Док руку није диг’о брат на брата.
World has not seen war or slaughter
‘til arms has raised brother against brother.
I. – Ansatz
Quite a few hours have passed since we crossed the border in secret, yet two things are still bothering me. Of course I am in doubt, how could I not be? As far as my name and associates could bring me and as “interested in our cause” and as supporting as the Lady of Rusichland was, my current actions will not be judged kindly. This wasn’t justification of treason, I’m fully aware it is treason and I won’t pretend it’s not nor will I use a colourful euphemism – wouldn’t that be in the spirit of our current occupiers? – and call it something else perhaps less grave. They will call me the Betrayer, they will feel betrayed afterwards and in a relatively short span I will betray them. I am not happy about it, nor will I be when the deed is done. Out of the many things that happened in my life and hopefully many more that will happen eventually, this must be the one I will have the most displeasure doing. The only thing that keeps me going is my knowledge that it will be done without malice and out of concern for my people. The damnable Pruton can claim that the road to Hell is paved with such good intentions, but my conscience is innocent.
They will call me the betrayer, when in fact it was I who was betrayed. And how they betrayed me. What was the fifth day of June last summer if not treason? Oh, I don’t hold it against them. The occupier blinded them with his honeyed words, his eager promises, his honourable demeanor; the crowds, the Proles loved their words, they fell for the trap blinded by their own simple nature. I’ll admit, the Pruton excels in PR. Over two decades those fools listened until they actually believed, conditioned to accept their new masters willingly, but not me, not Viktor, oh no. I know you erred and I know that as much as you will hate me when I will be vindicated, you will forgive me, curse me but forgive me. That was your first treason against this son of the Motherland, sadly it was not the last. Where were you, when we raised our voices against their dictatorship? When we cried our lungs out and held the lines of opposition to Königsstein? Where were you in that faithful October when their minions, our former brothers reduced to servile Prutonic dogs, charged our positions and broke our resistance? Where were you when we proudly raised our colours in Lyssychansk and put our heads to the lines? Fools and cowards all of you, sitting home and watching as the last true sons of this our land – yes, I refuse to accept the June treason as valid – where crushed. I should hate you for that, for your passivity and complacency, but I won’t. I pity you and I’m profoundly sad that such a turn of events was forced into motion. You failed to turn me into a martyr, now you will have to suffer me as a savior. I will save you.
Even after your third betrayal in early December I remain stalwart in my fight. June was a mistake born out of passion and emotion, October was an error that came to be out of fear and uncertainty, but December was sheer insanity and stupidity; that was the last straw, the unfortunate deed that forced my hand. I regret nothing and even if I did, I’ve already crossed the border and arranged the meeting. It would be a waste of time and a display of poor manners to now back down and return with my tail between my legs. Certainly, this is not the thing that bothers me although my two companions – my bodyguard and my advisor – seem to think that I’m hesitant, that exactly the before mentioned is what’s eating my mind. They’re as wrong as you where in those elections. It’s not the uncertainty of northern intentions and our future, but the certainty of me being here under those conditions that bothers me. Those two little issues that have been boring through my skull and eating up all my thoughts, two little daemons scheming in my head and whispering words of doubt - Why did the Pruton let me go? Why did the Rusich let me in?
Gnade – Clemency, the word that the damnable Pruton uttered without hesitation, without doubt, without pressure. Was he mocking me? He must have been mocking me, insulting me and my cause and by extension just confirming his attitude and opinion about my people. I will prove his decision poor and misplaced; you think that I’m not a threat? I will punish you for this audacity. Voroshilov pardoned, rebellion crushed before it could take a hold, no casualties, everything under control. You despicable liar, you know full well that the situation isn’t under your control, both of us are aware that your skull faced Greycoats roam Veleslav land, thousands of them prowling through the night acting as your eyes and ears. How I will enjoy to kick them and your unwelcome settlers out of my land – first out of Lyssychansk, then Taganrog, then out of all eastern Veleslavia and if the Rusich prove courageous enough, all of Veleslavia. Mark my words Pruton, Vrangelgrad will be a ruin soon, tossed angrily back into the sea from which it came in the first place. Yet I can’t get that smirk, that expression of his out of my head. Why are you so sure? What gives you this confidence? I’m a soldier…was a soldier. I know your secrets and bases and policies, I know that you’re aware that my network still exists and I’m bold enough to assume that by now you’re aware that I left my country, since your assassins didn’t reach me. The Prutons claim you’re a good man and my kind saw strength and dedication in your mercy; Prutonic fool, I see nothing but weakness and lack of assertiveness. Now both our kindred will pay in blood – mine because of their treason and servility, yours because of your softness and forgiveness. I recall another of your sayings: “No good did shall go unpunished”.
However, the other devil is slightly worse but more bearable. Prutons are snakes, predictable if you know their kind and take precautions; Rusich are a different matter. It was no coincidence that I chose Rusichland as an ally. I knew they’d accept or at least hear me out, that, I never doubted. Only, their reply came too quick, too eager. Did the Lady know what was going on, did she already set everything in motion and was my visit a mere formality? I believe the Rusich capable of such duplicity; after all, they hail from the same place as the Prutons. Of course, my people do too, but our ancestors left to escape these two folks. At least the Rusich were kindred, Slav blood runs through their veins and there is a soothing familiarity in their tongue and tradition. Yet I can’t shake this sentiment of malice and concern that has been bothering me since the border. I know the fates of the Ardan and the Turks in Rusichland, but they are not kin. I know of Rusichland’s might and ambition, but they are not enemy. Shared blood, shared soil, even shared history, I should rejoice that I’ll be able to cooperate with my brothers. I should, but I do not. I do not. I know that something is escaping me, something important I’m missing, a subtle thing which I can’t dismiss in clear conscience but neither comprehend in my current state of mind. I’d love to claim it’s just anxiety – after all, you don’t go around and commit treason every other day – but I’m old and experienced enough to recognize it’s not anxiety. I don’t perceive it as wrong per se, and I was forced to act in such manner, I do it out of free feel and sound of mind, aware what will happen, I have no regrets, just duty to my people and my homeland… and right here in this moment I realized why the Pruton let me go. He planted this seed of discord in my soul; damnable Pruton – after you convinced my own kind to abandon me and reason, after furiously and swiftly smothering our cause and confusing me with your inappropriate mercy you almost managed to do it, you almost managed to convince me to trust no one. You failed again. I will take this leap of faith, I will trust my northern brother.
My companions noticed my change of attitude. We’ve been travelling together for quite some time now and I just became aware that both of them were sitting in silence while I was contemplating whatever my mental soliloquy was about, the entire time their eyes where fixed on me. I confirmed with a nod that I was ready. It appeared that we already arrived at the place. I didn’t bother paying attention to my surroundings, leaving my two friends to guide me further and speak with ours hosts. Handcuffed to my left arm was the suitcase whose content will change the fate of Veleslavia – I mentally went through it and checked if everything was there – war plans, maps, locations, routes and frequency of border patrols, force compositions, even a lengthy report on Belovrh. While I was going through my list, a tap on my shoulder distracted me. I was suddenly standing in front of a door leading to what I assumed was the room, our meeting place. Was it that quick to reach or was my mind working that slow? Never mind. I take out a pocket mirror and adjust my appearance, think one last time about my lines and what I’m going to say to whomever was sent to listen to me and then I simply enter the room. Leap of faith indeed.