello Favero
February 1, 1936

The last month has been most trying, but I have finally received news that has put my mind at ease. A letter from my dearest Artemisia arrived yesterday. It gladdens my heart to know she is alive and unharmed, although I still fear for her safety. She remains abroad and seems intent to continue to do so. I suspect the reason she sent a letter rather than attempt to reach me by phone is to avoid the inevitable conversation where I attempt to persuade her to return to her family. I would be much happier if she was in Valencia with Caterina, but she has always been a stubborn child and I am not surprised that she uses this opportunity to avoid her duties and responsibilities. I can only pray that she uses common sense and does not put herself in danger during these difficult times. If anything were to happen to her, I do not know if I would be able to forgive myself.

- Donatello Favero

 

[TheButterflyComposer]

"You feeling okay well, Diakos?"

The guards thoroughly checked him, and he could feel them looking at him with disgust. He came to accept that feeling, the best way to redeem himself was through merit, he'd do everything in his power to clean the name of the Imperial Army and detach it from the fascist militants.

[[Got a feeling that the church will know what the guy has done. That redemption might just be impossible now...]]