Here I am, trusting this complete stranger with the safe transport of my comrades. Maybe it would be different if it were another one of my countrymen, but this one is a Falt. They’re about as trustworthy as those damn Zündar. All those westerners come from practically the same blood, they might as well all be traitorous and scheming mongrels.
They all wish for the downfall of our motherland, the Zündar are just honest about it. Those in Faltith and Charcourt are simply better at hiding their resentment than Zürtzün is. That’s clearly why they’re doing nothing about the looming threat over our motherland, despite how plainly obvious Zürtzün’s aggression towards us is. Our brothers in Zaplecza and the other lowlands have been abandoned by the west. If only they allowed themselves to become part of Myromnmiat, they wouldn’t have to worry about Zürtzün at all.
But I’m getting off track here. I didn’t really have much of a choice considering I couldn't just leave them on the cold floor of the bar while all the other patrons were drunk to high heaven. The fact that they could very realistically drown in their own vomit is the way I’m sure they don’t want to go. Much better to do it on the battlefield, fighting for the Motherland.
As the Falt and I trudge our way silently through 67’ with Ilya on my back and Yegor on hers, I begin to contemplate her. The snow gently falls around us, illuminating her slim figure in the pale moonlight. She’s rather… lovely, isn’t she? Just from an objective standpoint, obviously. Like when you see a beautiful actor on stage or something like that.
She turns her face towards me, giving me a questioning look.
“Is something the matter, Miss Galiyev?” I cough in sudden surprise.
“Er, nothing,” I stiffly say. A still silence permeates the air, thick with awkwardness. Playing ice breaker is harder then it looks, huh? “So Miss Sharpe, what exactly brings you here to Myromnmiat?” I ask, sharply veering away from my earlier derailment. She glances at me, that strange unknown emotion once again briefly flickering.
“What, it’s illegal for a Falt to visit Myromnmiat now, is it?” she says defensively.
“I wasn’t saying that,” I responded coldly. What’s the problem now? Rather than it being illegal for Falts to come here, is it illegal to ask questions now? She sighs deeply, going to do some sort of hand motion but then remembering she has Yegor on her back.
“Sorry… I just tend to get a little frustrated when people pester me about my circumstances. People are so ripe with distrust within Myromnmiat. I know that it’s always been that way, but it’s gotten really bad lately. If anyone notices even a single foreign mannerism, I’m immediately bombarded with questions. That one is the most common. Can’t I just visit because I like it here?”
I consider her for a moment. While I sympathize with her struggle in terms of distrust, she has to have some awareness for the current situation we’re facing right now.
“I see. I guess I didn’t really think about that. I can see how that kind of thing would start to get annoying.”
“Right? Sometimes I really just want to-”
“However, I don’t think you really have to be particularly invested in politics to be aware of the tensions between Zürtzün and Myromnmiat. Not to mention the sorts of intervention that Charcourt and your country of Faltith are running right now.” I can’t help but scoff. “Well if you can call what they’re doing an intervention. Regardless of that, it’s inevitable for us to be wary of a foreigner, especially a falt. Charcourt is one thing, but the Commonwealth is acting so blatantly passive that it looks like you’re siding with Zürtzün on the matter of the Wiedervereinigung. Weren’t you and Charcourt the ones that established the treaty in the first place? How can you be so dismissive towards such clear violations of a treaty you enacted?”
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
She purses her lips. She’s trembling, barely holding back the flurry on insults I’m sure she wants to hurl. Go on then. Say it. Tell me all of your excuses.
“First of all, it wasn’t a treaty the Commonwealth enacted. It was a treaty that all of the participants of the war agreed upon. We were just one of the signatories. Second of all, the Commonwealth is a neutral party towards the business of the Wiedervereinigung. If the lowlands wish to become part of the Empire by their own accord, then so be it. We have no right to tell other countries what to do. We aren’t biased towards Zürtzün or Myromnmiat.”
“Yes because Zaplecza had so much of a say in their fate when the Reichsmachsine came in and crushed their military. Open your eyes, Sharpe. Zaplecza wasn’t the first to fall, nor will it be the last. Do you think Kugel’s ambitions will stop at the lowlands? Do you think his fervent speeches outline his restraint? His mercy? His humility? His eyes aren’t set on the lowlands. They gaze upon the entirety of Ralgen,” I hatefully spat.
“We have already filed our objections towards Zürtzün’s aggressive takeover of Zaplecza. Appeasement is the most sensible route here. With the scale that Zürtzün has re-established itself, I think it would be unwise to try and threaten them. Forget Ralgen, Zürtzün and its cohorts will throw the entire world into a bloody conflict,” she retorted.
“So you say it’s better to watch on and do nothing?! While they continue their rampage through Ralgen, uninterrupted? While they persecute Vurin and opposers alike in their hellish “containment facilities”? While they threaten the sanctity of our motherland?”
“I’d cut your tongue if I were you, Galiyev. Don’t act as if the Tsar is a saintly being free of sin. There’s no one on Pelaga who doesn’t know of the Tsar’s handouts of “vacation tickets” to Nitsya. I’m sure all those suspected defectors simply adore slowly dying to exhaustion and exposure in the dead of winter due to suspicions of conspiracy. Yes, not even conviction. Suspicion. Not to mention the way your people treat the Giteld. In that sense, you’re no better than Zürtzün.”
I nearly drop Ilya at that remark. To insult our country is one thing, but to insult Tsar Nikolas, the symbol of our power and wisdom…!
“I’m sure you Falts just love waltzing into people’s homes and then telling them what to do, only just as promptly leave when you’re asked for help! You’re all cowards! Pathetic and spineless cowards!”
She bites her lip so hard that a thin stream of blood trickles down her throat. If looks could kill, I would be dead.
“Well then. Start throwing your men and women at Zürtzün until it goes away. When the ground runs red with the blood of fools, then I guess we can say that the War never really ended and Myromnmiat didn’t learn it’s lesson from the first time it nearly fell apart!”
A deathly silence hangs over the air. Where to continue from there? We stand motionless, unable to formulate any thoughts aside from regret. The snow falls just as gently, blissfully indifferent to the schisms of man.
“...I’m sorry,” I manage to mouth. “I went too far. All this business with the treaty violations and the insanity that is the Adlerschrank has made me lose my head.”
Florence begins to stir, her gaze averted in shame. “I apologize as well. The government’s been the subject of a lot of scrutiny lately due to the situation with Zürtzün. At the same time, we’ve been having trouble expanding our army. After all…” she trails off.
“Nobody wants to send another generation to die.”
She smiles sadly.
“Indeed. The horrors of the Dirty War are still fresh in everyone’s minds. It’s only been about 15 years since the treaty was signed. That’s basically nothing. Now another war looms on the horizon…?” she shakes her head. “It really is the worst.”
We stand there motionless. No amount of alcohol or merriment can mask the terrible truth that weighs down on us both. The sobering taste of reality pours over us like a bucket of ice water.
Tell me, O Father of mine who art in heaven. Why is man so eager to send its sons and daughters to die over the dirt beneath our feet?
“...We should probably hurry up. Getting caught in a snowstorm won’t make the mood any better.” I quietly suggest. Florence nods.
Two lost souls in the silent night, we depart.