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Pawns in Motion
April 16
“You know, I think it would be great if you visited your brother.”
Gebhard glared at Julian. “What did you say?”
The boy sitting opposite him didn’t flinch. Julian casually sipped his coffee. “You heard me.”
“Why should I?” Gebhard said. “My brother’s a traitor. He hasn’t even repented for what he’s done.”
“All I’m saying is, it’s nice to get some closure on your past.” Julian discreetly slipped a scrap of paper across the table. “I understand this feud goes back fifty years. Almost as old as my own parents.”
Gebhard looked at the paper.
“WE BOTH KNOW THEY’RE LISTENING IN ON US—JUST PLAY ALONG”
Gebhard nodded. “Yes, yes. Edmund was mad I got admitted to Friedrich de Normandie and he ended up at Chernobyl.”
“Then perhaps you two should talk it out?” Another slip of paper.
“ANGELICA SCOUTED OUT THE AREA
OUR TABLE IS IN A CAMERA BLINDSPOT, BUT THEY CAN STILL LISTEN IN
WRITE BACK”
“Why should I reach out?” Gebhard took out his pen and wrote something on the back of the slip. “I tried doing that at the stadium in Sedeh. He refused.”
“WHAT IS YOUR REAL AIM?”
“There was a battle going on, and you two were focused on fighting,” Julian said, “Not a good time to discuss your brotherly rivalry when you two are trying to kill each other. Now that you’re not, you can have a better conversation.”
Julian passed his response back. “I CAN’T SAY HERE, JUST IN CASE, BUT FOLLOW MY LEAD”
Gebhard nodded. “I see, I see. That’s a good way of putting it. I think I can put in a request later today.”
Julian smiled. “Confronting your past demons head-on is the only way you’ll move on from them. It’s the only way we’ll emerge victorious from this war.”
“I’m no longer fighting a war,” Gebhard said, “Mozaffar sacked me.”
“Just because you’re not commanding troops or shooting people doesn’t mean the war is over,” Julian said, “There’s still a war to be fought without guns. A war closer to home. One within us all.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Gebhard said, “I thought we won. Like really won.”
“Our mistake was assuming the war was only on the battlefield,” Julian said, “We won’t make the same mistake again.”
He handed Gebhard a small box. “By the way, General, her. A gift from Angelica and Tania.” Gebhard opened it, finding an analog watch inside.
“Oh, no thanks.” Gebhard held up his hands. “I can’t possibly accept—”
“Gebhard.” Julian lowered his voice and looked straight at him. “I insist.”
Gebhard caught on. “Uh, sure, thanks.” He took the watch.
“I think it would be ideal to put your best self forward when you meet your brother, right?” Julian said.
April 17
The process to approve his visit, lodged with the Artesh “security detail” assigned to him, took hours, and it was finally scheduled for the morning of the 17th. Specific instructions for how to prepare were sent to his mailbox. An hour before the designated time, Gebhard woke up, got dressed, and ate a light breakfast. Then he waited at the door. When the time arrived, someone rang the doorbell. He opened it and found an Artesh soldier holding a thick bag.
“Put this over your head,” he ordered.
Gebhard did so. Next, the soldier handcuffed Gebhard and led him to a waiting vehicle. Getting in the back, someone put a seatbelt over him and then restrained his legs. Another soldier waved what sounded like a metal detector over his body, making sure he carried no electronics. It was almost like he was the prisoner here, not Edmund. Finally, after about ten minutes of security checks, the vehicle drove off. The route they took seemed to meander all over Isfahan, as if to throw off any pursuers and prevent Gebhard from memorizing it. This continued for what felt like half an hour. Then they stopped. The door opened, and a soldier led Gebhard out. They walked up to what sounded like a checkpoint.
“State your name, occupation, and reason for visiting,” a gruff voice said.
“Gebhard Remmele, Megas Domestikos, relative of Edmund Remmele,” Gebhard replied.
He heard fingers clacking on a keyboard, accompanied by beeping. Then a buzzer sounded, and a door unlocked. Gebhard’s escort led him inside. Once they were in, the bag finally came off. Gebhard blinked, his eyes adjusted to the new light. When his vision returned to normal, he found he was in a prison. There were cells on either side of him, each with a man inside. They continued walking down the hallway, the clacking sounds of their footsteps resonating off the walls. At the end, separated from all of the other ones, was a single cell. Inside, he saw his brother. When Edmund noticed his visitors, he stood up with an angry scowl on his face.
“Please leave us,” Gebhard said.
“I can’t do that,” the soldier said.
Gebhard sighed.
“What’s the matter, Crybaby Gebby?” Edmund taunted. “You can’t handle talking about us with others listening?”
“This is between us, Edmund,” Gebhard said, “No need to involve others.”
“Why are you even here, Gebby? Want to gloat about your victory? Rub it in my face?”
Gebhard shook his head. “No, I’m not here for that. You’ll get your justice in a court of law, not from me. I just wanted to ask a few questions.”
Edmund sat down. “Ask away. I’ve got all day.”
“Why?” Gebhard asked. “Why side with Jerusalem?”
Edmund shrugged. “You still don’t get it, Gebby. There was never a choice. It was natural. Jerusalem offered what I was looking for. I have no regrets.”
“How did it come to this?” Gebhard said. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“On the other hand, it was going to happen from the beginning. You just haven’t acknowledged it.”
“Cut it out.” Gebhard sighed. “Stop gaslighting me.”
“You’ve always been so stubborn, Gebby,” Edmund said, “You haven’t changed. Not since the war.”
“And that’s why you joined Jerusalem? Because I was stubborn?”
“If you had been listening to me, you’d know I didn’t join Jerusalem,” Edmund said, “You left it.”
“There you go again with the gaslighting,” Gebhard said, “We were Roman citizens! You helped overthrow the government!”
“I’m not a Roman citizen,” Edmund said, “Never was. My allegiance is to God and God alone.”
“Are we going somewhere with this?” Gebhard said.
Edmund shrugged. “That depends. Though I doubt you’ll get it.”
“Stop playing with me, Edmund!” Gebhard shook the bars. “You’re the one who’s in prison!”
“Are you so sure about that?”
Gebhard stopped. “What?”
“Did you really think I didn’t know?” Edmund said. “I may be in a prison, but I still hear things from the others. Like how you lost your command. How the General Staff sacked you. How Mozaffar made you into the villain in his narrative. You lost your job, your reputation, and—” He looked at the escort to Gebhard’s side. “—your freedom. I may be confined to this specific building while I await trial, but I can go wherever within it and do what I want during free time. So who’s really imprisoned here?”
That makes no sense. “Shut up!”
“There you go again, trying to avoid the truth,” Edmund said, “You know, that’s how the old corrupt Reich fell so easily. Its leaders avoided inconvenient truths because they were offended by differing opinions. We merely spoke up and showed the people the truth of the world, and they’ll follow us of their own free will. You’re just like the old party cartel. Fearing a truth you didn’t like. Deluding yourself in a false reality. Just like you refuse to listen to me.”
“Come on, you really expect me to listen to you after what you did?” Gebhard said.
“Tell me I’m wrong, though,” Edmund said, “What Mozaffar did to you really happened.”
Gebhard sighed. “You know, we’re not going to get anywhere. I’m done.” He turned to his escort. “Let’s go.”
They walked away.
“There you go again, Crybaby Gebby,” Edmund said, “Running away again!”
“I got what I came here for,” Gebhard said, “There’s no reason to stay longer than I need.”
He refused to listen to whatever else Edmund said. As soon as he returned to the lobby, the escort put the bag over his head, stuffed him back in the car, and drove him back to Isfahan. When the bag was taken off, he was back in his house.
“Please do not make another such request so soon.” The escort left the house, shutting the door behind him.
Gebhard slumped into his couch and sighed. That was far more tiring than he expected. After he heard the escort’s car starting up and driving away, he smiled. He may not have patched things up with Edmund, but he had achieved his goal.
He picked up the phone. “Hey, Julian. So I just visited my brother. Let’s just say it went well.”
Isfahan University of Technology - April 18
The university had no shortage of student radio channels, but Julian was only interested in one. The sign at the front door read “Channel X.” Another sign hastily taped underneath it read “(not like that, so stop asking, this means you Ismail).” They even had a professional looking logo, a stylized X. Best that you not see the blatant plagiarism, Angelica.
“Live in five minutes!” a boy shouted.
“Almost ready!” a girl replied.
Julian opened the door, seing a boy and girl hard at work. The boy was adjusting the settings on a radio transceiver, while the girl was typing on her laptop.
“Excuse me,” the girl said, “We are getting ready for a broadcast.”
“Forgive my intrusion,” Julian said, “But I couldn’t help but be interested in the work you’ve been doing.”
“Really?”
“Yes.” Julian pointed at the replica “I Want to Believe” poster hanging behind the transceiver. “I see you’re a fan of the original X-Division.”
“My sister and I are,” the boy said, “Anders Humboldt and Angela Hansen were visionaries, defenders of the truth. They were taken from us too soon.”
“Amen to that,” Julian said, “You know, before things got bad, I actually met them.”
The siblings’ faces lit up. “Really?!”
“Yes,” Julian said, “I noticed what you were doing and I was hoping my recollections of them could help your work.”
“Anything you know would greatly help,” the girl said.
“First things first,” Julian said, “The best rumors are those that are based in at least a kernel of truth.”
“We know, but things haven’t been easy for us,” the boy said, “It’s been pretty difficult lately to find anything with evidence. We’ve been stuck sharing random rumors lately.”
Julian held up the watch he had given Gebhard. “What if told you that can no longer be the case?”
“What’s that?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Julian said, “I’d like you to share a specific rumor, one that’s based on the information that this watch has gathered.”
“I suppose we can delay the broadcast a few minutes to get a script ready,” the girl said, “What exactly is this rumor?”
“Her Majesty the Shahbanu, Gunduz II, and Kaiserin Wilhelmina IV are being held against their will in a military-controlled hospital in the Isfahan suburbs. That hospital is officially where the Crusader general Edmund Remmele is being detained, but the location data and audio recording on this watch will prove that Remmele is being held elsewhere. This is a conspiracy organized by Mozaffar to neutralize the two political figures with the authority and influence to oppose him.”
He smiled. “You two want to follow in X-Division’s footsteps? Well, here’s a conspiracy for you to take on.”
Isargaran Park, Isfahan - April 26
Izinchi had wanted to hold another memorial service. It wasn’t part of Julian’s plan, but he went along with it. The rumor he had given to the broadcasters at Isfahan Tech was starting to spread. It was the perfect time to sow doubt among Mozaffar’s people as to if the Romans were evil or not, as well as restore his people’s morale. But things were different. Two months ago, they had held a memorial service for all of Jerusalem’s victims. Now, the government in exile had to jump through so many hoops just to get a new memorial service organized. It was as if Mozaffar was trying to stop them from doing it. Thankfully, Izinchi had plenty of experience with bureaucratic gridlock before, so she got the event approved. Even after all that effort, Julian noticed barely anybody showed up today. They did the best they could with the budget they were given. It was barely enough for a few lights, two tattered Roman flags taken from the abandoned embassy building, and a podium.
Izinchi stepped up to the podium. “Ahem.” She was putting on her Brandenburg accent now, appearing presentable to the general public instead of the Caledonian sailor-mouth she usually was these days. “People of Isfahan, thank you for attending.” There were only about a couple dozen non-Romans in the crowd. “Things have been tough lately. When we repelled the Crusader attack on this city, killed one regent, and captured another, we thought we had won the war.” She looked down, dejected and ashamed. “We thought wrong. The truth is, there is still much to do before we defeat Jerusalem and go home. There are many battles ahead of us.”
Some boos erupted from the Persians in the crowd. “We knew it! You want to overthrow our hero Mozaffar!”
Izinchi continued with her speech. “All we want is a place to stay. A place where we can live in peace. We lost our homes five years ago. We’re trying to get them back, but in the meantime, we just want to live our lives here.”
“GO BACK TO YOUR COUNTRY! YOU’RE NOT WELCOME HERE!”
“We don’t want any trouble with anybody.”
“LIAR!”
“We’ve done our best to fit in.”
“BY TAKING OVER!”
“In the meantime, we’ve also served on the front lines, giving our lives to take back our homes from Jerusalem. This memorial service honors the lives of those—”
“WAR CRIMINALS!”
“FASCISTS!”
“IMPERIALISTS!”
“FUNDIE THEOCRATS!”
“—who died in battle recently. Now please, let us observe a moment of silence.”
All of the Romans and refugees from other countries bowed their heads, but the Persians booed and raised their fists, shouting obscenities.
“GO HOME ROMANS!”
“PERSIA FOR PERSIANS!”
“MOZAFFAR WILL SAVE US ALL!”
“YOU’RE NOT WELCOME IN OUR FREE COUNTRY!”
“JERUSALEMITE SCUM, GO TAKE OVER ANOTHER COUNTRY!”
“GOH XORDAN!”
“ANSWER FOR ALL OF THE PEOPLE YOU’VE KILLED, MÂDAR JENDE!”
Julian tuned them out. Disrespectful idiots. Heckling a memorial service. It’s an insult to those who died protecting you. You frakking monsters.
Izinchi raised her head. “I will now read the names of the fallen.” She flipped open a book. As she recited each name, Gebhard held up a soldier’s portrait.
“Lieutenant Michael Rudolf.”
“PÂYANDE BÂDÂ IRÂN!”
“Sergeant Leon Gottsman.”
“GET OUT! GO HOME!”
“Captain Tiffany Cyril.”
“FRAK ROME! THEY ALL DESERVED IT!”
“Private Brunnhild Hauser.”
“DEATH TO JERUSALEM!”
“Corporal Alek Davidovich.”
“GO HOME!”
“Colonel Elijah Sven.”
“FRAK YOU!”
“We will remember these heroes,” Izinchi said, “Their service. Their courage. Their sacrifice for our people and ideals. They died so the rest of us could have a better future, so that we can still have hope. Hope that one day we can go home. And now, let us recite the pledge of allegiance.”
All of the Romans placed a hand over their hearts.
“I pledge allegiance…”
“GET THE FRAK OUT OF OUR COUNTRY!”
“To Her Majesty Wilhelmina IV…”
“NO MORE KAISERINS! NO MORE MONARCHIES!”
“And the Reich for which she stands.”
“SHUT THE FRAK UP!”
“I swear to uphold and defend the values of the Reich…”
“CHRISTIANITY IS A DEATH CULT, NOT A RELIGION OF PEACE!”
“And to support my country to the best of my ability.”
“ALL ROMANS ARE FASCIST WAR CRIMINALS!”
“We unite our hearts and minds in pursuit of a shared and better future.”
“SAY NO TO JERUSALEM’S WORLD ORDER!”
“One flag, indivisible under Romanitas…”
“ROMANITAS IS A LIE!”
“With fairness and justice for—”
A shot rang out, and Izinchi fell, her blood splattering over the flag behind her. The Romans all screamed and scattered, as did most of the Persians. However, a few hung back and cheered. “YEAH! YOU GET WHAT YOU DESERVE!” Then they ran off. Julian scanned the rapidly disintegrating crowd, looking for any suspicious individuals. His gaze finally settled on a man in a trench coat quietly walking away as everyone ran around in a blind panic. There was a gun in his hand.
“There!” he said. “That’s the shooter!”
Without hesitation, five Romans tackled him to the ground and began raining down punches and kicks on him. The gun fell out of his hand within a second, but the Romans kept on beating him.
“Stop!” Julian shouted. “He’s already neutralized!”
But the Romans continued beating on the defenseless assassin, despite Julian’s pleas.
April 27
Julian, Kresge, Gebhard, and Angelica waited patiently in the hospital lobby. None of them said a word, for fear of indirectly affecting Izinchi’s condition. After what felt like forever, August walked up to them. He was the only doctor whose team agreed to operate on Izinchi—the others turned her away.
“Good news, guys,” he said, “She’s stable. She’ll regain consciousness soon.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” Gebhard said.
“The bullet hit her in the upper body,” August said, “She was very lucky it hit where it did. An inch to the left, and it would have hit a major artery.”
“So she’ll be fine?”
“Yes, eventually, but…”
Of course there was a but. Julian steeled himself for what was to come.
“What is it?” Gebhard asked. “Please let us know.”
“It’ll take a while for her to recover. She’ll have to stay in the hospital for several weeks. Then she can leave, but she’ll need supervision for another few weeks. She needs rest.”
“How…how long are we talking?” Kresge asked.
“Maybe…two, three months, at minimum?”
“Merde,” Angelica muttered, “That’s after the examinations.”
“I’m sorry,” August said, “But that’s the best I can do, with the resources I have.”
“Thanks, August,” Julian said, “Please keep us updated on her condition.”
“Of course.” August left.
The four of them left the hospital and returned to their car before they resumed their conversation.
“This is going to set us back significantly,” Julian started.
Gebhard banged a fist against the window. “Damnit…I warned Izinchi it wasn’t safe…”
“What do we do now?” Kresge said.
“What the frak do you think we do?” Angelica said. “The same thing. Figure out a way to fight back and protect ourselves.”
“Speaking of which did you find out who the shooter was?”
Angelica nodded. “I took a photo of his ID. Jahangir Rostam, 56 years old, from Qom.”
“That’s pretty far away,” Kresge said.
“So an angry man drove all the way from Qom for the sole purpose of shooting Izinchi,” Gebhard said, “Can’t say I’m surprised we’ve made enemies that far away. Anything special about him?”
“No,” Angelica said, “He’s a bartender with a gun license. That’s it.”
“Even worse. If someone as ordinary as him went to such lengths to attack us…then who knows how many others like him are out there?”
“I sure picked the worst time to be rescued from Jerusalem.” Kresge rolled his eyes.
“It’s happening again,” Julian said, “They shot Eva. Over five years ago, when this began, they shot her, because they were scared of the way she spoke.”
“So you’re saying Mozaffar ordered the hit on Izinchi to weaken us?” Kresge asked.
“It’s something the Athanatoi would do,” Angelica said.
“I wouldn’t rule out the possibility,” Gebhard said, “He’s already deported the five Romans who beat him up.”
“Who stands to gain from the Roman chancellor being shot and confined to a hospital until at least July?” Julian said. “Mozaffar. He did the same thing to Wilhelmina and Gunduz, the only ones who would outrank him. Then the only other political figures with the authority to rival him would be Chancellor Jaberi, who barely has a spine, and Izinchi.”
“But the government in exile derives its legitimacy from the Persian government,” Gebhard said, “Without that, we’d be nothing more than a glorified community association.”
“That’s true, but you should know better, being a general and all,” Julian said, “After all, your troops need to depend on the locals’ support if they are to survive behind enemy lines. Which means you need to cultivate a good reputation with them. But rumors are fickle. They move faster than the actual army, and by the time you get to where you need to go, the people there have already made up their minds about what you are like. For them, the rumor and the idea are just as real as the truth. We’ve seen it happen in Jerusalem, when the truth got taken over and rendered absurd. Now it’s happening here. If the people think our government in exile has power, it will have power. But if they think we don’t, then we won’t. Izinchi being shot shows that we can’t even protect our own chancellor. It shows our weakness. Furthermore, even if the office of chancellor isn’t what it used to be ten years ago, it still has one big power: speaking to the people. In the absence of Wilhelmina, the chancellor is our best spokesperson. Now that Izinchi’s stuck in the hospital, we lost our best way of presenting our case to the people.”
“Allowing Mozaffar to control the narrative even more,” Gebhard realized.
“So how do we recover from this?” Kresge said.
“We laid out a line of succession before, in case this happened,” Julian said, “I suppose it’s now coming in handy.”
“And who’d you guys pick for vice-chancellor?” Kresge pointed at himself. “Please tell me I was included.”
Angelica facepalmed. “Kresge, for the last time, you weren’t there when we discussed this.”
“So, it was…” Gebhard pointed at Julian. “Him.”
Julian’s mouth curled up in a confident grin only a young man could put on. “That’s right. You’re looking at the new chancellor of the Reich.” I must have set a record for the Reich’s youngest modern chancellor. It may be impossible to outlive Metternich, but I sure can take the title on the other end.
“You?!” Kresge said. “A boy your age as the chancellor of the most powerful nation in the world?”
“Kresge, first off, I’m old enough to drink, and second off, it’s hardly the most powerful nation in the world if its three highest-ranking non-monarchical political and military officials are discussing official policy in a normal car in a hospital parking lot in downtown Isfahan at 6 in the morning.”
Kresge looked away, obviously annoyed by the fact. “What has my life come to…”
“Alright, we need a plan,” Julian said, “Fortunately, I’ve already been working on a plan for the last couple weeks. I just need to adjust a few things to account for Izinchi’s situation. The ultimate goal is to take down Mozaffar by July. Prevent him from seizing full power.”
“Yeah, so how do we do that?” Gebhard asked.
“There are four pillars holding him up,” Julian said, “Politics, finances, the war, and public image. Break those all, and his entire career will fall apart. First off, politics. Straightforward enough, we comb through his record, find anything suspicious, show he’s either abusing his power or not doing his job. Then, finance. Follow the money trail. I’ve already gotten a paper trail leading from him to the hospital the royals are being held in, but that’s not enough. We need more suspicious financial dealings to break that pillar. A politician like him doesn’t get to where he does with clean hands. They never do. Izinchi only got to be chancellor because everyone ahead of her died. But Mozaffar, who’s been in politics for decades? Guy like him must have shady donors and hidden interests. We’ll bring those to the light. When all three of these pillars intersect and are rtoppled, his reputation will crumble. We’ll show he doesn’t care about the people at all. He only wants power and control. I have a strategy to do that, but we’re not at that part of the plan yet.”
“And what about the other one?” Gebhard said. “The war? We barely have an army.”
“Yes, but Mozaffar does,” Julian said, “This is the most dangerous one. Mozaffar controls the narrative on the war. What the people hear about it is what he wants them to hear. His nationalism and militarism, though, can be a weakness. If we can just make the Mesopotamian campaign not go as he wants, it would lead the people to doubt his qualifications.”
“And how do we do that without losing the whole war?”
“Simple,” Angelica said, “Mozaffar wants to use reckless tactics that will get non-Persian troops disproportionately killed, like at the citadel.”
“I intend to save those troops,” Julian said, “And then bring their stories to light, showing Mozaffar’s cruelty.”
“Wait, you want to save those troops?” Kresge said. “How?”
Julian smiled. “How else? I’m going to the front myself.”
Gebhard and Kresge’s jaws dropped.
“Hold on!” Gebhard said. “I do not agree to this! You’re just a kid! You’ve got no combat experience!”
“On the contrary, I’ve had over three years of leading rebel cells during the Siege of Bremerhaven,” Julian said, “I think I have a solid grasp on the tactics I’ll need.”
“Let me do it,” Gebhard said, “I’m the one who’s actually trained for this stuff.”
“And that’s why you can’t,” Julian said, “Mozaffar already stripped you of your field command. Do you really think he’d let you go back there? Someone as high profile as you, commanding non-Persian troops on the front lines? No, as soon as he had the chance, he sacked you and General Tahmasb. Mozaffar won’t let you leave Isfahan, unless it’s with every other Roman.”
“So the alternative is you going there?” Gebhard said. “And I thought Willie going to Samarkand was crazy enough. Now we have a literal kid going off to goddamn Mesopotamia.”
“I’m not a child!” Julian temporarily lost his temper and gritted his teeth. “Quit it!”
“I don’t want to know what other crazy things you guys did while I was gone,” Kresge said.
“I can vouch for Julian,” Angelica said, “He got the information on Wilhelmina’s confinement from Senator Afshar without breaking a sweat. He got the location of Edmund Remmele’s prison and proof the guy was there without anyone catching on. And he spread that information via rumor. I bet half the city’s already suspecting the same thing. Not to mention he’s survived several years in Bremerhaven. I’m sure he can do it.”
“And if he can’t?” Gebhard said. “What then?”
“Well, I think Kresge’s earned the title of vice-chancellor,” Julian said.
“I was originally chancellor!” Kresge said. “Why am I the number two now?”
“Because I’m still here,” Julian said, “If I die in Mesopotamia, then by all means, you can have the hat.”
And from what I remember, you objected to being chancellor to begin with.
“Why is it so important that you go and not anyone else?” Gebhard said.
Angelica facepalmed again. “Oh, great, you’re going to get him to say the line about kings leading again.”
“Well, I’ve already made all of the necessary preparations, and I can’t exactly back out now, even if I wanted to,” Julian said.
“See what I—wait, what?”
---
The door slammed loudly behind Alex. He took off his shoes and hung up his coat. Then he made his way inside, passing the living room on the way to the storage closet. Thea looked up from the blueprint she was sketching.
“Alex?” she said. “What’s the matter?”
“Izinchi’s in the hospital.” He opened the closet, pushed aside some boxes, and pulled out a safe hidden in the back. He unlocked the safe with a 4 digit number code and took out the pistol he hid inside. “We may be next.”
Thea’s eyes widened. “Alex…what are you doing?”
“I need to keep this somewhere I can get it easily,” Alex said.
He checked the clip. It was almost full. One bullet was missing, from when Magnus shot at Theodor. As long as it wasn’t completely empty, it would suit his needs.
“You’re better than this, Alex,” Thea said, “Are you really comfortable having a gun out in the open like that?”
“That’s the only way we’ll stay safe,” Alex said, “You don’t know what they’ll do next.”
“We could just hire security, or ask the police for help.”
“You really think the cops will help us?” Alex said. “They’re in on it. They arrested the guys who beat up Izinchi’s shooter and deported them this morning. I hear they’re going to let the shooter off the hook with only a fine.”
He put the gun on the table and slumped on the couch. “Everyone frakking hates Romans. We’ve got to protect ourselves.”
“Surely there’s a better way.”
“Look, Thea, if things calm down, I’ll put it away,” Alex said, “They probably will in a few days, once people forget all about the shooting. Once I feel like it’s safer, it’s back to the locker with this gun.”
“Why do I feel like it’ll take until Mozaffar’s out of office?”
“I promise, Thea,” Alex said, “I’ll be responsible, okay? I won’t use this gun unless they come after us. But if they do…we’ll be safe.”
Thea sighed. “I sure hope we never have to use that gun again.”
---
Edit: Fixed a typo.
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Julian has a lot on his shoulders now, but thankfully he'd be hard-pressed to be the worst at the position as some predecessors.
That bar’s pretty low already. All Julian has to do is…not be evil.
Just like Lelouch.
- 2
A shame that Izinchi got shot there. No wonder Alex is parnoid at the end there. All the more reasons for Julian to make his moves and checkmate Mozaffar before he ends up costing Persia the war or plunge it into a dictatorship.
I'm missing the Annionaverse segments with Julius now though. When will we saw those next in this arc?
I'm missing the Annionaverse segments with Julius now though. When will we saw those next in this arc?
Next chapter should have one. I really don’t have too many ideas, so I want to focus on improving the few I have planned.
- 2
Funny thing is I just remembered and found a couple memes I made with help from a friend back when NASA took its first black hole picture a few years ago, which is funny since you referenced that in the last arc when Betharium was discovered. Hope you like these memes.
The Mosul Gambit
Ali Qapu Palace, Isfahan - April 28
Mozaffar walked into the old war room. He had never been here before, not when Gunduz and Shayan ran the place like their personal fief. As the Minister of Defense, it was always strange how he was never invited to the strategy discussions that would decide the fate of the nation. He would later receive reports of what the General Staff had decided on, and he still had to sign off on most things, but it was clear Gunduz had the final say. He had nothing against civilian oversight of the military—he himself was not in the military—but Gunduz’s rank meant the generals were extremely reluctant to criticize her. That almost turned into disaster when, on April 2, she dropped everything, grabbed Shayan, climbed into a prototype tank, and drove off to the front lines on a whim. The generals were left scrambling to come up with a new plan, reestablish chain of command, and deploy numerous units to protect another high profile civilian target. Wasn’t Persia supposed to be a meritocracy? Jobs and power should be trusted to those most capable. Nobody should be exempt from that, not even the Shahbanu.
As he approached the map table, everybody snapped to attention and saluted. “Sir!”
“At ease, gentlemen,” Mozaffar said, “Please, return to your jobs. What’s our progress on Mosul?”
Mosul was a frustrating thorn in Persia’s side. It was one of the last remaining Crusader strongholds in Mesopotamia, heavily fortified and reinforced to deter a direct assault. As Jerusalem had thrown its waves of cannon fodder at the Artesh, Mosul’s garrison of regular troops was held back. So while the front elsewhere collapsed as the consequences of human wave tactics set in, Mosul remained at full strength. It would be a tough nut to crack. Mozaffar’s analysts predicted heavy Persian casualties, which would no doubt be unpopular with the general public. Civilian morale was critical to Persia maintaining the momentum it gained from April 2. If morale collapsed and the people grew disillusioned by the war, both Jerusalem and China would seize the moment and strike. His best option would be to use the Yavdian exile armies from Taurica. Using promises of Persian citizenship for distinguished service in high-risk Artesh operations—including guaranteed citizenship for all family members of fallen servicemembers—he managed to get many of Börte’s commanders onboard. The young Borjigin general had no choice but to defer, or else she would betray her own principles of freedom. Now came the first real test of his arrangement.
“We’ve moved all of our units into place.” Mozaffar’s attention was drawn to the counters on the table. All of the turquoise-colored counters were concentrated in downtown Mosul, surrounded by black counters, while the green ones were held back to the east. “Börte’s forces have performed admirably, drawing in all of the enemy forces. All of her troops are on the left side of the Tigris. We’ve already split our own forces into seven units on the right side. We’ll be ready to strike once Börte and her troops have fulfilled their purpose.”
Many of his generals weren’t as friendly to the Yavdians as he was. It was an open secret that many Artesh commanders saw the Yavdians as disposable cannon fodder, not unlike how Jerusalem treated its conscripts. He had done his best to rein in the worst of the bunch, but once the sentiment had spread, it was hard to contain. Though they did have a point for this specific case: the Yavdians would most certainly suffer the heavy losses the Artesh was supposed to bear. It pained him to send such brave heroes of the Taurica campaign to slaughter, but he saw no other way.
“Are you confident Börte will fulfill that purpose?” He could not afford to show weakness. Trying to swim against a current was difficult. It would be easier to instead direct it down the path he wanted.
“Have no fear. The Crusaders have blocked off every route in and out of downtown. Plus, we have reserve units.”
“No matter what happened, it’ll be the end of the Yavdians,” another general declared, “And soon, the end of the Romans.”
“Hear, hear!”
Mozaffar ignored that statement, focusing on the battle instead. They had grown increasingly bold lately, probably due to the unrest happening in the capital. Izinchi Ochimeca’s shooting had provoked a wave of protests and riots centering on the Kleinrom district and suburbs with large Roman presence, and that in turn caused a wave of counter protests and riots from nationalists who rallied to Jahangir Rostam’s name, calling him a hero. Personally, Mozaffar was against terrorism and assassination. Rostam had committed a crime, and he would be punished in a court of law. That was how the system worked. But the currents of anger and outrage surging through the Persian people ran far deeper and more intense than that circulating through this room.
And if he couldn’t swim against this current, then what about that one?
Outside Mosul
The trip to Mesopotamia was nerve-wracking, but Julian had planned everything in advance. First, he took a train to the local military base, where Roman personnel he had previously contacted let him in. They then put him on a transport plane which flew him to a base outside Mosul. From there, he reached the front via a tank. Specifically, a Kaveh-type automated tank, a second prototype that had recently been finished. He kept his IFF on to avoid friendly fire, but he turned off the radio and changed the transponder information so that he wouldn’t be noticed by the Artesh. I’m more concerned about the Artesh interfering with my plans than the Crusaders themselves. Julian did his best to adjust the tank’s interior to suit his needs. He set up several laptops around his chair, connected to various drone networks so he had a bird’s eye view of the battle. He also brought a chess set, just in case there was a lull in the fighting.
If only you were here, Eva. You were always better at this than me. I never could beat you at chess. But I’ll do my best.
Once everything was set up, Julian fired up the engine and rolled towards downtown. To anybody checking IFFs, he was just another tank rolling out to join the battle. In case anybody got suspicious, though, he had already gotten the help of soldiers—both Roman and Persian—on base to cover his tracks. Turned out there were many disgruntled soldiers who were willing to help him out of spite to Mozaffar and his cruel strategy.
He was operating on a tight schedule. Two hours ago, he had executed the first step of his plan, having sent several drones to a location north of the city. After they served their purpose, he set a timer for two hours. He would either win by then, or all of Börte’s troops in the city would die.
Isfahan
“All units are in position.”
Mozaffar paused. This was his last chance to back out. Once he said the words, those soldiers were as good as dead. But he had no choice. His own people were out for blood, and it was futile to go against the united will of the people. “Commence the operation.”
“General Börte, you are clear to engage. Your objective is to secure the Ghazlani Military Base.”
“Seventh Artillery, begin bombardment of Ghazlani Airport.”
“Twentieth Airborne, begin airstrikes on Jawsaq and Dandan districts.”
“All other units, hold your positions. Do not engage.”
Everyone turned to Mozaffar.
“Sir,” one of them said, “We stand on the brink of victory. Would you like to say something to mark the occasion?”
Mozaffar would rather remain quiet, but he could see the reporters and film crews cramming through the doorway, eager to record this moment for posterity. Such is the will of the people. I must play my part.
“You Romans, whom time has moved on from, who have forgotten basic human decency. You and your dreams of a bygone golden age shall rot and burn to ashes.”
Mosul
Encircled, the Yavdians had no choice but to dig in throughout Ghazlani. Börte set up her headquarters in an old courthouse. Jerusalem had once used it for its show trials and summary executions, but it had been freed from that fate now. It would be a while before its courtrooms could once again deliver true justice, but for now, Börte used them for her own purposes.
A door opened, and her aide, Lieutenant Igre Gurkani, walked in and saluted. “Ma’am,” she said politely. Igre was one of the people she had freed from the camps in Taurica, but she was brought into the Yavdian army due to her prior military experience in the old Heer. Also because she effectively begged me to let her join.
“At ease, Lieutenant Gurkani,” Börte said, “You have a report for me?”
“Yes, General Börte,” Igre said, “We have received orders to attack Ghazlani Base.”
“Ghazlani Base?” Börte said.
Igre nodded. “Yes. They might as well order us to seize the airport while we’re at it.”
“Damnit,” Börte said, “I didn’t think Mozaffar would make us attack so recklessly. Where are the enemy forces?”
“We’ve counted over fifty units in the surrounding districts.”
“Frak.”
“What are your orders?” Igre asked.
Börte sighed. “Does it look like I can do anything else? We’re going to attack and hope—”
Her radio crackled. “…hear me?”
Igre picked up the transmitter. “Who is this, and how did you get this frequency?”
---
“Good, you can hear me.” Julian’s biggest concern was Börte or her aide just putting down the radio and ignoring him. But he had done his research on Börte and the situation. She would at least hear him out, if he chose his words correctly.
“Who the hell is this?” Börte said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Julian said, “You can figure it out later. But if you want to survive today, you’ll have to trust me.”
“Börte, we can’t trust him!” Igre said. “We don’t know who he is or what his goals are.”
“First off, I’m not here to destroy your forces,” Julian said, “The Crusaders are doing that well enough already. Your only chance of surviving is to fight back in the way I suggest.”
“Hmmm…” Börte thought.
“You can’t be seriously thinking about taking his advice!” Igre said.
“Does it look like I can do anything else, Lieutenant Gurkani?” Börte said. “The enemy’s completely surrounded us. We’re cut off from the Persians. There’s no way out.”
“And thus, you have only one option left,” Julian said, “To fight.”
There was a pause on the other end. Then Börte let out a sigh. “Alright, what do you suggest?”
One hour remained on the timer.
“One second,” Julian said, “I need to be sure nobody else is listening…”
Isfahan
“Bombardment of Jawsaq continuing. Enemy formation has fallen apart.”
“Enemy forces in Dandan have spread out and broken formation. They’re attacking the Yavdians from the rear.”
“Börte is…” one general looked closer at his screen. “Attacking the encirclement?”
Mozaffar raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t she supposed to attack south, at Ghazlani Base?”
An unexpected development. Börte wasn’t playing exactly as the script demanded. Perhaps she had caught on and wanted to save as many troops as she could. An understandable and noble gesture, but it would cost them the battle.
“Yes, but…” the general looked at his screen again. “Her attack is surprisingly effective.”
“Yavdian forces on the move! They’re heading back to the Tigris.”
They were…retreating? Why would Börte do that? Surely she would have tried a strategy that would minimize casualties while also securing her objectives. Or maybe this was further proof everything had been placed into a scenario where the Yavdians had to be sacrificed to ensure victory.
“What is going on there?” Mozaffar grabbed a radio transmitter. “General Börte, report!”
Suddenly, all of the screens in the war room glitched out and were filled with static.
“What the frak?!” Mozaffar said. “What is it now?”
“Enemy ECM! They’re jamming our networks!”
This just keeps getting worse…
Mosul
Julian smiled. The Artesh frequencies he was listening in on were filled with static and confusion. He looked at the ECM device set up next to one of his computers. It still bore the familiar Argus eye symbol it had when he took it off a destroyed Crusader drone recovered from the battle of Isfahan, but he had crossed it out, turning it into the Argeiphontes symbol. Several wires stuck out, connecting it to the circuitry he had taken from an Argeiphontes unit. The Artesh’s communications with itself and the General Staff in Isfahan would be jammed, but the Yavdian frequencies would be left intact. And since he was using a Jerusalemite weapon in a location relatively close to the Crusader lines, they would blame Jerusalem instead of himself.
He picked up his transmitter. “General, Mozaffar and his generals are no longer listening in. I’ve made sure of that.”
“What did you do?” Börte asked.
“What I did is not important,” Julian said, “What matters now is that we can talk candidly. My name is Julian Anniona. I’m here to help you take Mosul without sacrificing your forces.”
“And how do we do that?”
“Listen closely…”
---
Börte listened intently to what Julian explained. Her eyes widened when she realized what he had set up, as well as the time she had left to move her troops into the appropriate positions. She turned to Igre. “Lieutenant Gurkani, tell the troops to retreat to the river ASAP.”
“Wait, you’re really going through with his suggestion?” Igre said. “We don’t even know—”
“Trust me,” Börte said, “If he wanted us dead, he’d have left us to die at the hands of the Crusaders already. But he’s not. So if he says we need to move, we need to move.”
Igre nodded. “Fine. I’ll let the commanders know.”
---
Within five minutes, the Yavdian IFFs moved northeast, back to the banks of the Tigris River. The Crusader IFFs furiously pursued them, some units taking the opportunity to attack. Julian smiled. “Good, they’re taking the bait.”
As the timer counted down, more and more Crusaders engaged. More enemy IFFs appeared on the western and southern edges of the city and converged on the Yavdian units.
“Julian, is this part of your plan?” Börte said, “They’re hammering us on all sides.”
“That is what we want,” Julian said, “To get the entire enemy army to engage. Now punch through the encirclement on the Tigris bank. You should have the firepower to do so. The enemy there consists of only infantry, with no armor.”
“Lieutenant Gurkani, relay that order.”
Isfahan
“Get that jamming neutralized now!”
“The enemy’s ECM is well hidden!”
“I need eyes on the ground ASAP!”
Mozaffar remained silent as his generals went about their work.
Mosul
“We’ve lost contact with Korshunov’s unit.”
“No response from the 323rd Cavalry.”
“Major Gunnar is dead!”
“Damnit…” Börte listened to each of her commanders reporting heavy losses.
“Ma’am, don’t you think we should adjust our strategy?” Igre asked.
Börte shook her head. “No. We’re on a tight schedule, and I intend to make it.”
---
Half an hour remained on the timer. The Yavdian IFFs were now concentrated on the left bank of the Tigris. There was one bridge near their location, and they were currently crossing it. But Börte’s army was huge, and it would take time. Meanwhile, the Crusaders continued their assault from the west. Dozens of IFFs blinked out on the outer edges of Börte’s formation.
“Just a little more…” he muttered.
Not all of Börte’s forces were in the city. A substantial number were securing other towns and settlements around Mosul, but if Börte’s main army was destroyed, they would crumble. They were far enough away from Mosul for Julian’s plan to not involve them. Not that he wanted them to get involved.
Finally, the last of the Yavdians and their allies crossed over to the right side of the Tigris. Twenty minutes remained.
“Good,” Julian said, “Now, I would like you to retreat entirely from the city center, preferably to higher elevation. You have twenty minutes to carry this out.”
“Twenty minutes?”
“Will that be a problem?”
“No, it won’t. I can do that.”
On cue, the Yavdian IFFs moved east. Perceiving an opening in their enemy’s formation, the Crusaders surged forward, all units in the city advancing out of the western and southern districts towards the river and the east side. Ten minutes passed, and the Yavdians reached suitable locations.
“Right, all preparations have now been completed,” Julian said, “Now, hold the line and do not let Jerusalem break through any further.”
“Got it,” Börte said, “How long do we need to hold out?”
Julian checked the timer. “Five minutes.”
He tuned the radio to Crusader frequencies.
“Those stupid Yavdians gave up all of the ground they had!”
“Drive them out of our holy land!”
“Now is our chance, attack!”
Julian directed his drones to hover over downtown Mosul, giving him a good bird’s eye view of the area. The video footage confirmed what his radar screens reported: the bulk of the Crusader army had now deployed to the city center. He smiled. “Absolutely perfect. And now, all we have to do is wait.”
Right on cue, the ground underneath him rumbled. The enemy’s radio chatter grew panicked.
“What’s happening?”
“Is that an earthquake?”
“Here? Now?”
“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”
The timer reached zero, and the Tigris River surged forth, becoming a torrential flood that roared downstream, inundating everything in the city center. The Crusaders currently making their way across to east side were swept away like bugs, as were their tanks and other vehicles. Even entire buildings were dislodged from their foundations and pushed downstream. The raging deluge reached far beyond the banks of the Tigris, flooding blocks as far as a mile out. But fortunately, Julian had moved all of Börte’s troops beyond that range, and thus the Yavdians were completely unharmed. On the other hand, the Crusader army had been completely wiped out.
“Impossible! How could a flood come out of nowhere?!”
“Colmar and Dietrich’s units have been wiped out!”
“Get to higher ground! AAAAHHHH!”
“Sixth Division has been annihilated!”
“Lost contact with Fifteenth Armored!”
Julian grinned. It wasn’t as sudden and out of nowhere as the Crusaders thought. It was all in the preparations he had made. Four hours ago, the drones Julian sent to the northwest had reached the rebuilt Mosul Dam. Nobody noticed the drones—the Crusaders controlled the general area, but they had left the dam itself relatively defenseless. Meanwhile, the Persians had tasked their drones with watching other parts of Mesopotamia. Two high-yield thermobaric missiles were enough to destabilize the structure, and then the water pressure in the reservoir did the rest. The collapse of Mosul Dam released the contents of the reservoir downstream, just as had been done nine years ago during Bloody Tuesday. As a bonus, the flooding would reach as far as Baghdad, although it wouldn’t cover as much surface area, and the warning provided by surviving Crusaders here would have reduced casualties. Still, it would disrupt enemy formations all across Mesopotamia and impede the enemy’s movements across the Tigris.
Julian picked up the transmitter again. “Börte, are you okay?”
“Yes,” Börte replied, “My forces are intact. Minimal casualties.”
Minimal casualties…it worked. “That is great to hear. I’m going to be turning off the ECM soon, so that will be the end of our little chat.”
“Where are you going?”
“Back home. I trust you can handle everything from here on. My work against Mozaffar will continue in Isfahan.”
“Mozaffar…so he really wanted to sacrifice my troops. Again.”
Like at the citadel. “I’m going to make sure he doesn’t succeed. And my plan includes you.”
“What else do you need of me?” Börte asked.
“Talk about your experiences,” Julian said, “Take credit for your victory. This was all you, not Mozaffar. That’s all I need.”
Julian reached for the ECM device. “I believe that’s all the time we have. Any more, and Mozaffar will suspect the jamming’s coming from someone else.”
“Well then…thank you very much, Julian.”
“No problem,” Julian said, “Anything to stop Mozaffar.”
Isfahan
“The jamming’s stopped.” The static on everybody’s screens disappeared. “We’ve reestablished contact with Mosul.”
Mozaffar breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed his shoulders. “Good, now how much has happened while everything was down?”
Please tell me we kept at least a few of our gains. I don’t want today to have been for nothing.
One general checked a radar screen. “That’s weird.”
“What do you mean?”
He pointed at the screen, which showed far fewer IFFs than earlier. “I’m only seeing about…20% of the IFFs from before.”
“That’s not right,” Mozaffar said, “Rescan the area. Get back the missing IFFs.”
He heard clicking as the generals typed on their computers and other systems. No new IFFs appeared. His eyebrows narrowed.
“Rescan complete. It was…accurate.”
“What do you mean accurate?!” Impossible. Where did the other enemy units go?
“What I mean, sir, is that the IFFs we’re seeing…are the only ones.”
Mozaffar’s eyes widened. “What?! Where did they go? Are they trying to flank us? Counterattack from somewhere else?”
Half the room shook their heads. “No. If they had retreated or moved somewhere else, radar would’ve picked them up further out. And they couldn’t have gotten far in one hour. But there’s no sign of them. The only logical explanation is…they were all destroyed.”
“How could that many enemy units be destroyed in one hour?”
A computer beeped.
“Sir, incoming transmission from…General Börte?”
Mozaffar hesitated. “Uh…”
“What are your orders, sir?”
“Um…put her through?”
The radio crackled, and they heard Börte’s voice coming through.
“Good afternoon,” she said, “I’m reporting in.”
“G-General Börte.” Mozaffar stumbled over his words, not knowing what to say. The generals and the press were all listening in, expecting him to stick to a script that had been thrown out the window. Somehow, Börte had managed to pull off the unthinkable. He had thought it was impossible, so he had not accounted for it. “It’s nice to know you’re okay…”
Börte’s words dripped with sarcasm and a hint of frustration. “Ah, you’re here. Well, Mozaffar, I am pleased to announce that the Crusader army in Mosul has been completely neutralized.”
It sounded like she had caught on, just as he initially thought, and was now blaming him for the initial scenario. Completely deserved with what she knew. “What? How?!”
“Four hours ago, we covertly destroyed Mosul Dam. Again. The ensuing flood devastated the enemy lines, and we finished off the survivors. The city is safely in our hands, with minimal casualties.”
Mozaffar suppressed his confusion and simply nodded agreeably. “Good work, General. I am pleased by this development. Now we can move on to our ultimate target. I trust you can repeat this miracle there?”
“My duty is to the safety and survival of the troops under my command. That comes first.”
Mozaffar nodded. “Good. With someone like you in charge, Baghdad will be liberated.”
“Of course,” Börte replied.
“Dismissed.” The call ended.
The best case scenario, the one he thought had been impossible, had happened. He didn’t need to sacrifice those troops anymore, and the city was in his hands. Jerusalem had been dealt another crippling loss it no doubt could not recover from. Everything went perfectly.
So why did it still feel like he lost?
East of Mosul
Julian’s tank rolled across the dusty plains of Mesopotamia. Behind him, pillars of smoke rose from the flooded city as the Yavdians finished off any surviving Crusaders. It no longer concerned him. He had achieved what he set out to do. All of the pieces had fallen into place, just as he had hoped. Now he just had to head home. The trip back to the base was uneventful. He rolled through the checkpoint, the Romans on duty waving him through like any other soldier, and parked the tank where he left it, in the parking lot for experimental vehicles.
You know, this was a pretty convenient vehicle. It’s a shame I have to leave it here.
Climbing out of the tank, he stashed his computers and other devices back in the storage room he got them from. Once everything was secure and his hands were empty, he got on the next military transport back to Persia. Again, he was waved through security by the Romans on duty. Nobody, aside from Börte, would suspect Julian Anniona was ever in Mesopotamia to begin with. After they were in the air, he started laughing to himself.
It’s not enough. I need more to checkmate Mozaffar. I’ve got lots to do in Isfahan. Izinchi is out of the picture, which means I’ve got to step up, both publicly and privately. The Roman exiles are counting on me to lead them to the next stage in the plan. Mosul is only the beginning.
Elsewhere
The airlock finished cycling and slid open. Julius piloted the Sigurd into the maintenance bay of Olympus Base, his home, and was greeted by a round of applause from the soldiers and technicians already gathered inside.
“Hail Emperor Julius!”
“Long live the Steel Emperor!”
“Our dream is about to be writ large!”
He reached up and flipped some switches. The controls detached from his limbs, and his chair lowered out of the Sigurd’s main body, depositing him on the floor. He stepped out and stretched his legs, breathing in the air of the habitat dome.
Angelica appeared at the front of the gathering crowd and thrust out an arm in a salute. “Hail, Emperor Julius, he who will unite Mars!”
“Hail Emperor Julius!”
Julius smiled. He continued walking, and the crowd reverently parted ways to make a path for him. Angelica would have said it was like Moses parting the Red Sea, but he had never seen an ocean, the only red he knew was the dust outside, and Moses was just another name in a book his priest stubbornly clung to.
“Mariner Valley alone would have been a triumph,” he said, “Xanthe proved our strategic brilliance. But taking Mangala Base proved our superiority! UNAP and its lackeys will never perceive us as weak again!”
The Battle of Mangala Base was a huge setback for the Socialist Republic of Mangala. Having lost its capital to a freak landslide and sinkhole Julius had created through the tactical deployment of mining equipment and thermobaric warheads, the remaining communists had retreated to their eastern habitats. In time, they would also be swept away, like dust to a broom.
“UNAP clings to outdated ideas like democracy and communism, relics of a dead planet we are slowly forgetting,” Julius continued, “They must be swept aside so that humanity can achieve true greatness in its new home. My subjects! Long have I waited, all through these struggles against Mangala and UNAP, for our enemies to come to their senses! For them to realize that fighting over dead ideologies is pointless! That we must unite as a species to survive on this planet!”
There were boos when he mentioned Mangala, followed by cheers when he called for unification.
“But that hope has constantly been betrayed!” Julius said. “UNAP and its lackeys continue to perpetrate acts of barbarism and destruction against us Austrians, no, us humans…no, us Terrans! They seek to destroy our way of life. They seek to drag us back into the failed ways that destroyed old Terra! They do not realize the Rapture gave us a second chance on this planet. We must not let them make Mars into a second Terra!”
“Never forgive UNAP!”
“Down with Mangala!”
“Mars will be ours!”
“UNAP is a symbol of the old world!” Julius continued. “They say they lead humanity into the future, but they really keep us shackled to the past! A past marked by ideological feuds, religious wars, cultural squabbles, and pointless politicking by the bureaucrats and the politicians who’d rather talk and take bribes than help their people! To that past, I say let it die! Let it die, so the failures of humankind no longer chain us, and Terrankind marches free into the future!”
“We’re finished with UNAP’s lies!”
“Death to UNAP!”
“Mars is our birthright!” Julius said. “We are the chosen ones who will inherit this planet and lead all Terrankind away from UNAP and the tainted legacy of old Terra! We will not turn back the hands of time! We refuse to cling to the outdated and failed name of ‘humankind’ like UNAP does! The new Mars we go on to build will not repeat the same mistakes Terra did. We will build a home for our people, where we will no longer fight over petty ideologies and cultural differences! We will all be one people! We may be descended from those from Terra, but our home is on Mars!”
He thrust a fist into the air. “Long live the Holy Roman Empire! Long live Mars!”
“LONG LIVE THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE! LONG LIVE MARS!”
“Emperor Julius wansui!” Angelica proclaimed.
“JULIUS! JULIUS! JULIUS! JULIUS!”
---
In case you think Mozaffar’s internal monologue is still a mask for his true evil intentions, let me say now that he is being completely genuine. He is not evil like the Regency or Han. He doesn’t seek to overthrow meritocracy and establish a dictatorship. Mozaffar at his very core is a patriot who believes in Persian meritocracy. Everything he does stems from a desire to protect Persia and its meritocracy. He accepted the office of regent out of a desire to lead Persia while it was bereft of leadership in his view. He took credit for April 2 as a way to unite the people, keep up morale, and not let Persia slip back into the uncertainty and bleakness from before that turning point. He agreed to use the Yavdians as cannon fodder because Persian casualties would be deeply unpopular by the people and break morale. He thought everything was squared away because some Yavdian commanders were convinced by the offers of citizenship, while the high profile acts of cruelty like the one we saw before were committed by field commanders acting on their own prejudices. Likeminded commanders were in the war room with Mozaffar here, expecting him to say the same things. In a way, Mozaffar is being forced down the path of the villain by the will of the people, who have already made up their minds to hate the Romans. I do suppose he does deserve some blame for “going with the flow,” to continue the metaphor.
This whole recharacterization was pretty recent, as in the original draft Mozaffar was just straight up another authoritarian wannabe. Then I wrote the next gameplay chapter’s Persia section, which focuses on Mozaffar. Originally it was supposed to be the Persian equivalent of me writing pro-Jerusalem content in the gameplay chapters and anti-Jerusalem in the story chapters, but then I thought it would be better if he was genuinely had good intentions. It adds another layer to the looming struggle between him and Julian when he’s not another evil politician. In a way, this shifts Julian’s opponent from a single individual to the will of the people, drunk on nationalism and xenophobia, and the Persian political system it has taken over. Guess Jerusalem’s human wave tactics did have some use, since they forced the Persian military and people to discard their compassion and harden their hearts.
Sorry if you guys were expecting another Julius battle scene, but I ran into some heavy writer’s block with this one so I settled for Julius jamming it up in the aftermath. As of me writing this (April 28), the next Julius segment is in the next story batch, but if I get any ideas I might try fitting one more into this batch.
- 2
I wasn’t expecting Mozaffar to basically be like Wihelm Karl, but I ain’t complaining. It makes him more interesting than if he was a wannabe Elias or Han. I definitely like how Julian’s struggle is now against systemic racism and intolerance rather than just a corrupt politician.
Julian is definitely leaving up to Lelouch‘s brilliance here, and it played off in saving Borte’s army. That‘s said let’s hope there aren’t any civillians still in Mosul or Baghdad espically considering how that Lelouch using a similar move with a landslide against Cornelia spiraled into unintended consequences involving Shirley.
I also like the contrast between Julian fighting against totalitarianism and Julius wanting to do away with democracy. So far it looks like Julian will be a clear good guy and Julius a power hungry tyrant. However, you did say we will see how simlar Julius and Julian are in this arc, and Julius did go back to Earth to save survivors and evacuate them to Mars, so I suspect we could see Julius showing compassion and empathy and Julian being very ruthless towards his enemies.
Also, since we haven’t seen Samir in awhile, some part of me feels like Julian might end up getting Samir as a Suzaku like ideological foil in this arc.
Good to see you included my idea for a Timurid character in this update as well. Happy to see Igre introduced here.
Julian is definitely leaving up to Lelouch‘s brilliance here, and it played off in saving Borte’s army. That‘s said let’s hope there aren’t any civillians still in Mosul or Baghdad espically considering how that Lelouch using a similar move with a landslide against Cornelia spiraled into unintended consequences involving Shirley.
I also like the contrast between Julian fighting against totalitarianism and Julius wanting to do away with democracy. So far it looks like Julian will be a clear good guy and Julius a power hungry tyrant. However, you did say we will see how simlar Julius and Julian are in this arc, and Julius did go back to Earth to save survivors and evacuate them to Mars, so I suspect we could see Julius showing compassion and empathy and Julian being very ruthless towards his enemies.
Also, since we haven’t seen Samir in awhile, some part of me feels like Julian might end up getting Samir as a Suzaku like ideological foil in this arc.
Good to see you included my idea for a Timurid character in this update as well. Happy to see Igre introduced here.
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I’ve already done the “popular demagogue hijacks liberal society and destroys democracy/meritocracy for evil motives” thing multiple times, so I thought I’d take a different approach. Mozaffar doesn’t want to overthrow or subvert anything. He wants to protect Persia, but the nationalism of the people twists that desire into something dangerous. It definitely mirrors the countless other characters who have been forced into roles they didn’t want over the course of this arc.
At this point, both Mosul and Baghdad remain completely abandoned aside from their military garrisons. Baghdad was never resettled after the initial committee takeovers and the first Mosul Dam floods.
True.
Samir will show up soon, but he’s not too relevant to Julian’s side of the story, at least for what I’ve got planned right now.
It was a little difficult trying to fit her into the current cast, but I hope she’ll integrate well.
- 2
Interesting. Let’s see the desires of the two magnificent bastards, Moss, and Julius, and see if they find out that their interests more or less align, or they fight against each other based off of different interests, or a little bit of both.
- 1
Great day for Börte, I'm sure she's perfectly happy with how that all played out.
I honestly realized something. Half of Part 5 as a whole is a deconstruction of this whole series, it’s too the point where the series is actually trying to deconstruct itself, it’s actually reconstructing the story because as of the time Jerusalem became a thing, there is almost nothing to deconstruct as basically everything has been deconstructed by Sentinel, The Soviets, and The Reich’s Governing Establishment or as Jerusalem as well as the rest of the world calls them… The Party Cartel.
- 1
You’re on the right track. I did aim for Part 5 to be a deconstruction of the series, especially the Reich since it was the main focus of the series. And I also want to reconstruct things afterward, since we’ve hit rock bottom and can only go up from there. It’s more of a meta thing than anything done in-universe, even though there were plenty of in-universe entities trying to literally deconstruct the Reich, with varying degrees of success.
- 1
Mounting Sins
Berlin - May 8
“The Twenty-Fourth Division was destroyed in a battle at Tabriz,” Heinrich reported, “We lost the Fifty-Third Division outside Lublin. Basra’s garrison was routed. All three cities are now under siege.”
“What about the enemy?” Moria said. “Who’s responsible?”
“Börte’s troops at Tabriz,” Heinrich said, “She was there personally, but the army flew the Yavdian flag, not the Persian one. Same deal with Basra. As for Lublin, it was Konstantinov and Bradziunas.”
“By all rights, both armies should have crumbled long ago,” Josiah said, “Without supply lines or an industrial base, they should not be able to replenish their lost materiel.”
“And yet they still do,” Moria said.
“Perhaps they’re getting the help of locals,” Heinrich said, “Or raiding our supply depots.”
“If that’s the case, then Konstantinov should no longer be able to rely on that,” Moria said, “The Purification of Russia will see to it.”
“The Purification cannot be carried out to its full extent as long as we ourselves lack the materiel to carry it out,” Heinrich said, “At the current rate, we’ll only execute half measures.”
Have to at least play the part. If Josiah won’t, then I will.
“And what about Börte?” Josiah asked. “How will we deal with her?”
“A war of attrition.” Heinrich spoke up first. “Throw as many of our troops at her as we can. Zealots, conscripts, prisoners, everybody we can get our hands on. Wear her down until all of her troops are dead. We can replace our losses. She can’t.”
“Good idea,” Moria said, “I trust you’ll relay that order to High Command?”
“I will.”
“Great. No on to the next matter at hand.” Moria shuffled his papers. “The memorial service tomorrow. Are we still on the schedule we agreed to?”
“Yes,” Josiah said, “Though I must voice my concerns about spending money on a memorial service when our economy is in the state it is. The public optics would not be ideal.”
“It’s nothing Bysandros can’t handle.” Moria casually waved his hand. “He’s handled worse.”
May 9
Berlin Cathedral was long gone. In its place, the Regency had erected a giant marble Jerusalem cross which now loomed over the desolate former Museum Island. The museums for which the island was named were also gone, both their collections and the buildings themselves. Even the greenery was gone, replaced by concrete parade grounds. Once, back during the days of the Cold War, Brandenburg Palace had been razed and replaced by a parade ground, so that equalist boots could eternally stomp on the Kaiser’s former home. Now, even worse boots stomped on the cultural heritage that was once gathered here.
Today, a large crowd crammed onto Museum Island, gathering around the cross. There were many citizens among them, all of them dressed in black suits. Rows of priests and Shepherds walked among them, swinging incense burners and ringing bells. Home Guardians provided security at all of the island’s bridges. The Patriarch of Berlin stood before the cross, hands raised up to the heavens. Moria stood next to him, a microphone in his hands.
“Let us all pray for the brave souls who gave their lives in battle against the heathens and barbarians of the world!” he said. “Without their sacrifice, we would not be here today, free of the scourges of barbarism and atheism. These brave men were faithful husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers. But they heard God’s call to duty, and they gave their lives to protect our faith. They are in heaven now, with the Lord Almighty. They are all saints!
“I’d like to ask you all something: what did they die for? Let me tell you, they died for God and His kingdom. They died so Christendom can remain free. What death can be more honorable than that? My fellow Christians, we must keep their sacrifice first in our hearts and mind. The Apocalypse has begun. The servants of Lucifer seek to destroy Christendom, but have no fear, the archangel Michael will soon descend to do battle with the enemies of God, and the Messiah will return to lead the faithful up to Heaven, where they belong. Let us all reject Lucifer and embrace the reborn Christ, just as those who have fallen in battle have already! Let us all serve God, the arbiter of justice and order! Let us all fight for the nation!”
The applause he expected never came. He heard some scattered clapping, but most of the crowd remained silent. They looked both confused and disappointed. Strange. At the last triumph we held, they were practically screaming my name. So why aren’t they doing that now?
Then they opened their mouths, and complaints spilled out.
“Where is my son? When is he coming home?”
“When can we expect inflation to be reduced?”
“The weekly rations aren’t enough to feed my family!”
“What happened in Mosul? Why can’t I contact my brother there?”
The complaints didn’t stop. Soon, the entire crowd was shouting at him. Moria started sweating. What is going on here? This shouldn’t be happening! Bysandros, do your job, or I will be forced to do mine!
“Patience, my fellow citizens,” Moria said, “I assure you, God will provide to all those who are lacking, for as long as you have faith, you shall be rewarded.”
“When will God provide though?”
“We lack basic necessities!”
“When will we get relief?”
“I said patience!” Moria said. “Were you not listening to me?”
“Sir,” one of the Home Guardian commanders said, “Perhaps it’s time we intervened.”
“I’m going to give them one more chance,” Moria said.
He turned to the crowd. “Have you forgotten the words of our lord Jesus Christ? Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven!”
“You can’t eat spirit!”
“Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted!”
“I’ve had to bury three sons in the last month alone!”
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth!”
“A Home Guardian trashed my house!”
“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled!”
“We can’t afford food!”
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy!”
“Then show us mercy!”
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God!”
“Purity of heart does not pay the bills!”
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God!”
“How much longer does this war need to go on for?”
“Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven!”
“The heretics and apostates within our borders have long been brought to justice! You’re the ones persecuting us!”
“Blessed are you, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake!”
“Your sake?!”
Moria realized he had recited the Beatitudes too closely when the crowd surged forward, their fists raised. A split second later, the Home Guardians opened fire.
Several hours later
From the Regency’s meeting room in Brandenburg Palace, Moria could still hear the gunfire echoing across the city as the Home Guardians suppressed more riots and potential riots. Josiah and Heinrich both glared at him from across the table.
“Look, I didn’t know this was going to happen,” Moria said, “Bysandros assured me that his narratives were aligned with our policies and activities and had complete public approval.”
“So you’d trust his word over what’s happening right outside that window?” Josiah said. “Philemon, you literally set half the capital on fire. And when I say literally, I literally mean literally.”
“Don’t worry, I can fix it,” Moria said.
“With more fire?”
Moria shrugged. “I’m RSB. That’s what we do.”
“Philemon, you’re going to make this worse!”
“And if it gets worse, I’ll deal with it,” Moria said, “Jeez, why don’t you just stick to your job, Professor Bookworm? I seem to recall you have quite the supply chain problem.”
“A supply chain problem that you’ll only exacerbate with your current policies.”
“Gentlemen!” Heinrich said. “Please, this is not appropriate behavior from God’s chosen representatives on Earth.”
“Shouldn’t you be more concerned with the fall of Basra, Heinrich?” Moria retorted.
“I’m already handling that, thank you very much,” Heinrich said, “But I need to keep the troops’ morale up, and to do that, I need order at home.”
“Speaking about order…” Josiah used the opportunity to change the subject. Moria had no objections. Fine by me, I was getting tired of this argument. “Have you heard the news about His Holiness?”
“The Ecumenical Patriarch?”
“Yeah, he wants to hold a synod.”
Moria thought for a moment. “A synod? How interesting.”
“I’m sure he was disappointed that the Patriarchs of Berlin and Rome have fully incorporated Reinstaat into their doctrines.” It was only natural that two of the most influential patriarchs of western Europe would embrace Reinstaat. If they wanted to retain access to their flocks, they would have to play by the committee’s rules. Moria had attended one sermon by the Patriarch of Berlin a couple weeks ago. He was speaking about how Jesus Christ would have supported the committee, as he too fought against a Roman party cartel.
“It seems he wants to unite the church,” Josiah said.
“Could he be making a power play? Does he think he can stand against us?” Moria couldn’t rule out the possibility. Anatolios had made no secret of his dislike of previous religious events the committee had organized. Perhaps he thought that he, as primus inter pares of the Church, could take control away from the Regency. After all, this was a theocracy. It was logical to assume the Ecumenical Patriarch would want to take direct control. But would that old man really be stupid enough to take on the ones with all of the military power? Or was his faith really that blinding?
“I can’t say for sure,” Heinrich said, “That’s your area of expertise, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Moria said, “I’ll keep an eye on His Holiness. But I have other matters to attend to right now.”
Nuremberg - May 10
“Stop it!” Frederica Eisenburg shouted, grasping the uniform of the Home Guardian commander standing in the doorway. Behind him, the rest of his team ransacked her house, overturning furniture and tossing things onto the floor. Two of them dragged Sigmund down the hallway to the front door. “Leave Sigmund alone!”
“Damnit!” Sigmund shouted. “I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Listen to him!” Frederica said. “He’s never hurt anyone! He’s been a loyal citizen from the beginning!”
“On the contrary,” the commander said, “He’s a heretic. Don’t bother denying it, we have proof.”
“You frakkers!” Sigmund lunged at the commander, only to have his nose smashed in by the wooden stock of a Home Guardian’s assault rifle. He sprawled onto the floor.
“I suppose we can add resisting arrest to your charges,” the commander said, “We have enough to pass a verdict immediately.”
In one fluid motion, he shot Sigmund’s right arm twice. He screamed and writhed on the floor, blood pooling around him. “Suspect has been punished. Let’s move out!”
Without another word, the Home Guardians left Frederica’s house. They would continue on to the neighbors, where they would probably do the same thing. It was happening all over Jerusalem today, from what Frederica had gathered. A massive crackdown by the Home Guardians against perceived dissent. She had heard through the grapevine that there were massive riots in the capital after a government memorial service went horribly wrong, though the news obviously said nothing.
She looked down at Sigmund. The blood was starting to soak into the wood and dry up. Frederica quickly got a first-aid kit and wrapped gauze around the bullet wounds as Sigmund groaned.
“AAAARRGH, THOSE FRAKKERS!” he said. “WHAT THE HELL DID I EVER DO?!”
"We have to get you to a hospital," Frederica said.
“You know they won’t treat me. If they already labeled me a heretic...”
Frederica angrily pounded her fist against the floorboards. “DAMNIT! I CAN’T TAKE THIS ANYMORE! WE HAVE TO DO SOMETHING!”
“Frederica, stay calm,” Sigmund said, “We just have to stick to the script and—”
“And what?!” Frederica raised her voice. “Wait it all out?! We have been waiting for four years, and things have only gotten worse! What’s the point of waiting if nothing will change?! If we’re just going to suffer more? I can’t put up with this any longer! We have to fight back!”
“Frederica, think,” Sigmund said, “We’re just two people. What can we possibly do to take on Jerusalem?”
“Surely there will be enough people out there who think like me after today. I guarantee it. If not...then I at least want to get out of this city before it goes even more to hell. Sigmund, sticking to the script isn’t working. We need to try something else.”
“I just don’t want us to die.”
”Me too, Sigmund. But we definitely will die if we wait around and pretend nothing has changed.”
“Then what do we do?”
Frederica continued treating Sigmund’s wounds. “First, I stabilize your condition. Next, we find people who think the same as us.”
She looked at her bobblehead of Palla, which the Home Guardians had fortunately not noticed. If only you were here, Wilhelmina. We need a leader.
“And then, we leave Nuremberg for good.”
The Ecumenical Patriarchate, Constantinople - May 11
The reports Anatolios received from his bishops were troubling. Yesterday’s purge had gone way too far. The final death toll was officially in the hundreds, but it was likely several orders of magnitude higher, if his bishops could be taken at their word. Neighborhoods had been burned. Families were slaughtered, and the survivors were forced to pay bills covering the killers’ expenses. Crusaders had been deployed in the major cities to fire on crowds. Looking out the window, he still saw plumes of smoke rising from downtown Constantinople. They were now shooting anybody they considered a rioter. That included literally anybody just on the street for whatever reason.
This is bad. I’ll have to accelerate the planning for the synod. I have to hold it sooner rather than later. The Church needs to be united against the Regency. As painful as yesterday was, it’ll surely drive more of the bishops and patriarchs to my side. Then we might have enough influence with the people to wrest power away from the monsters in Berlin.
He had already set up a pfarrernotbund, an emergency league for pastors. It was an informal network that he had slowly built up over the last month, secretly recruiting likeminded priests he believed shared his frustrations with the Regency’s interference in Church affairs. In the old Reich, the Kaiser had the authority to decide Church doctrine. Otto the Great had made use of ceasaropapism frequently during his long reign. But now, the Regency had made use of the same power to impose its own twisted doctrine upon the Church, turning it into yet another political mouthpiece. Anatolios had to put a stop to it, by ending ceasaropapism. The Church should be free to set its own affairs, without the state’s interference. Ironically, the Catholics had done that before, during the Schism. Perhaps they had a point when they asserted the independence of their papacy from temporal leaders.
What Anatolios was doing today was tantamount to schism. He knew that his decision had no precedent within the mainstream church. But he saw no other choice. If the Church was to survive and regain its independence and purpose, it had to separate itself from Jerusalem. It had to fight back against Moria and the others.
If this means I’m condemned to hell, then so be it. I’ll take Jerusalem down to hell with me, if it means the Church is restored to what it should be!
Isfahan - May 18
Julian learned the names of the two students running Channel X. The brother was Navid, and the sister was Noor. They had set up Channel X five years ago, when Navid had just started at Isfahan Tech and Noor was still in high school. They wnated to broadcast the news and nothing more—something that the average person could understand. As Jerusalem descended further into chaos and Mozaffar seized power, Channel X took on a new purpose, keeping the truth free of Mozaffar’s clutches. But there was only so much information two college students could gather. For years, all they could do was spread rumors. Now they had Julian. Their aims aligned with his, so he made them part of his plan.
“Now, on to current events,” Navid said, “The Artesh announced earlier this morning that Baghdad has been liberated. Following General Börte’s overwhelming victory at Mosul and the fall of Basra, Crusader forces have been in full retreat across Mesopotamia.”
“But that isn’t the full story,” Noor said, “The Mesopotamian campaign has been full of hardship and suffering so far. The reality on the front lines is much murkier than what is shown on TV. I understand that there are some things that can’t be shown on TV, but there are many truths in Mesopotamia that the people still ought to know.”
We, along with many other news agencies, have received audio testimonies from active duty soldiers and officers, both Artesh and Yavdian, fighting in Mesopotamia,” Navid said, “They have been independently verified for their legitimacy. We have decided to broadcast these testimonies to ensure that those in power are held accountable for how they wage this war. It is our hope that they shed new light on the war and allow the people of Persia to gain a balanced perspective of what our brave soldiers are going through.”
Julian watched intently from outside the recording booth as Noor slid a cassette tape into the transceiver. Julian had gone to great lengths to smuggle those testimonies back into Isfahan. Wi-Fi was a no-go. Although the Internet had been restored in some of the major cities, service remained restricted in Isfahan and completely cut in the western regions. All of the usual methods of communication were monitored to some degree. Which was why Julian used cassette tapes. They had gone out of fashion decades ago, so nobody would bat an eye if they were being shipped into Isfahan. And, as Julian found out, they were incredibly efficient when it came to memory storage. Each tape could store hundreds of testimonies. He made a note to find a tape manufacturer later on. These tapes could come in handy for other things.
“I am General Saikhangiin Börte,” Börte’s voice came over the radio, “I am the one responsible for the Miracle of Mosul. Mozaffar claims he was responsible for Mosul, but he isn’t. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to sacrifice my troops, and here is the proof I have…”
For half an hour, Börte explained as much as she could about her experiences in Mesopotamia without leaking compromising information on her formations, movements, and strategies. She talked about the encirclement at the citadel and how she arrived too late to save the soldiers sacrificed there as a distraction for the operation. Next, all of the reckless assaults the General Staff had ordered the Yavdians to execute, so that Persian casualties would be minimized. Then there was Mosul, where her main army was supposed to have died, had she not come up with a clever strategy to destroy Mosul Dam and use the Tigris River itself to neutralize the Crusaders for her. And finally, she was the one who marched into Baghdad ahead of the Persians. Her testimony detailed a conspiracy by which her army was turned into sacrificial pawns for Mozaffar, doing all of the dangerous work so that the Persians would have an easier job. And when their usefulness was gone and Börte’s reputation posed a threat, he had them eliminated.
Julian had already anticipated the possible reactions from Mozaffar and his supporters. Börte was just jealous of Mozaffar’s success and wanted to sabotage him. Börte was a traitor or secretly working with Otso Bielke. Börte was a liar. This was all a slander campaign orchestrated by the Romans to destroy Persia. Börte was undermining the war effort. He had already prepared counternarratives to refute each of those, spread via rumor across Isfahan. Even if they wouldn’t become the mainstream view, they would prevent Mozaffar’s narrative from dominating.
“And that wraps up Börte’s testimony,” Noor said, “We’ll continue after a brief intermission, so stay tuned!”
They went off the air. Navid left the recording booth and walked up to Julian. “Are you sure this is safe?”
“What do you mean?” Julian said.
“The contents of Börte’s testimony, aren’t they technically treason?” Navid said. “Even if she hid as much classified information as possible, she did reveal that these sacrifice plays were strategies, not incompetence.”
“I know,” Julian said, “But you forget one thing. Börte’s not Persian. She’s a Yavdian commander, operating on a separate command structure from the Artesh. As long as she stays outside Persia, the only thing Mozaffar can do is send the Artesh to directly attack her, which would instantly reveal his true colors.”
“Yeah, but won’t Jerusalem also know about Mozaffar’s strategy?”
Julian nodded. “Yes, they will.”
“They will?!” Navid was taken aback at Julian’s casual confirmation.
“That’s the goal,” Julian said, “If they know Mozaffar was sacrificing armies as part of his strategy, Jerusalem would adjust its own strategy to prevent him from doing so. There will be no future sacrifice plays.”
“What about us? We’re in Isfahan, so will Mozaffar go after us instead?”
“Why else do you think I sent the testimonies to every other major news agency, and a good number of the minor radio channels like your own?” Julian said. “That way, Mozaffar won’t know where they truly came from. If he wants to suppress the whole thing, he’ll have to shut down the entire press. If he only suppresses you or one other organization, he’ll only be proving our point. Though I do suggest lying low for the time being. No way of telling who Mozaffar’s going to go after in the next few days.”
I fully expect him to make a few arrests, which will only help my plan along.
Navid shook his head. “No, I don’t think I will leave.”
“What?” Julian said. “Didn’t you hear me? Things are about to get unpredictable. You could be arrested.”
“Then I’ll end up like Anders Humboldt,” Navid said, “He stood firm when the conspiracies he faced down arrested him and threatened him with death. He didn’t care for his own life. All that mattered was getting the truth out there. Noor thinks the same way. We’re going to get the truth out there, arrests be damned. We’re not stopping our broadcasts. The people deserve to know the truth.”
Fascinating… Julian thought. And I thought he would freak out when he realized he’s now Mozaffar’s target.
“I know that’s not what you want to hear,” Navid said, “I know it would be safer to just leave the city, but I can’t. Not when we’re finally doing the work we’ve wanted to do for five years.”
Julian nodded. “I get the feeling.”
“You do?”
He recalled another city, in another time, also fighting against an overwhelming enemy in a seemingly futile battle. And yet despite it all, the people of Bremerhaven kept fighting on. He focused on Angelica’s face, remembering how she had helped him over the last few weeks. Even after Bremerhaven was long gone, its defenders still fought on. He focused on Navid, seeing that same determination on his face. In a way, it reminded him a lot of Anders.
“Yes I do,” Julian said.
Ali Qapu Palace - May 24
Tania walked into the war room and saluted. “Admiral Kirova, reporting, sir.”
Mozaffar sat at the head of the table. His eyes were fixed on the map laid out in front of him. It showed the Persian Gulf and the various military units positioned around it. Tania noticed the usual Persian units, as well as a few Jerusalemite ones, but there were a few others of unknown color in what appeared to be Dubai. As for Mozaffar himself, if Tania could sum up his appearance in one word, it would be “tired.” He looked nothing like how he did at his rallies or on TV. This was her first time seeing him in person, and he looked like he had crawled out of bed an hour ago. It was hard to imagine this was the man Julian was waging an entire shadow war against.
“Tatiana Kirova,” Mozaffar said, “Would you care to remind me what rank you hold?”
“Uh…” Tania said. “I am an admiral in the Scandinavian navy.”
“And what does an admiral do, Admiral Kirova?”
Tania had to think for a moment. Funny enough, she hadn’t done anything admiral-related since Bremerhaven, aside from a few consultations with the Persian Navy. “An admiral commands a fleet and oversees naval operations.”
Mozaffar pointed at the mysterious units on the map. “Then what do you make of this?”
Another general handed a tablet to Tania, which showed drone footage of the Persian Gulf. Land appeared in the distance, and Tania recognized the skyscrapers of Dubai, even though they were now little more than bare frames rusting in the desert. What was more important, though, was the large Chinese fleet moored in Dubai’s harbor, all proudly flying the golden dragon. That same dragon banner also flew from some of the skeletons of the former skyscrapers. There were Chinese troops marching through the streets as well, some of them fighting Crusader stragglers.
“What do you make of this?” Mozaffar asked.
“Are those…Chinese forces in Dubai?” Tania asked.
“Yes, they are,” Mozaffar asked, “What I want to know is how they got there. From what I remember, your responsibilities include working with the Persian Navy to defend the Strait of Hormuz. The fact that the Chinese got past the straits and landed troops in Dubai is clear evidence that you have failed in that responsibility.”
“Minister,” Tania said, “I had gone through the appropriate channels for the last several weeks, warning that the Imperial Chinese Navy had gotten increasingly desperate after the Battle of Hawaii and losing Han’s favor. The admirals seek to restore their favor by any means necessary, and that means dancing to Han’s whims. Han has made no secret of his desire to deploy Chinese troops in the Jerusalemite heartland before. So it stood to reason the admirals would try the unthinkable: crossing the Indian Ocean to invade Arabia. Yet the Admiralty has time and again refused to even look into the matter. I have been shot down and ignored every single time I brought the issue up. Now we’re paying the price.”
Why was this the first time Tania was hearing of it? It took weeks to move fleets and complete amphibious operations. She should have heard about the Chinese fleet weeks ago, when they broke through the Straits of Malacca. How did they get past those straits to begin with? Perhaps Malaya and the other Southeast Asian nations were in no shape to patrol the straits, given their worsening neo-equalist insurgencies. But still, someone should have at least sent her a message warning that a Chinese fleet was on its way. Yet she was only informed now, after the Chinese had already effectively taken the city. She arrived at her conclusion within another second. Mozaffar and the military wanted a scapegoat, and as the only non-Persian naval officer currently in service, she would be it.
“I don’t know what to say,” Mozaffar said, “The symbolism of Chinese troops in Arabia is one thing, but there is a strategic value in holding Dubai. They can not only attack Jerusalem, but they can deploy missile batteries targeting us.”
“Then we should move fast and break their foothold,” Tania said.
“My men are already on it,” Mozaffar said, motioning to the generals around him, “But we need accountability. Someone has to take the blame for this. The people of this nation will accept no less.”
Here it comes…
“Which is why I have made the decision to revoke your security clearances and dismiss you from service.”
“What?!” Tania said. “I did everything by the book, and you’re still punishing me?”
“By the book or not, the fact is the Chinese are in Dubai, and someone in the chain of command messed up,” Mozaffar said.
“So you decided to blame me,” Tania said, “I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s the admirals who refused to heed my warnings!”
Mozaffar shook his head. “I’ll have to have a word with them, and I’ll pass judgment on them as they deserve, but I can’t change your status. The paperwork’s already gone through.”
“Then reverse it! You’re the regent! You have the power!”
“And that would set an anti-meritocratic precedent that the people would not like,” Mozaffar said, “My hands are tied. I have to go through the proper channels to set the record straight. By the book, as you say.”
Don’t you DARE use my own words against me! You know full well what is going on!
“Well, then,” Tania said, “You can’t dismiss me from service. I’m not a Persian officer, I’m Scandinavian. And I resign.”
Mozaffar nodded. “Very well, then. You may go.”
Tania angrily saluted and left.
Mark my words, Mozaffar, one of these days, we’ll get back at you.
Berlin - May 27
“Moria.” Josiah’s patience was running thin. His arms were crossed, and it was easy to tell he was frustrated. “It is clear your methods aren’t working.”
“How so?” Moria said.
“The riots across Europe show no signs of stopping.” Josiah tossed a stack of photos across the table to him. “Just today, we had to suppress violent rioting in Paris, Vrhbosna, Munich, Athens, Naples, Salamanca, and Dublin. And those are just the major cities. The official death toll’s already into the thousands. Bysandros is having trouble suppressing this.”
“Don’t worry,” Moria said, “I’ll take care of this.”
“Like you took care of your mess earlier this month?” Josiah said. “Damnit, Moria, you have to stop doing this!”
“If I stop now, it’ll show we’re weak, and then the real violence will begin,” Moria said, “We can’t afford to show weakness in a time like this. Not until you get the economy back up.”
“I can't get my economy working if you keep killing my workers!” Josiah said.
“Quit your complaining, Professor Bookworm!”
Josiah banged the table. “Stop deflecting the blame, Philemon! You’ve caused no shortage of problems this month! You’ve made all of our jobs way more difficult!”
“I may have a solution,” Moria said.
“No!” Josiah said. “I’m done hearing about your solutions! It’ll only make things worse!”
Hold on, I can make use of this. “Actually…” Heinrich said. “I’d like to hear the solution.”
“Don’t tell me you still take him seriously, Heinrich!”
“You know what?” Moria said. “The solution involves you, Heinrich.”
“How so?”
“The people currently have decided that we are their enemy,” Moria said, “So what we need to do is give them a new one. And once they’re rallied against this new enemy, the military can make a good show of eliminating it. Then they’ll assist the Home Guardians in eliminating what dissent remains. We’ll return to the status quo of last month.”
Sounds simple, which means it’s not going to work. “Perfect. I’m all for it.”
“Heinrich, what the hell?!”
“However…” Maybe I can go even further… “I can only act in an advisory capacity at the moment, what with the General Staff having taken all of my authority two years ago.”
“I can have your full authority restored,” Moria said, “That way, you will have the entire military under your control.”
My God, this is really happening? He really fell for it. “Thank you. I’d appreciate it.”
“However, before we deploy the military within Jerusalem, I’d like to see how it performs under your leadership,” Moria said, “There have been widespread rebellions across India lately. Apparently, the survivors of the Purification have regained some measure of defiance after Banda Ahluwalia killed almost fifty thousand of our troops at Srinagar. I’d like you to break their last shreds of hope.”
What? You want me to…do that? “Surely that’s in the domain of the commanders in that area.”
“I thought you said you wanted your command restored?” Moria leaned over the table. “You’re a decorated general with over fifty years of service, aren’t you? This should be no problem.”
Damnit, I got to at least play the part. “…Yes, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“If you still need time to ease back into field command, don’t worry,” Moria said, “I’ll provide some assistance.”
Why do I have the feeling this isn’t going to end well? Heinrich sighed. As long as I get full control of the military back. “Fine. I appreciate the assistance.” Let’s just get this over with as soon as possible. Hopefully it’s not too bad.
---
Date of experiment: May 29, 2039
Clearance level: Seraph
Theater: Bengaluru
Commanding officer: Megas Domestikos Heinrich Dandolo
Compound tested: XA-1006C-423 (henceforth referred to as C-423)
Purpose: Testing the efficacy of C-423 as a viable noncontagious replacement for previously used biochemical agents
Summary of events: At 0900 hours, aircraft from the 124th Seraphim Airborne sprayed Compound C-423 over all remaining inhabited areas of Bengaluru over a period of two hours, ensuring total surface coverage. After equipping appropriate protective gear, troops from the 832nd Infantry sealed off all points of entry and exit to the city. Thirty (30) seconds after initial deployment, survey drones reported rapid onset of physical symptoms. Initial symptoms included coughing and shortness of breath. Twenty (20) seconds after onset, subjects began coughing blood, showing degradation of lung tissue. Forty (40) seconds after onset, skin began to burn and blister. Fifty (50) seconds afer onset, teeth fell out outs mouths. Seventy (70) seconds after onset, skin actively liquified at a rapid rate, indicating the successful integration of Spartikoi chemical agents. One hundred and twenty (120) seconds after onset, subjects saw a complete breakdown of bodily structure. All subjects were considered deceased at two hundred (200) seconds. Upon closer investigation, the troops of the 832nd Infantry were unable to identify any specific bodies due to the extent of physical corrosion. No survivors were found.
Conclusion: The test was a massive success. Regent Moria has authorized mass production and deployment of C-423 for use in multiple active fronts.
Clearance level: Seraph
Theater: Bengaluru
Commanding officer: Megas Domestikos Heinrich Dandolo
Compound tested: XA-1006C-423 (henceforth referred to as C-423)
Purpose: Testing the efficacy of C-423 as a viable noncontagious replacement for previously used biochemical agents
Summary of events: At 0900 hours, aircraft from the 124th Seraphim Airborne sprayed Compound C-423 over all remaining inhabited areas of Bengaluru over a period of two hours, ensuring total surface coverage. After equipping appropriate protective gear, troops from the 832nd Infantry sealed off all points of entry and exit to the city. Thirty (30) seconds after initial deployment, survey drones reported rapid onset of physical symptoms. Initial symptoms included coughing and shortness of breath. Twenty (20) seconds after onset, subjects began coughing blood, showing degradation of lung tissue. Forty (40) seconds after onset, skin began to burn and blister. Fifty (50) seconds afer onset, teeth fell out outs mouths. Seventy (70) seconds after onset, skin actively liquified at a rapid rate, indicating the successful integration of Spartikoi chemical agents. One hundred and twenty (120) seconds after onset, subjects saw a complete breakdown of bodily structure. All subjects were considered deceased at two hundred (200) seconds. Upon closer investigation, the troops of the 832nd Infantry were unable to identify any specific bodies due to the extent of physical corrosion. No survivors were found.
Conclusion: The test was a massive success. Regent Moria has authorized mass production and deployment of C-423 for use in multiple active fronts.
Heinrich slumped into his chair, his head in his hands. It had took every fiber of his being to remember the orders he had given earlier that day, then to write it all down and hand it to Moria. Even as he did so, he couldn’t help but shake and grit his teeth as he watched Moria happily take the report.
“Thanks, Heinrich,” Moria said, “We’ve gotten a lot of useful data today. Rest assured that you’ve made your own job much easier in the weeks to come. You’ll get used to it. You can expect the relevant paperwork to be filed by the end of the day.”
He left the room, leaving Heinrich to himself.
You know what… Heinrich felt absolutely terrible. He had done horrible things in the past, but something about this incident made him feel even worse. But he couldn’t afford to lose himself in despair at this moment. If it means taking down Jerusalem for good, then I’ll gladly bear all of the sins I have to commit.
---
Yes, China really did invade Dubai in the game. I also point this out in Chapter 468 and its commentary. I literally have no idea how to justify it in-universe. I tried a bit in 468, but it still feels weird. Nevertheless, I refuse to retcon it out on account of the AI earning my respect for pulling it off under my nose, and I can significantly build on it in-universe.
I had to heavily rewrite Mozaffar’s section here to account for the change in his characterization. In the original draft, he was literally spinning in his chair and smugly mocking Tania as he forced her to resign. I like this approach better. Let’s leave the comically evil stuff to Jerusalem. However, I decided to leave all of the anti-Mozaffar POVs exactly the same. For all of his strategic brilliance, Julian based all of his plans on the assumption that Mozaffar was the evil mastermind.
Sigmund was supposed to die here, but while doing the final editing just before writing this commentary I realized it would basically amount to fridging. So I rewrote it into him being shot in the arm and Frederica still coming to the same conclusion, only this time she still has someone to talk to instead of having to bounce thoughts off her internal monologue. It shouldn’t change too much in her future POVs.
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