The Day a True Anniona Was Born
Babylon, outside Baghdad - April 3
“Taking heavy fire! We lost tank 11!”
“The enemy formation has flanked us from the north! Requesting orders!”
Börte stared at her screen as her teams radioed in, each message accompanied by the roar of engines and gunfire. Dots were arranged on her screen, each representing the IFF of a tank or infantry unit. At the top of the screen—oriented with the west facing up—was the enemy, which had dug in on the outskirts of Babylon. The Crusaders still controlled large parts of the village and the surrounding ruins, exploiting the Yavdians’ hesitation to damage the ruins. The General Staff didn’t care about that and instead ordered Börte to throw a tank squadron straight into the village proper, towards the enemy base. She protested that her tanks weren’t meant to be deployed this recklessly, and her crews were exhausted from the long march from Taurica, but her concerns were dismissed.
Vittu
, my crews can’t fight like this. “Pull back tanks 5 and 7 from the southern flank to reinforce the north. Concentrate mortar fire on grid D2.”
“On it, ma’am.”
She turned back to her screen. Two of her dots had immediately broken off from the left to join those on the right. One enemy dot on the right edge disappeared, having been destroyed. But then three more dots appeared.
“The enemy has breached F4!”
“Reinforce F4 with tank 3!”
Three of her dots flickered out. “Tanks 2, 3, and 6 are no longer transmitting IFFs!”
“How?”
She got her answer when she noticed the three new enemy dots were nowhere to be seen. “Tengri above…they’re doing suicide runs.”
Another enemy dot appeared, on an intercept course with tanks 1 and 9. “Take out the bogey in A1 ASAP! The enemy’s self-destructing their tanks!”
However, a second later, all three dots disappeared. “Tanks 1 and 9 lost!”
Less than half her assault force remained. But if only they could just pierce through the main line of defense, they could make an opening for infantry to storm the base. “Continue the assault. We need to break through.”
Her remaining five tanks charged upwards, towards the enemy lines.
“Taking heavy artillery fire! Tank 5 sustained minor damage to its left tread!” 5 started drifing off to the left.
“Maintain your course!” Börte ordered. “Take out as many of the enemy artillery as you can!”
Two enemy dots disappeared. “Our artillery took out two of their guns.”
“Press them against that weak spot. Pull back tank 5.”
5 fell back to the rear of the Yavdian formation, while 4, 7, 8, and 10 charged into the newly created opening. The enemy formation began crumbling. Red dots flickered out three at a time. Tank 8 succumbed to a Crusader counterattack. Tank 10 followed it a minute later. Five more red dots disappeared. 4 and 7 charged straight into the center of the enemy line, drawing all of their fire. More suicide bomb vehicles converged on 4 and 7, but Börte knew they would not arrive in time. 4 fired its main cannon, destroying the last of the enemy artillery. 7 used its machine guns to cut down any remaining Crusaders. Seconds later, the five suicide bombers reached their targets and detonated, taking 4 and 7 down with them. The screen went dark, with the only signal coming from tank 5.
The radio crackled. “Target neutralized. The 125th and 126th Infantry are now moving in to secure the base. Good work, General Börte.”
Börte slumped back in her chair and sighed. “My crews…you threw them away like they were nothing…”
“Don’t worry, General. They can rest assured knowing their families will receive Persian citizenship. Now be a good soldier and secure the base.”
Those monsters.
Naqsh-e Jahan Square, Isfahan - April 4
The crowd’s roar was deafening—pedestrians several blocks away had to cover their ears. With so many people packed into the square and proudly waving Persian flags, it was hard to believe the place was once occupied by Crusader troops. And these were only a handful of the few thousand who had been cleared to return home so far. The roar only intensified when Murad Mozaffar appeared onstage and stepped up to the podium, with Ali Qapu Palace and a row of Persian flags set behind him. He politely held up a hand, and the crowd calmed down.
“Thank you all for your support, my fellow citizens,” he said, “And to the brave defenders who brought us victory in Operation Slaying of Zahhak, we thank your service and sacrifice. Today, we are here to honor those defenders. Without their service, we would not be here today, free of the Roman jackboot. Many Persians gave their lives to defend this nation and the values we hold dear to us. Once, they were just like us—husbands, wives, children, siblings, parents. Then Jerusalem and China attacked, and they answered the call to action. The call to national duty. As Persian citizens, they were free to live as they chose. Yet in our nation’s darkest hour, they chose to put themselves in the line of fire. Some even made the ultimate sacrifice for Persia.
“I would like to everyone assembled here today…what did they die for? Let me tell you, there can only be one answer: they died to defend our nation and people. To protect our freedom and honor. So that we can gather here today, alive and free and with our honor intact. What death could be more honorable than that? My fellow citizens, we must keep this sacrifice first in our hearts and minds. The Frashokereti, the final battle between good and evil as foretold in the Avesta, is upon us. Jerusalem, the servant of Angra Mainyu, seeks to plunge the universe into an eternity of wickness and evil. But we Persians, the last people of all humanity who remember the teachings of Zoroaster, can still walk the path of goodness that Ahura Mazda set before us all. The brave men and women of Slaying of Zahhak already made their choice when they stood against the forces of Angra Mainyu in these very streets two days ago. Let us all make the same choice. Let us all choose the path of good and stand with Ahura Mazda against the wickedness of Angra Mainyu and his Roman lackeys! Let us all serve our nation, the one beacon of good and freedom amid a sea of evil and chaos. Let us fight honorably for our motherland!”
He thrust a fist into the air. “
Pâyande Bâdâ Irân! Glory to our heroes! Death to Jerusalem!”
“
Pâyande Bâdâ Irân! Glory to our heroes! Death to Jerusalem!” The crowd raised their fists in response.
“Persia’s strength lies in its people!” Mozaffar said. “When all of Persia is united around the same cause, we are unstoppable. We fought Athens and Sparta, and then we fought the Latins, and then we fought the Germans! Never have we submitted to Roman rule, and we are not about to start now! That is why I urge all of you to remember the legacy set by the great shahs: Darius the Great, Cyrus, Xerxes, Mithridates, Shapur II, Khosrau, Alp Arslan, Yunus, Saltuk, Furuzan. I call upon you all to once again answer the call to national duty, to advance towards the same goal, that of freeing the world from the Roman yoke and the grip of Angra Mainyu! Freedom is not something that is given for free—it is earned by the worthy, by those willing to defend it against the wickedness that seeks to destroy it. So earn your freedom! Earn Persia’s freedom and defend it honorably! Real freedom lies in service to the motherland, to Ahura Mazda, to the goodness of humankind!”
He thrust his fist in the air again. “
Pâyande Bâdâ Irân! Down with the Roman tyranny! Let’s free humankind!”
Patriotic cries echoed out across downtown, easily heard even many blocks away.
Moshtagh Park Flower Garden
Alex lounged on the picnic blanket, taking in the sights of the river flowing past. Thea, meanwhile, sketched blueprint ideas in her notebook.
“You know, you should relax more, Thea. Especially after two days ago.”
“I can’t.” Thea didn’t look up from her notebook. “We gained so much useful data from the operation.”
“We almost died too,” Alex said, “I’ve had too many guns pointed at my head for one lifetime already.”
“I know, I know,” Thea said, “But I’ve got so many new ideas. If we can just get back into our lab—”
“Why don’t we just…slow down? Watch everything pass by? Please, Thea. We’re supposed to be resting today.”
Thea finally looked at Alex. “Alright, alright. Fine.”
“Put down the notebook.” Alex gingerly took the notebook out of Thea’s hands.
Thea laid on the blanket and nibbled on a sandwich. “So what did you have in mind?”
“I just want to relax.” Alex looked at the river. “Get away from the city life. You smell the dirt?”
Thea sniffed the air. “Yeah, I smell it. They’re planting some trees nearby. Why’d you want me to smell dirt?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, “It’s like…ahhh…the fresh air of the countryside.”
Thea laughed. “I never took you to be a farmboy.”
“I’m not,” Alex said, “But both of my parents always wanted a slower life. My mom grew up in Frankfurt in the ‘60s, when her neighborhood was still surrounded by open fields and some woods. My dad’s family owned a house near Mainz, far out from the main city. I used to go there often. The nearest neighbors were a five minute drive away. It was just fields rolling on and on. But the thing I loved most about that house was the river behind it. My dad and I would just sit in the Impala, the windows rolled down, and watch the water flow past. Whenever we did it, we didn’t need to worry about field work, homework, or whatever. We just sat there and took things slow.”
“I never could to do that.” Thea fidgeted with her pencil. “My family acted like nobility. Teslas dedicate their lives to the company, one way or another. We’re not allowed to act…beneath our station, as Theodor once said.”
“Good thing he’s the one being tried for crimes against humanity and not you,” Alex said, “That part of your life is over. You don’t have to worry about acting beneath your station. I mean, you did meet me.”
“I suppose so,” Thea said, “But old habits die hard. It’s hard for me to slow down. I always feel like I have to do something. Some kind of work. Or else my time will be wasted.”
“Thea, the worst is behind us.” Alex took Thea’s hand. “Theodor’s in custody. He won’t harm us again. Tesla Dynamic is far away from us, in Jerusalem. When we take down Jerusalem—and we will, I know it—we’re taking Tesla Dynamic down with it. Just as Mina wanted.”
“Wouldn’t that be ironic, a Tesla heiress destroying her own birthright.”
Alex chuckled. “I guess so. But that’s in the future. Today? Let’s just take a breather. The last two days have taken their toll on us.”
He laid down next to Thea and pulled her in for a hug. “We can just pick up tomorrow.”
“But the lab, and the war, and the research, and the testimony, and Mozaffar, and—”
“Let’s just stay here for a moment.” He held her closer.
Unfortunately, not five seconds later, a voice interrupted him. “Hey, is that Dorothea Tesla?”
Alex and Thea got up and saw a woman approaching them.
“Who are you?” Alex asked.
“Ah, so that’s Dorothea Tesla,” the woman said, “Looks just like her war criminal brother.”
Thea adjusted her shawl. “
Excuse me?”
“You’re so lucky you’re in Persia, freeloader. The spoiled Shahbanu gives you everything for free while us taxpayers are left to fight over scraps.”
She stepped closer, and Alex put himself in front of Thea. “Hey, what’s your deal?”
“It’s because of you that Persia’s in its current state.” The woman didn’t slow down.
“I think you should leave,” Alex said.
“Go back to Jerusalem, Tesla
jende! You are not welcome here!”
Alex clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “What the
frak did you just call Thea?”
“Oh, you’re defending a war criminal? I suppose you Romans are all the same.”
“SHUT THE FRAK UP!”
“No,
you shut up! Mozaffar’s going to take this country back from the dishonored Shahbanu and her Roman puppetmasters, and you monsters are going to get what you deserve!”
If it was just her, Alex wouldn’t have cared too much. He had put up with plenty of anti-Roman Persians in the five years since he arrived in Isfahan. He had heard worse. But the thing that angered him the most was that a few of the other picnickers on the riverbank were shouting their agreement.
“Yeah! She tells it like it is!”
“Mozaffar will save Persia!”
“Humanity will be free!”
“
Pâyande Bâdâ Irân!”
“Down with the Roman tyranny!”
And then there was that woman standing in front of him, with a smugness on her face. A wide smile like that he had seen many times before. Theodor had it. Josh had it. Elias Anhorn had it. His heart sunk when he realized what that meant. He had fled Jerusalem five years ago, but it was happening here as well. Before he knew it, one foot had stepped forward, and then another. Then his fist drew back, ready to punch. A rage bubbled up to his head, twisting his face into a grimace. He hadn’t felt this much anger since that fight in middle school, long ago.
“YOU TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT—” He felt a hand grab his arm. Alex turned around and saw Thea holding him back.
“Alex,” she said, “It’s not worth it.”
“What do you mean it’s not worth it, I have to—”
“Alex.” Thea’s voice was unwavering. “You’re acting like Josh again.”
At the mention of that name, Alex’s rage left him. He put down his fist and relaxed.
“Let’s just go somewhere else,” Thea said.
“Yeah, sure,” Alex said.
They walked away. As Thea went to pack up the picnic blanket and their food, Alex turned back to the woman one more time. “But seriously, frak you!”
Bremerhaven - December 24, 2037 (16 months ago)
“You have to go!” Eva said. “You can’t stay here, Julian!”
“Yes I can!” Julian replied.
“You’re still a kid! I don’t want you to die here!”
Julian crossed his arms. “Sis, I’ve survived the last four years. I can easily go another four. I’m not a child anymore!”
“Still, this is no place for someone like you,” Eva said, “This is an active warzone! You can achieve much more in exile!”
“Yeah, by speaking to Scandinavians about war crimes from whatever scraps of news we get out of Jerusalem.” Julian scoffed. “Here, I at least can trust my eyes. I know what the people are going through here. And I can lead them through this crisis.”
“There might not be an opportunity to lead them tomorrow. You know the ultimatum. You know what the committee’s planning. I don’t want you to be caught up in that. I don’t want you to die.”
“If I die, I’ll die for the truth.”
It’s what Anders Humboldt and Angela Hansen would have wanted.
Eva sighed. “You forgot what I taught you. No death in battle is glorious. The only good death is one of old age.”
“You also said it’s my duty to act in the interest of others.” Julian pointed out a window overlooking downtown Bremerhaven. “I can’t just leave this city when people here are dying on the streets. I have an obligation to protect them.”
“You already evacuated most of the city. Now it’s your turn to follow them to safety.”
An air raid alarm blared, the loud siren echoing across the deserted downtown streets. Angelica burst into the room, interrupting their argument. “Quickly! To the bunker!”
“Are you sure that’s it?” Eva asked.
Angelica nodded. “Positive. They haven’t done any air raids since last week. This has to be the one we’ve been expecting. I knew they would backstab us.”
Their word means nothing, just as we expected. They were going to nuke us all along. “Okay, let’s get to the bunker.”
They rushed downstairs to the basement. Angelica pushed aside a bookcase to reveal a thick metal door. She put in the combination code, and the door unlocked with a quiet hiss. Angelica tried pulling it open, but she couldn’t. “Damnit, what’s going on?”
“The opening mechanism may have malfunctioned,” Eva said.
“Well, isn’t that just great? Hopefully the other bunkers are doing better. We’re running out of time.”
“Allow me, then.”
“What do you mean?”
Eva clutched the side of the door and pulled with all of her strength. With Julian and Angelica pushing on the other side, they managed to get the door open wide enough to get through. They all entered the bunker but soon realized the door wasn’t closing behind them. All three tried pulling it closed, but it refused to budge.
“It’s not closing!” Angelica said.
“Let me check,” Eva said.
She walked back out and observed the hinges, finding they had been jammed by debris. Without hesitation, Eva picked up a bar and began prying the debris out of the gears. Angelica took another one. “Let me help.”
Eva shook her head. “No. As soon as the gears are no longer jammed, the door will swing shut very quckly. You’ll have to be on the other side before then.”
“What are you saying?”
No…it can’t be…
“I’m saying whoever unjams the door…has to stay outside,” Eva said.
“No, that’s not true,” Angelica said, “We can clear it and make a run inside.”
“There’s no time!”
“You’re going to die. That bomb will drop any minute now.”
“I know, which is why I want you or Julian to get inside.”
“Eva, what are you saying!” Julian said.
“I’m saying I want you to live. Angelica, get inside and look after Julian.”
“Are—are you sure?”
Eva was adamant. “We have no choice.”
“We just got you back, sis!” Julian pleaded. “I don’t want you to die!”
“And I don’t want you to die either.” Eva struck the hinges one more time, dislodging the last big piece of debris. On cue, the door swung inward with a startling speed. Angelica barely had enough time to run back inside before it slammed shut and securely locked, trapping Eva outside. Julian desperately banged on the door and pulled on the locking mechanism, hoping he could somehow unlock it. “Eva! Please!”
He could still hear Eva’s voice from behind the reinforced steel. “I’m sorry, Julian. But I think this is the end for me.”
“You can’t leave me. Not again!”
“It had to happen at some point.” Eva didn’t sound scared at all. There was a kind of calmness and stoicism in her voice. “Can you promise me one more thing, Julian?”
Julian tried to hold back his tears. “What is it?”
“The moment an opportunity arises to leave this city…leave. You have your whole life ahead of you. I don’t want you to waste it on one city.”
Julian steeled himself, resigning himself to his sister’s fate. “I…I promise.”
Eva laughed. “Thank you, Julian.”
At that moment, the ground shook violently, and a bright light shone through the tightly sealed sides of the door, followed by a roaring explosion. Then it seemed like the ground itself reached up and slugged Julian in the face.
How can this be happening?
Anders and Angela are gone…and now Eva…
Now I’m dying too.
Before I’ve had a chance to do a single thing with my life.
It’s gone in a heartbeat…
When he surprisingly regained consciousness, he was sprawled on the floor. The lights were flickering, at least those that hadn’t been completely destroyed. Debris was scattered across the floor. Cracks ran up and down the walls. Alarms blared from deeper inside the bunker. Julian felt what seemed to be dust in his throat and immediately coughed it up, shooting upright. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like anything was broken, although his body ached all over. He heard Angelica coughing and groaning a few feet away.
“
Aïe!” she cursed. “
Zut alors, that frakking hurt!”
Julian walked over to her. “Angelica! You’re okay!”
“Julian?” Angelica said. “What…what happened?”
“The nuke fell,” Julian said.
“Welp, there goes Bremerhaven,” Angelica said, “It was all for nothing in the end.”
“Eva…” Julian looked back at the door, imagining what was left on the other side. “Sis…”
“She’s gone, Julian,” Angelica said, “We can’t dwell on that forever.”
“I know, but…”
“We need to move. If they took out Bremerhaven, they could target other places in the Reich. My mom lives near rebel Norman territory. I need to find her.”
Julian just stared at the door. Angelica got to her feet.
“Look, you can stare all you want until you starve to death. I’m leaveing as soon as the radiation drops to safe levels. Be there or not, I won’t be waiting.”
She walked away. “I’m going to find some supplies.”
Julian was left alone in the room. As much as he wanted to cry, no tears flowed from his eyes. He wanted to feel sad, but his mind was still too rattled. It seemed like his sorrow had gone away as soon as he had been knocked out. Instead, he felt another emotion building within him. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He pounded the door once, harnessing his rage into a new goal.
“I swear… I swear, Anders, Angela, Eva, Angelica, so help me. One day, I will obliterate Jerusalem!”
That was the turning point.
Since Bremerhaven, I’ve lived a lie, the lie of living. Everything about my old life vanished that day.
Perhaps the old Julian died that day.
I am sick to death of this world that rewards evil and punishes good.
But even after shrouding myself in lies, I refused to give in to despair.
Now I have no choice but to step up. The responsibility is mine.
Well, then…if this world rewards evil, then perhaps I need to step into the darkness myself.
Downtown Isfahan - April 5, 2039
The smell of hashish hung in the air of the dimly lit gentleman’s club, accompanied by traditional Persian music played by a band in the corner. As Julian and Angelica walked in, they noticed that all of the patrons wore business suits, and there was no patron under the age of 40. There were also no security cameras—the patrons valued their privacy, and the establishment respected that, to Julian’s advantage.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” Angelica said.
“I need to get answers without drawing attention,” Julian said.
“Remind me why
I’m here?”
“In case I need someone to shoot things.”
“Really reassuring, Julian.”
“It’s Julius, at least for today.”
“Why not get Tani or one of the other soldiers?”
“Tani’s too high profile, and the rest are in the field. You were the only option.”
Angelica rolled her eyes. “After what we went through in Bremerhaven, I’m still an ‘only option’?”
“Blame Mozaffar.” Julian scanned the club. It took him five seconds to find the man they were looking for. “There. Senator Javid Afshar. High ranking member of the National Persian People’s Freedom Party.”
“Mozaffar sure loves grandiose names.”
Julian scoffed. “Suits a man of his ego. Anyways, Afshar chairs the Subcommittee of Royal Affairs. Among other things, it allocates funds to royal institutions like dedicated medical facilities.”
“Like the one where Wilhelmina and Gunduz are being held in.” Angelica caught on quickly.
Officially, the two royals were being treated for their injuries from the battle. However, nobody had been allowed to see them. No photos were provided. Neither of them had issued any statements. As regent, Mozaffar issued statements on Gunduz’s behalf, but they were rare, and when they did appear, they were dry updates on the lack of improvement in her health. Izinchi, Kresge, and Gebhard had been too tied up with constant Majlis hearings to investigate, which left only Julian.
“Exactly. He would know where that facility is, or at least have a paper trail.”
“But how do we get the information out of him?”
Julian pointed at Afshar again. The older senator was sitting at a table, playing chess with what appeared to be a young man in the uniform of the Isfahan University of Technology.
“I’ve read up on Afshar. He loves chess. He comes here every week to play against the college interns. Of course, he always picks opponents he can easily beat, because he’s not a pro. I’m pretty sure most of the students at Isfahan Tech are more familiar with our Kaiserin’s favorite tactics video game than actual chess. And when they lose, their internships are…extended, to put it lightly.”
“So you intend to…play against him?”
“Persian culture heavily emphasizes personal honor, and Afshar embodies that mentality. He may be arrogant, but on the off-chance he does lose, he will do anything to preserve his honor. He’s gone to extreme lengths to cover up anything in his career that makes him look bad.”
“And that doesn’t scare you?” Angelica said.
“Scare me?” Julian chuckled. “I can’t afford to be scared.”
They approached Afshar’s table, watching as the ongoing game entered its final stages. Afshar made his next move, moving his rook across the board, then hit the timer. “I believe that’s check.”
The intern scanned the board, nervously trying to figure out a way to get out of check. He reached for a bishop, but he pulled his hand back.
“I do believe we’re running out of time.” Afshar tapped his fancy wristwatch. “From here on, you’ll have a maximum of 20 seconds per move. I am a busy man, after all.”
“Uh…uh…” The intern finally moved a knight to take Afshar’s rook. Afshar responded by moving his queen down the other side of the board.
“And that is checkmate.” The senator leaned back and smiled smugly. “A good game. Entertaining enough. I’ll make sure to put in a good word with your boss. I do believe your parents can afford an extra year of tuition.”
The intern hurried away. Afshar looked up and noticed Julian and Angelica. “Ah, and who might you be?”
“Hmph.” Julian condescendingly cleared his throat. “Well, look what we have here. A politician.”
“Another student, huh? You also looking for a letter of recommendation, or do you just want to prove yourself to your mom?”
“I’m not his—” Julian cut Angelica off.
“I’m here to play,” Julian said, “I assure you, on my honor, I am a much better player than the last guy.”
“Kids these days…” Afshar took a whiff from his large Mayan cigar. “You guys have so much time to interrupt the hard work we adults do. We’re the ones keeping this country going during this war, and all you kids do is complain and party. But I’ll humor you. What’s your name?”
“Julius,” Julian said, “Julius Andersen.”
Angelica’s eyes widened when she heard that last name.
So help me Anders. Julian sat opposite Afshar, and they set up the chessboard.
“Are you sure about this, Julius?” Angelica asked.
Julian winked. “Aunt Angie, when do you think we would have to leave in order to make it back to campus on time?”
Angelica was taken aback at “Aunt Angie,” but she played along without hesitation. “Uh…I’d say about…twenty minutes?”
“Good.” Julian cracked his knuckles, already planning out his strategy. “We’ll need only 9 minutes.”
“Ah, a man who understands the busy schedule I’m on,” Afshar said, “I almost feel sorry for you. You do know you’ll also have only 20 seconds per turn, right?”
“It’ll be enough.”
“What will the wager be? Go on, I’m feeling generous.“ Afshar’s crocodile-like smile widened.
He’s so confident he’ll win, he doesn’t care what I say.
“I’ll tell you when I win,” Julian said.
“Ah, a confident one. It’s been a while since I’ve played against a confident boy. This is going to be fun. You are aware of what you’ll pay up when I win, right?”
Julian looked at the intern from several minutes ago. He was busy serving other patrons and taking away empty dishes, all the while being laughed at and mocked.
Presumably on minimum wage. “Of course. It wouldn’t be honorable if I didn’t know, would it?”
“Good, you understand.” Afshar gestured to the board. “I’ll let you have the first move.”
The game began. As soon as Julian was able to, he moved his king forward. Afshar raised an eyebrow, confused.
“What? You’re starting with your king?”
Julian shrugged. “Is there a problem with that?”
“No, it’s just that…I’ve never seen anyone do that.”
“Well, I’m not your average player.”
The battle began in earnest. Pawns dropped like flies. Knights jumped everywhere, while rooks, queens, and bishops sniped and trapped their enemies from half the board away. Julian sacrificed more and more pawns, intentionally luring out Afshar’s most important pieces before hitting them from where the senator would least expect them. Although the main battle now took place on Julian’s side of the board, Afshar’s formation fragmented and splintered into multiple groups, separated by a web of Julian’s pieces, each of them backed up by at least two other pieces so that taking one would invite instant retaliation. A dozen extra scenarios played through his head as he calculated every possible move Afshar could take, his possible countermeasures, Afshar’s resulting response, the countermeasure to that, and so on up to 10 moves in the future. Afshar fought hard, but he had never recovered from the confusion of Julian moving his king. Julian could tell that the senator was still trying to figure out what tactical value that provided, even 15 moves in. It was throwing off his concentration, and Julian exploited it ruthlessly. Chess was a microcosm of war, after all—if there could be no mercy on the battlefield, then the same was true in chess.
Nine minutes passed, and Julian moved his king for the second time, completing his entrapment. On his next move, as Afshar moved his own king to avoid what he feared was an attempt at stalemate, Julian moved a knight in from the side to target the enemy king. “With this, I call checkmate.”
Afshar’s eyes widened. “Impossible, you can’t have checkmated me. That’s not right!”
“On the contrary, take a look at the board.” Julian pointed at each piece. “My knight is directly putting your king in check. Moving to any space to your left will put it in range of my rook or my other knight as the other half of the
kataphraktoi gambit. Move up or directly to the right and you’ll intercept my bishop over in the corner there. Move down, and my queen covers those spots. Which leaves only the upper right—where my king is.”
“No, you must have cheated!” Afshar pounded the table. “How could I lose to a mere boy like you?!”
Julian maintained his composure and straightened his collar. “I don’t believe that is honorable sportsmanship, Senator Afshar.” He gestured to the other patrons in the club. “You do know nobody forgets grudges in the Majlis, right?”
Afshar opened his mouth, but no words came out. He slumped back in his seat, slowly coming to terms with his defeat. “So…you’ve beaten me…” He finally spoke, sounding completely deflated. His smile was gone.
“I do believe that means I’m entitled to my wager, right?” Julian said, taking on his vanquished foe’s smugness. “Unless you aren’t a man of honor.”
“Yes…of course…”
Julian leaned over the table. “I want to know the location of Her Majesty the Kaiserin of the Romans, Wilhelmina IV, and Her Majesty Shahbanu Gunduz II.”
Several minutes later, Julian and Angelica left the club. Julian looked over the napkin in his hands, on which an address and the names of several individuals and companies had been hastily written.
“Okay, so how do you know those names and addresses are legit?” Angelica asked. “For all we know, he could have just written down whatever he felt like.”
“Afshar isn’t that kind of man,” Julian said, “There was this time when he was a first-term representative to the lower Diwan and he made a promise to either get an infrastructure bill passed or resign. The bill failed, so he resigned. Was unable to get back into the Majlis for another ten years, but whenever the media asked him about it, he never regretted doing so. A man like him always keeps his word. We’ll get the information we need.”
“Also, that first move you made…” Angelica said. “Leading with your king as soon as possible. Why’d you do that?”
“What do you mean?” Julian said.
“It didn’t seem like it needed to be done. You could have moved it at any point in the game without changing your strategy, so why do it almost immediately?”
“You misunderstand me, just like Afshar,” Julian said, “I didn’t do it because I needed to, but because I wanted to.”
“And why’s that?”
“To set a symbol. To show him who I am and what I believe in.”
“And what’s that?”
Julian stopped. “If the king doesn’t lead, how can he expect his subordinates to follow?”
Elsewhere
“Taking heavy fire! We lost autoritter 11!”
“The Indians have flanked us from the north! Requesting orders!”
Julius watched his screens intently as his knights radioed in, each message accompanied by the roar of engines and gunfire. At the top of the radar screen—oriented with the west facing up—was the enemy. The Indians still controlled large parts of the surrounding area, banking on his forces’ reluctance to directly attack the habitat domes. But Julius knew exactly how to deal with them. He had already predicted the enemy’s strategy.
“Lady Neumann, reinforce the north. Take the drones with you. All units, turn off IFFs!”
“My lord!” Angelica’s voice came through the speaker. The screen highlighted the IFF of autoritter 5. “Are you sure?”
“I know what I’m doing,” Julius said, “Now, Emperor Julius von Anniona commands you! Execute my order!”
“Yes, my lord!” One by one, the IFFs of Julius’ autoritters disappeared from the radar. Not that Julius needed them—he could remember where they were on his own, accounting for their movements.
“Autoritter 4, move behind that ridge in P1,” Julius said, “7, engage the two enemy contacts near you and then disengage, pulling back to 4. When you see them nearing the ridge, 4, shoot through it.”
“As you wish, my lord.” He heard a quick burst of gunfire, and then the two Indian IFFs disappeared.
“5, target G28. 2, fire your missiles on R7. 8, drop your mines in B3. Neumann, continue your advance.”
“Alright, men, advance, for the glory of His Majesty and the Empire!” Angelica said. “We are His Majesty’s sword! Let’s bring it down on our enemies!”
Many had already died in this battle, on both sides. There were many knights who had valiantly given their lives to get Julius this far. Missiles and artillery could only do so much without damaging habitat domes or exposing the underground tunnels below, where the bulk of the population lived, to the thin atmosphere. Now it was the job of the knights to break the enemy’s formation. His men and women attacked from where the Indians least expected them, taking advantage of the terrain to split them up and overwhelm them without fear of reprisal. Even so, Julius had a dozen backup strategies cycling through his mind to account for anything that might come up. A change in the enemy’s strategy. The enemy being unusually incompetent. A freak change in the weather. Equipment malfunction. Lady Neumann somehow being defeated. That last one was unlikely—the Valkyrie of Alençon, the Reich’s first and best autoritter pilot, who had proved autoritters as a viable technology and set the standards of autoritter combat, had never been bested in combat. But it was not impossible. Julius had a contingency plan should that scenario come to pass.
As the battle raged on and more and more of the enemy fell, Julius observed that the Indians had never recovered from his initial offensive. They had always been playing catch up to them, fixing problems as they came up, not stopping them from happening to begin with. To borrow an expression from Angelica that he didn’t understand, it was like plugging the holes of a sinking ship. Their concentration was off trying to win each tactical engagement. They couldn’t even think about the strategic level anymore. Julius exploited that ruthlessly in the next step of his plan. There could be no mercy in war. Once everything was in place, Julius leaned back in his chair. “It’s time to make my move.”
He flipped a switch, and the cabin lurched, rising off the ground with a mechanical whir. Control mechanisms clamped down around his arms and legs. He stood up, and with it his autoritter—the Sigurd—also stood up. For a moment, he could almost feel the sunlight warming the Sigurd’s metal; the dry wind blowing against it, ever so often scratching its red and black paint scheme with motes of red dust; the cold red dirt crunching underneath the carbon-silicon composite “feet.” With a casual flick of his hand, the Sigurd extended a blade from its arm. “Turn IFF on, visible to all frequencies.” Soon, the enemy radio was abuzz with chatter.
“Enemy contact, it’s the Sigurd!”
“The boy tyrant has been located!”
“Eliminate him, for the revolution!”
Curling a toe, the Sigurd rose a little more as its wheels deployed and then descended slightly as the main body folded downward to lower the autoritter’s center of gravity. Then it was off as he bent his knees forward. The Sigurd sped across the red wastes of the Xanthe Plain, throwing up a large cloud of dust in its wake.
“All available units, converge on the Sigurd! Their false emperor must not leave this battle alive!”
Julius laughed. “What fervent opposition. How hollow their boasts ring. It will do you no good.”
He stopped the Sigurd at the designated location. The radar screens now showed several dozen IFFs closing on him.
“Like moths to a flame,” he said, “Just as I predicted.”
“Concentrate your forces on the Sigurd!”
“Surround it, then destroy it immediately!”
“Do not let him escape!”
“It’s isolated from the other Austrian units! Now’s our chance!”
“More like
my chance,” he said, “Come a little closer…”
The Indians closed in, and now he could see the dust clouds of their tanks and APCs on his video screens, not just the radar.
“Visual contact on the Sigurd!”
“Hold on, something’s not right! Where are the other Austrians?”
“Don’t worry about that, move in and engage!”
“Death to the emperor! Long live the people!”
Now the enemy was right where he wanted them, in B3. He raised his hand. “With this, I call checkmate.”
He snapped his fingers, and the mines in B3 detonated. In an instant, and without the Sigurd’s weapons even firing a single shot, all of the Indian IFFs disappeared. The enemy’s radio frequencies filled with panicked screams and then static. Julius’ face twisted into a mad grin.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” he cackled. “It worked! You’ve done it again, Julius! You can save this planet!”
A new transmission came through. “Lady Neumann here.”
“Ah, have you completed your mission?”
“Yes, my lord.” Angelica could barely contain her pride. “Xanthe has fallen. The local Party chairman has surrendered.”
Julius turned the Sigurd in the direction of Xanthe’s main habitat dome and zoomed in with his camera. The domes of the Socialist Republic of Mangala had been painted saffron, and the flag of the old Union of India flew at their peaks—though with the atmosphere as thin as it was, it didn’t do much flying. But the dome Julius saw had its saffron faded and cracked in many places, and the Indian flag had been cast down into the red dirt. At the top, he saw Angelica’s autoritter—the Balmung—standing triumphantly. When Angelica noticed the Sigurd, she had the Balmung do a salute.
“Hail, Emperor Julius!” The Valkyrie of Alençon declared. “I have singlehandedly conquered this settlement in your name. My fellow knights are securing the outer habitats as we speak.”
“Excellent work, Lady Neumann,” Julius said, “My late sister was wise in choosing you as my retainer.”
“I am the sword of the Emperor,” Angelica said, “I live to serve.”
“I applaud your dedication,” Julius said.
“My lord, permission to speak freely?”
“You have always had permission, Angelica.”
“I once again voice my concerns about your tactics. Such diversionary tactics are not befitting of an Emperor. You are the last hope for all of us, Julius. Eva entrusted me with your life when she handed you to me on that last rocket off Terra. Don’t go wasting your life as a decoy. That is a job for me, as your retainer.”
“Angelica, don’t worry about me,” Julius said, “Your concern is welcome, but I assure you, I’ll be fine. As Emperor, I don’t intend to sit in my palace all day letting my knights do all the work. That’s how my predecessors destroyed the old world. I will not repeat their mistakes.”
“I just want you to be safe, in Eva’s name.”
“I understand that,” Julius said, “But the needs of the Empire, of our species itself, come before my own life. I am an Emperor before I am a person. Angelica, I know what I’m doing. Would I really put myself in such a dangerous situation if there was a chance I would die?”
“Julius…I should be the one in danger, not you.”
Julius shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember your own words, from all those years ago?” Julius said. “If the king doesn’t lead, how can he expect his subordinates to follow?”
Super Gamer “Gecko” Moria’s Jerusalem gets besieged by Syrivijaya and Central Asia, will he focus on Central Asia or Syrivijaya? Will the official gameplay Russia, Livonia, and Scandinavia officially peace out and get annexed in game?
