The Marcomer Plan

[Winst]

Silvus, Winst
September, 8th 2019
Dies Irae

Silence permeated the windowless room as Michelle Tourne looked over the room. Inside there were various men and women clearly divided between suits and uniforms. The head of the table remained empty a sign of respect to the President of Lafida Marcomer, who sat across the table from Tourne. President Ferarra’s eyes were resolute, filled with passionate rage, a feeling that was shared across nearly all of the Parthonopians in the room. The plan they had just shared would take the brinksmanship that Parthonopia and Winst had been playing at to a new extreme.

“What you are calling for is an invasion M. President” Adrianne Lee said cutting into the silence.

“Si” Ferrara’s High General Feliciano Leoni remarked succinctly.

“No, Madame Secretary” Giovani Leoni said glaring at his brother, “We are simply requesting a joint training in Marcomer. There is nothing to invade it is our land.”

“Call it what it is Giovani, we are not swaying the public here.” Feliciano retorted.

Ferrara waved down the bickering Brothers. “Call it what you want, it is time to go on the offensive. We must show the Marcomer people we have not abandoned them, broadcasting propaganda and establishing loyalist cells is all fine and noble work but we need to take action the people will grow complacent if we do not act. I fear if we do nothing the remaining Marcomer Guard will abandon the cause. They are desperately needed to keep up the defense, that is unless you are willing to commit more infantry.”

Tourne turned towards her Secretary of Defense “Marissa would that be possible?”

“Madame Populos, such a thing would be impractical at this time. Our infantry is stretched thin as is. I must concur with M. President we cannot lose the Marcomer Guard.”

Silence returned to the room once more as all eyes turned towards the Populos. Michelle let out a sigh looking up at the crowd of people.

“Make it so”

---

Port Lafida, Lafida-Marcomer
6am September, 12th 2019

Lafida had been in a rush of activity for the last few days as Wintonian Ships gathered dropping supplies and troops. The sound of jets passing overhead had long since become commonplace for the residence of Lafida, however, the number of planes in the air had been increasing. Rumors swirled that the force was being gathered potentially for a massive assault on Ancona and or various other locations along the coast as people claimed to have spotted amphibious vehicles offshore. Several false starts and other maneuvers had thrown basically everyone off guard unable to figure out what exactly was going on.

Captain Carlo Alessandri hadn’t known what the plan was until 2 hours ago when he got orders to move Bravo Company to the border. Alessandri had been a ghastly shade of pale ever since receiving his orders.

“This is Bravo Company we are in position over.” Alessandri radioed to command

“Roger that Bravo Company coordinating with Air Command be on standby.”

“Air Command is prepared, the tank detachment is primed, you are clear to cross the border.”

[Parthonopia]

Trieste
Marcomeria
12th of July, 2019

The sun had risen over the horizon and was shedding its light on the eastern sides of the village’s buildings. It was a relatively normal morning in Trieste, or what had become the new normal for the region over the past few years. The day was now at the point when bugles could be heard across the town, playing out reverie like a rooster’s call to awaken the troops. While many were only just getting out of bed, this did not mean that there was not a significant amount of people already up and about for the day. The streets were already in motion with trucks trickling in and soldiers running errands or attending to a post. The heavy military presence, that some would call excessive, had become common place since the Risorgimento movement. While not a necessarily pleasant sight, the many thousands of soldiers and weapons that came and went, it was a routine one for the citizens of Trieste and the wider Marcomer region at large. Despite routine, however, something did seem off about the day.

For over a year Trieste had been the home base of operations for the Division V of III Corp. This specific small town had been chosen due to its low population as well as open space to house the massive unit. More importantly, the village’s location near the border with the Wintonian controlled Porto Lafina made it a prime position. During the Risorgimento process there was already an important basing camp for elements of the III Corp there. The Condottieri Ultimo Atto campaign in the region, started when tensions began to rise again after Marcomer joined the Commonwealth, was based largely out of Trieste.

Since the draft that was instituted and in effect as of September of 2018, the military presence only seemed to skyrocket. The III Corp had been bolstered to a full force of near a whopping hundred thousand. Beyond that, it’s commander, Cecilio Di Pietro, had been promoted to a Field Marshal and charged with the running of four more corps. Spread between the southeastern marches of Parthonopia in Marcomer, Villacidra, Capo Lento, and Trevisa, the army was dubbed the Esercito della Guardia Meridionale (EdGM).

Field Marshal Di Pietro’s mission in the region, as laid out by the King Carlo I, was to first quell the rebellious and criminal sects and cells while significantly pacifying the broader population by being present. While not the sporadic firefights and outbursts of violence like had been commonplace in Marcomer since the Sapri Coup, the forces of the Kingdom’s army found themselves still busy. Albeit busting up questionable meetings and disrupting the disbursement of anti unification literature. This had been mostly successfully achieved, excusing several minor hiccups and upsets along the way. The other prime goal of the EdGM was to build and hold a defense of the southern shore and inland, as far north as parallel to Carrara.

The III Corp, a field proven unit comprised of mostly Risorgimento veterans, was chosen to hold the conceivably most dangerous point in the line; the primary road from, and the border of, Pourto Lafina. Despite the increased military presence, tensions had still been rising in recent months between Winst and Parthonopia. The most recent, and more profound, infraction on the sovereignty of the Parthonopian Kingdom was the announcement of a new found state. Endorsed by the Wintonian government, the Guinot puppets in the port region had declared themselves the Republic of Lafida – Marcomer and laid claim to territory legally owned, and occupied, by the Kingdom. The situation was clearly reaching a breaking point after a joint condemnation between the upstart Republic and the Revolutionary Republic was issued against Carlo I.

There had been constant reports of troop movements and massed force gatherings south of the border over the past few days. Several false starts and clever maneuverings had kept the EdGM forces on their toes. An invasion was now more than expected, in fact the general mood had been that it was impending. Even as far as Ancona, the Corps of all of the Parthonopian armies were digging in and preparing for a fight.

Field Marshal Di Pietro, however, had been facing more than just defensive plans. His mission in the region had been personally updated by the King to include, dependent on an assault by the Wintonians, a counter invasion of Pourto Lafina. The order did necessitate a first strike being delivered by the enemy, but to be met, fended off, and returned ten fold. The Prince of Ancona wished to maintain some semblance of justification and righteousness in the wars to come; an aggressive first strike against the Wintonian controlled port, while an optimal move, was not acceptable in the world’s view.

Due to these plans, Trieste had seen a larger concentration of the III Corp hanging around anxiously. The commanding officers of the corp had been informed of the orders and some of the pieces were already being put into place. Cavalry Squadrons, battalions detached from the brigades of the corp, were on reconnaissance duty along the border. Serving as a screen in the event of an invasion, an intruding force would first meet and skirmish with one of these squadrons before they would withdraw back to the rest of the brigade. The brigades they would run to would be a mix of armor and infantry in defensive lines.

Several miles south of Trieste along the Via Pourto, the main highway from Pourto Lafina into Marcomer, one of these brigades was positioned. In a similar fashion to the build of the rest of the corp, this detachment was comprised of three tank companies, two mechanized infantry companies, and a forward support company. Standard fare, they numbered thirty one tanks, all of which were old Grenzbars, as well as less than thirty APCs and IFVs of various Parthonopian makes and Lunderfrau surplus. What did make this brigade special was an officer of one of its mechanized companies. Captain Nero Crocetti was one of the more decorated Risorgimento veterans in the Corp, having been in the field from the beginning of it and having fought on multiple sides of it.

More noteworthy than his field experience was his role as the Last Grenadier. Once a captain of the Fortezza Grenadiers, an elite guard of infantry hailing from the center of Parthonopia, Crocetti was there the day they were decimated at Faustino. Afterwards he found himself the sole survivor of a force that had historically never lost a fight since its inception in the 1700s. From there he had been captured and put into the service of the men who had defeated him, still employed by them to this day.
At first, as deemed appropriate due to his skill set and prisoner status, his work for Cecilio Di Pietro was without a uniform and as a military aid to the nationalist group that pulled off the fateful Sapri Midnight Coup. That had set off a chain of events that forever changed the landscape of the Marcomer Republic, as well as Parthonopia as a whole. Eventually it had all lead him here, still a meager Captain of an infantry outfit where he spends most of his time on predetermined patrols along the border region his brigade covers.

There were plenty of moments and days where he certainly regretted his inherited title and what it meant. Many times did he find himself wishing he had died as well during the fighting in that forest. He was even feeling that sentiment this morning as he drearily walked about, still slightly groggy as he sipped on his coffee. Most of his company was already awake and in the process of cooking and eating breakfast but he was in no particular rush. Presumably the day would be like the previous ones and they would do nothing other than drive around and drill once in the afternoon. It would not be long before he learned otherwise.

He finished what was in his mug and shook out the drips left inside the cup onto the ground. As he did so he was stopped in his tracks as the sirens to their encampment began wailing. He stood there for a second and looked around himself as he saw many of the men doing the same. They all quickly changed pace and began moving to answer the sirens call. Crocetti sprinted to the trailer of his battalion commander. With speed he found himself short of the metal stair case leading into it. He stopped short of climbing them as the Major was descending them. He was accompanied with the three Captains of the tank companies, all of whom had a look on their face of attempting to hide exacerbation.

“Major Basile” Crocetti saluted his superior before urgently asking, “What is going on?”

Basile had a bit of a grim expression himself but was covering it up better. He answered the captain as he walked past him, “The cavalry ran into trouble. Lafida is invading, likely with Wintonian support.”

Crocetti turned around to follow the Major and the Captains in tow. Another battalion in their brigade had been on sentry and defensive positions the previous night so the entirety of their battalion’s armor was parked at camp. The five officers walked with a swift pace to the tank row while Major Basile spoke loudly from the front of the group. He explained the situation thus far to them, the cavalry squadron, from the same brigade, had spotted an invading force. The tank company attached to them had attempted to lightly engage and harass the Lafida force before withdrawing.

“There are a handful of IFVs in the squadron as well and they can put up a light resistance if needed. Looks like the Lafidian have at least an armored battalion in bound, if not a brigade.”

They were in the yard now and most of the tank crews were lined up in front of their vehicles while the riflemen were still shuffling into lines, mustering near their APCs. They stopped at the center of the mustering field, the other two infantry Captains joining them. Basile spoke quieter, so the enlisted could not hear him, as he continued to inform his officers.
“Lafida is moving fast and in force. Cavalry is retreating to behind fortified lines east of Trieste but their tank boys will stay behind and try to slow down the advance. We are going straight to assist them and hold the line there until we gain local superiority when the rest of the brigade arrives. I need you all on point today, this is the one that counts,” he said locking eyes with each of them while he held a hand out, one finger pointing at the crowd. “Now split up and get a move on!”

They all quickly dispersed and joined with their companies to speed along the process and get the unit on the road. As Crocetti walked towards his company he stopped, paused for a second, and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and took a drag, breathing out he uttered to himself, “The wheel is in motion, the course is set.”

The men were quick to get loaded and ready and to roll but not fast enough for the screaming officers who urged them along. They were on the road shortly and heading to the fray as fast as their machines could get them there. Since their assignment began, posted in the south of Marcomer, it had always been a known understanding that their brigade could potentially face the threat first if a war broke out between Parthonopia and Winst. Now that it was the case, it was still a bit shocking for them as they never thought their battalion could be the ones to fire the first shots in that war.

Crocetti rode along with a Troop of his company in one of the APCs. It was mostly quiet inside, any small talk sparse and for some reason whispered. He sat towards the front along with one of his Lieutenants. The younger man was not wet behind the ears and had been in the service since it was still the Legion, before it became the King’s army. Still, Crocetti was not entirely keen on him, being skeptical of anyone who was so eager for the bloodshed that laid in wait. The Lieutenant had been attempting to chat with his Captain the whole time, asking many questions about the mission. Eventually he turned to him, and with a grin he asked the man, “Aren’t you excited? How longs it been since your last good fight?”

“No such thing as a good fight,” Crocetti responded. He thoroughly believed that, especially as he leaned back and reflected on all those he had been apart of. Not one was glorious, or honorable, fair, or pretty, nothing like the war stories he had grown up idolizing had made him believe. By then they were nearing the location where the cavalry’s tanks would pull back to meet them.

The transports came to a halt, parking along a treeline off the main road. The tank companies were positioning themselves for an ambush, with one company in reserve. Crocetti gripped a rifle, like the rest of the infantrymen, as he intended to exit the vehicle when they did and command from the field. This was not expected of men of his rank but it was true that it had been a while since he had been in a fight. He was just happy to at least be in a uniform again for this next round in his laundry list of engagements.

[Winst]

Tivoli
Marcomeria
12th of July, 2019

Bravo Company had done a good job in the initial surge. It had brought them all the way to Tivoli. It hadn't come easy two transports never made it, their husks still burning a few miles down the road. The speed at which everything was moving was nauseating to Captain Carlo. The world was still spinning. Sounds of skirmishes rang throughout the streets and alleyways. Smoke and shell casings littered the streets along with the dead. The Marcomer Guard had rarely been called into any sort of action let alone war.

The People of Trivoli had initially come out to fight off what they thought were a bunch of Wintonian troops storming in but stopped when it was their own people they saw, the people they had housed in the bleak days following the coups. A mother was reunited with her son, a brother with his sister, and a Husband learned of his wife's suicide. The reunions were short. The king's troops weren't far behind. They had set up in the south of town but since than chaos reigned as fighting troops criss crossed one each other trying to flank each other getting caught in traps or being pinned in alley ways. Wintonian jets passed by on occasion but had mostly focused simply on impeding the Kingdom's troops destroying roads and bridges where any chance of casualties was low.

Carlo looked down at the bleeding soldier next to him a bullet had ripped through his gut. His blood already filling the cracks in the old cobblestone crawling along towards the gun that had created the wound in a steady line. The soldier was only a kid barely 22 the fear in his eyes as he laid dying forced Carlo to look away. They had pinned some soldiers in this alley way, or was it the other way around? He couldn't remember, but the result had been several exchanges of gun fire and dead lying in the street.

The final days in Sapri were flooding back into Carlo's as he fought in the streets of Trivoli. The first few men he killed had horrified him sickening him to his core. In a lull in the fight he found himself keeled over puking. He was killing his countrymen, for the sake of two rival tyrants one who shared his name and the other who had supplied him with his weapon. His people a pawn trapped in their game, at least Winst was a demon they had chosen rather than a King imposed; a velvet handed puppet master rather than a iron fisted mobster.

His men were already exhausted and terrified. They hadn't been prepared for the ferocity of the King's troops. They weren't prepared for this war and they weren't prepared for this many of them. It wasike fighting a hornets nest they seemed endless. The fight was fierce they had known going in this wouldn't be easy but actual war was a beast they were not accustomed too. But at least he was fighting for his Homeland and he would die for it even if what he wanted would never return.

He looked over at the bodies of his dead opponents their olive skin growing pale, their wavy black hair matted by blood, and thought of his own. But then again most of the men he was fighting weren't from Marcomer they were here from some other war they had fought to oppress our people who had spilt more Parthonopian blood than he ever could. They worked for a King who had slaughtered his friends and forced him to flee the only home he had ever known.

Carlo let out a blood curdling yell momentarily pausing the conflict in the street. He gripped at his riffle tighter and clenched his teeth into a snarl. "Soldati, per la libertà di Marcomeria" he yelled to his men getting in return several impassioned yells. He took a deep breadth in and exhaled. The next soldier to fall didn't sicken him not like before.

[Winst]

Rossi Family Pig Farm
Marcomeria
13th of July, 2019

The sound of squeeling pigs had stopped registering in Emilo's mind. Holed up in the pig farm his and his men's morale was low they had spent all night hiding in the barn avoiding the enemy. It was a cold sleepless night for most. They had been alternatively skirmishing with the King's troops or running away from them depending on which side had the upper hand. His men were exhausted now and unfortunately for him Marco who had always been the cheerful one had his brains splattered across a field yesterday. Shortly after their commander had also attempted to bite the bullet only to loose his head to it.

Now unfortunately he was in charge and had to fulfill his commanders last order of raise hell. Which boiled down to attack their rears and cause disorganization. All they had were a few jeeps and some RPGs but damn if they weren't going to try to cause as much chaos as possible with them.

"Rise and Shine men it's been a long night but we've got some work to do. Let's go cause some trouble boys."

[Winst]

Forest outside of Trivoli
Marcomeria
12th of July, 2019


Edmundo and another 9 men crouched quietly in the woods. A signal was given and the men continued forward. They had already ran into one unfortunate soldier who had learned that the new Marcomer guard had accepted a lot of people without much thought, by his slit throat. Eddie and his cohort had been a bit less reputable than most of Marcomeria's residents but felt a passion for their land or at least the stuff they had to leave behind during the coup.  Robbery and a little death wasn't anything new to them after all but the scale of warfare going on in Trivoli was far to much for Eddie's taste, and had used the destruction of his transport to limp away from the big fight.

A country of Mobsters was bad news for anyone on the wrong side of the winning family. Unfortunately for him Ol' King Carlo had chosen Villo and Villo had ties with the Pannio family and not the Ampari family. The Ampari had become "unecessary assets" and those that weren't "liquidated" found themselves as "independent contractors" to use civilized language. His father, his god parents, his two older brothers, and his younger brother hadn't made it out of Sapri alive. Although two of those deaths had far more to do with Eddie than Villo.

The men arrived at their hidden cache luckily untouched. Guns, Gold, and Explosives were passed out among them.

"Fuck this war. We've got two objectives boys, meet up with our brothers laying low, and kill Villo and every Pannio son of a bitch you can find. Try not to die, and don't get fucking caught." Pointing his pistol at the 9 men in front of him. "We'll show these Motherfuckers that the Ampari family is alive and well. Now leave the soldiers to fight their stupid war we got our own to win."

[Parthonopia]

Trieste
Marcomeria
12th of July, 2019

Captain Nero Crocetti had sat crouched in the thick treeline along with his Troop of men for over forty-five minutes awaiting the enemy. For that three quarters of an hour he and his men sat there in almost complete silence, hidden by the brush and bushes that grew at the feet of the tall tree. Less than a quarter mile away, behind them on the other side of the wood outcropping that covered the base of the extended, rolling hill, their armored transports remained on standby. The men of his company were split off in their Troops, deferring to their Lieutenants, positioning themselves for their eventual ambush.

In the distance they could hear the echo of machine gun and small arms fire while they readied their own. The occasional distinctive sound of a mortar or tank shell firing off at some unfortunate soul was a more clear sound to the men who laid in wait. For forty-five minutes they remained there, motionless, until the first party of the cursed incursion was spotted. Less than five minutes before the ill fated men of the Marcomer Republican Guard came onto the scene, first some remnants appeared of the cavalry squadron belonging to the brigade Crocetti was apart of.

Two Grenzbar tanks chugged along almost at full speed behind a speedy Troop of APCs, all of them pulling behind the treeline their compatriots occupied and positioning themselves in the defensive line. This left nine more tanks of that company unaccounted for, as well as the other two cavalry Troops in that squadron. Crocetti learned within a few moments, when the Captain of that tank company informed him, that the rest of his squadron was accounted for.

They had been the first to meet the enemy, having rushed to the initial onslaught at the first sound of the attack. In the immediate aftermath, overwhelming out numbered in that skirmish, the squadron had been forced to split, the three cavalry troops accompanied by two tanks each. They had all gone in separate directions to lure the invading forces into splitting into smaller, more manageable groups.

The Lieutenant from the cavalry troop was out of his transport, along with his men, all them gearing up for the next round in the day’s fighting. The young Lieutenant searched for the highest ranking officer in the unit they had come upon, finding himself in the company of Crocetti shortly there after. The young man, who could not have been a day older than 21, stood straight as a post when he saluted the former grenadier.

Eyes wide open, pupils the size of pin needles, the Lieutenant spoke quick, lacking in any infliction, “They were right on our tail, maybe another four minutes out. Two, maybe three, companies of infantry.”

Crocetti groaned and mumbled a little before speaking clearing, “Did you already engage?”

“Yessir, only lost one Grenz from what I saw. They are not prepared for this fight, sir, it was a bum rush. They lost all organization as soon as we met them.”

“Good,” Crocetti smiled, turning away from the young man to face back out from the treeline towards the plain ahead. “Then we may just get to live through this today.”

There was little cover in the ground between him and the direction his friends had come from. The only major marker on the land was a road that lead towards Trieste and another tree outcrop on the other side of the field. It was in that moment that the first signs of the foreign attackers appeared. Hurtling over the dry, grassy fields, crossing the road, multiple armed transports flew towards Crocetti and his men.

One of the two Grenzbars took the first shot, a shell flung across the field and connected with one of the approaching vehicles. It burst into flames with the blast of the impact but the truck was replaced by two more that flew right past the wreckage. The second Grenzbar did the same, hitting its mark, but this round did not do the same amount of damage. The target instead stopped in it's tracks, but was still intact. While the first Parthonopian tank to fire reloaded and prepared to deliver a killing blow to the easy target, over a dozen soldiers flooded out of it and hid in the tall grass surrounding it.

Another APC came to a stop, closer to the treeline, and let out its occupants. Two more tried to circumnavigate around the treeline with haste. At that moment Crocetti gave the motion for his men to open fire on the infantry out in the open. A chorus of gunfire broke from the foliage in an instant. Bullets tore through the grass and kicked up dirt, strays clanged against the motionless truck stuck in the field.

A first wave of combatant infantry had been delivered while another attempted to flank. The rest of the visible force with this Wintonian backed detachment had taken a turn at the road when the skirmish ensued. Crocetti watched for a moment as he saw what appeared to be at least two, if not three, mechanized infantry companies travel on up the road that lead to Trieste.

The Grenzbar captain must have been doing the same as a shell of it's main gun, which had the range to do so, hurtled at one of the enemy trucks traveling along the road. From that distant the sound of the impact was quietened but the sight of a direct hit was undeniable. On the road a fireball erupted and rose to twice the height of the vehicle that it originated from. The rest of the line drove right around it, moving steadily further into Marcomeria. If not held up in the next fifteen minutes they would gain the opportunity to drive straight to Tivoli first, before reaching Trieste.

Crocetti was then forced to turn his gaze back to right in front of him as a bullet whizzed past him, lodging in a tree trunk behind him, not before splitting a sapling just ahead of him. A company of infantry was approaching, albeit timidly as the covered Legion riflemen laid down continuous fire.

[Winst]

IN HONORED GLORY

[_____] was exhausted. What was left of his Platoon trudged through a muddy field. Thileir feet being sucked down into the field as if it was trying to bury them. [_____] looked back at the dark and sunken eyes of the other men their curly Parthonopian hair was matted against their faces by a combination of blood sweat and of course mud. [_____] feet were blistered and raw but the pain had stopped registering hours ago. They had been bloodied and battered from various skirmishes with the Royalists throughout the day each time losing more men. He had stopped trying to remember who had died and started trying to remember who was left, it was hard to tell who was who at this point. A Royalist ambush on the road,  had brought their numbers down to twenty one and pushed them into this god forsaken field in the first place.

 No one had spoken a word in hours as they continued to march through field after field with only the respite of the small country roads that divided them. The next field smelled like shit as fresh manure for the autumn crops must have just been laid. They crawled on their stomach's since their were no crops to hide within.

They stopped moving as a car drove down a nearby road. They reported the encounter and kept crawling when the car was out of sight. Contact with command was infrequent, and as the situation had gotten bleaker the responses to their calls got less frequent. [_______] stopped the group pointing out at a distant farm. Still no voices but consensus was reached. Command had told them to find a place to hole up for the night. [_____] shot a look at [______] who nodded in agreement.

The platoon made it out of the fields back onto a road taking a small break before moving into another waterlogged field.  [_____] devoured two of his power bars and gulped down the remaining water in [___]'s canteen, or was it [_______]'s? Either way they were both dead.  [________] cried out a warning but was too late as bullets spewed out from the royalist transport. [_____] dove into the the fields as bullets flew over his head [_________] landed next to him, the majority of his head was missing, he hadn't been quick enough. [_____] crawled through the field as the hail of bullets mowed down helpless men trapped in the mud. Their blood and screams mixing with the waterlogged soil.

The next hour the sound of sporadic gun shots was heard as [_____]'s countrymen were found and slaughtered. A few explosions and returning fire showed their determination to take a few royalists with them. [_____], [____] and [______] silently crawled away from the carnage. [_____] wept quietly, his leg burning from the bullet that had torn through it. [_____] looked back at one point to find [____] was gone, left behind after succumbing to the pain. They continued on without him.

The two mud caked men crouched at the edge of the field. Crickets chirped in the fresh night, as the glimmers of twighlight faded. Across the road was a farm. It was nearly the stereotypical image of a Parthonopian farm from it's old stone barn to the two story farm house. None of its lights were on most likely due to a black out either intentional or due to damage to the power lines. The two men set their sights on the stone barn. They had sat there for about twenty minutes checking for signs of movement, unwilling to repeat the mistake that had cost the rest of the Platoon their lives.

[_______] gave a signal and the two men sprinted across the open area to the barn. Landing on it's wall with a thud. [_____] leaned against the wall huffing, waiting to see his body lying on the ground. They opened the barn door peering into the darkness. They crept into the building slowly closing the door. [_____] felt the barrel of a gun press into his back. Terror washed over his body his mind unable to keep up went blank. He cried out in shock his mouth being covered by two different hands as he crumpled to the floor.


The reunion was bitter sweet as the three men cried together in the barn. [_____] had made it to the barn an hour ahead of them. They stayed up for another 3 hours talking, hoping some other survivors would come, but the barn door didn't open again.

[_____] woke up to the sound of [_____] shouting. He looked up to see a farmer pointing a shotgun at [____]. [____] was trying to get the man to lower his weapon begging him to let them go. Negotiations failed as the farmer fired into [_____]'s gut. [_______] got to his rifle before the farmer could take another shot and he dropped to the ground dead. [_____] collapsed to the ground screaming in pain. [_____] rushed over to the bleeding man [______] eyes manicly raced around as [_____] gagged him to stop his screaming. He looked down at the man's stomach it had been shredded by the bullet.

[_______] saw movement by the barn door, he took his rifle and headed to the door. A teenage boy with tears streaming down his face bolted as [_______] approached. He raised the gun aiming it towards the running kid. His heart beating rapidly with adrenaline. He got the kids in his sights and breathed out.

He closed his eyes, dropping the riffle back to his side. Watching the kid run, and his own life with it. He thought of his girlfriend back in Lafida, he wanted to see her again. He raised his gun again and fired the kid's his pace slowed as he began to wobble before falling into the drainage ditch.

The men raided the house for clothing and tended to [_______] wounds. The shotgun had made a mess of his torso and he couldn't walk without the other two men. The three of them struggled down the road for a few miles. [______] condition was getting worse and worse.

After half a day they arrived at an old Beoin temple. It was deserted probably evacuated by royalists. It was a fairly small temple in the traditional Hesact shape with a central dome where the sacred pit vented from. It's sharp edges had been worn dull over time. It was in it's Autumn configuration with the open air areas being covered in lattice work it would be another month or two before the lattice work would be replaced by solid wood and temple would be ready for winter. The stone walls were covered in mosaics depicting Magi and Saints. Most showed signs of deterioration as a few piece were missing.

It's sacred hearth was being kept alive not through the modern emergency gas fire, but the much older candle system 2 of which had already been spent and another had gone out. They loaded fresh fire wood into the hearth bringing it back to life. [_____] prayed harder than he had his entire life.

 
[_____] and [_______] took turns either attempting to sleep or taking care of [______] and keeping watch. Around 6pm a Jeep on patrol passed by. The men were deathly quiet as it passed by at it's leisurely 30 km/h butitt didn't stop, simply continuing down the road.

As the dawn broke the men were preparing to depart. [_____]'s condition was getting worse. [____] the two healthy men looked at each other [______] begging to try to keep going with him, but knowing it was impossible. Their silent conversation was brought to an end by the sound of trucks. The men peered out to see four transports in the morning light. They stiffened as they approached. Anguish washed over their faces as they came to a halt and unloaded soldiers.

[______] stood up leaving his gun behind and walked out the front door his arms raised in surrender, closing the door behind him. The heavy wood door way was bombarded with bullets a moment later as if a heavy rain had come. As the sound of gunshots faded [_____] heard a heavy object slump against the door as his friend's blood began to pool underneath it. The soldiers surrounded the small building their foots echoing around [_____]. There would be no escaping the reaper again.


[______] looked over in dispair at [______] but his face was eeriely calm after hours of agony. His life having left his body in just the last few minutes of commotion. [_____] cursed the man for leaving him to die alone. He even felt a pang of jealousy at the man's relaxed face.

Sounds coming from outside told him they were preparing to move. [_____] thought of the graves of soldiers he'd seen as a child, a name on stone stripped of any context or life, decorated and honored by the state that had marched them to their deaths with dogs of bravery. Would they take his name from him as well? Discard everything else and carve it into stone next to his countrymen to be remembered and forgotten. The sound of approaching footsteps filled the temple. [____] stood with his back to the sacred hearth, and pointed his pistol at the door, then his chin.

[Parthonopia]

Villacidra
Marcomeria
14th of July, 2019

“Dolce terzina...”

A middle aged man sat in a wooden chair, hunched over, facing a wall and shaking one fist, as he muttered to himself. He wound the fist back and tossed a trio of red dice against the wall he sat in front of. The crowd uproars and he jumped in his seat a little, letting out a joyful yell. The ones who were not cheering him on had frowns on their face instead as they handed over their bets to him. They passed the winnings and the set of dice down like an assembly line to the man at the end of the aisle who collected it all with a grin.

“I don’t know how you keep rolling that, Eddie, but you’ve got it today,” a chubby older man sat in a chair to the right of the roller. This man was wearing a grease stained undershirt, his gray armpit hair out in the open. Eduordo, in his black slacks and floral-pattern buttoned collar shirt, had been rolling extremely well; the past three rounds no one else got to roll after his as the dice landed on four, five, and six, gaining him the instant pot. The chubby man, along with Eddie and four other men, each threw a small stack of denari on the floor in the center of the aisle they formed.

Eduordo leaned over to hand the dice over as the man leaned in to grab them with a heavy breath. With a gargled laugh he leaned over further after taking the dice and rubbed his hand on Eddie’s knee, “Maybe I can get some of the luck to rub off onto me!”

Although a joke, Eduordo did not take it kindly and smacked the man’s hand away, viciously. He spat on the floor next to him and hissed at the man, “Don’t fucking touch me, what are you a stranissa?”

The man backed up, losing his jovial expression and placing his hands in the air to show submission. Eduordo cooled off, not after first giving the man a brief, intense stare. The man rolled, hoping for anything besides an ace or the unfortunate 1-2-3 instant loss. The players and the few onlookers shouted in unison, laughter flowing through the group, as the man rolled what was at least his sixth 1-2-3 combo.

The man’s loss was quickly eased as a man in a white apron approached with a tray of sliced meats, cheese, and peppers. He placed it on a table near the gathered men who were often found shooting dice here. This game was a normal occurrence at the Villacidra butcher shop for the crew that maintained the building as one of their primary hangouts. Normally they would be outside doing this, rolling the dice against the concrete foundation below the front window. Today was different however, specifically because there was a war going on.

Not that it seemed that way out in the town, or that the medium sized village of Villacidra was in any immediate threat. The people in Marcomer had been faced with almost a decade of blatant violence occurring between military groups and militias; not to mention that the condottieri skirmishes before Risorgimento were often quite bloody. The fight that erupted a few days prior, however, was a different animal. This was a real war, a war between King Carlo’s men and Winst. Or so everyone was convinced, even if the news from the front line was that it was an invading force comprised of Parthonopian ethnics.

Not that any of it really mattered, it was just a talking point for conversation at that moment. A television over the deli counter at the front of the shop was playing, La Nazione news was on. In the end, Eduordo and his cohort had felt it was better to be safe so they did their gambling inside today. The group rolled, no one else rolling instant losses or aces. When it had come back around to Eduordo he was faced with a six that his mate closest to the wall had rolled.

He wound up his wrist, shook the dice, and tossed for his fortune. By some stroke of luck he had scored it again, 4-5-6. Instant win, collect the pot. He shot up from his seat this time, yelling happily once again, and collected the winnings himself from the pile on the ground. He laughed heartily as he walked back to his seat and the group began rolling for another round.

Eduordo could hear the television in the background, some journalist droning on about the situation on the ground near the Lafida-Marcomer border. ”Casualties have been minor for Legion forces on the Day 2 push forcing the invading army back to Puorto Lafina. Fighting has lulled after the intense combat that lasted from...”

It was almost his turn to roll again when the news narrator’s monologue in the background was interrupted by the jingle of a bell struck by the front door opening. This infuriated Eduordo who had insisted that the shop was closed that day and for the foreseeable future due to the circumstances in the south of Marcomeria. This war was a prime opportunity to produce; every crew and family in the region was taking advantage of it in someway. Eduordo and his friends were running a few schemes, one of which was closing the butchery to force a demand and then price gouge.

“Ohhh! Matteo! What is going on,” he shouted at the butcher as he turned around to see who had entered the shop. Matteo the butcher shook his head as he closed and locked the door behind the elderly women who shuffled towards the counter, clutching her small purse.

“Signore,” the meager middle aged butcher, with a bit of a gambling problem, pleaded to Eduordo, “I’m sorry but I must, this is my great aunt’s sister, Claudetta! It is not your meat, it is venison from a deer my boy shot last week, please excuse me. I swear it will be quick, Signore!”

“Great Aunt Sister Claudetta, good afternoon,” Eduordo mockingly greeted the elderly women, now standing at the counter and staring at the ground in the opposite direction of Eduordo and the other goons. Eduordo rolled his eyes and turned back to the game, unworried by some old woman. Not without saying, however, before doing so, “Make it quick, Matteo!”

”...Wintonian backed troops trapped in Tivoli...”

Eduordo was tapped on his left shoulder, turning to see a skinny, beady eyed man who was handing him the dice. He took them in stride and readied to roll what he hoped would be another win. As he did, he heard the bell over the door ring again. The dice hit the wall and came to a stop, turning up a pair of 3’s and a 2. He got a score of a 2, and unless everyone else rolled 1-2-3 or got an ace he was sure to lose this round. He began to turn to scold the butcher for his sudden bad luck.

He turned to see Matteo at the butcher counter, bagging up a wax paper wrapped package of meet. He also saw two young men who had entered, they were dirty and grinning from ear to ear, approaching the group. They were lower level associates of one of Eduordo’s friends there; they were trustworthy enough young muscle for small work and odd jobs. Since the war had broken out, Eduordo and many others had found lots of work for men like these two to do. Eduordo’s uncle specifically had an angle to exploit during all this, one that he had all his nephews and cousins crews working on.

The crowd exchanged some forms of greetings, despite most of them at the tables having their mouths full or being too focused on dice rolling. The boys strolled over, their grins widening as they did. They seemed ecstatic and bounced as they stepped. Since they were supposed to be out working on Edurdo’s uncle’s project, he took their happy demeanor to mean good news.

“Signore Eduordo! You won’t believe what we hauled!” The taller of the two boys went with force to pat Edourdo’s back, who instead moved in time for the kid’s hand to hit the back of the chair instead.

The other boy, shorter but stockier, chimed in with a grunting laugh, “Shit yeah, talking like eight fucking pickup trucks of guns!”

“Ohhhhh!” Eduordo was quick to shout, “Keep you’re voice down, boy, there are people about.”

The room was silent for a moment before the bell chimed again as Claudetta left the shop, Matteo closing the door and locking it behind her.

”… Marshal Di Pietro in Sapri today, on the deployment of the III Corp...”

The boys had lost their grins and were staring at Eduordo, waiting to be spoken to. Eduordo chuckled and rolled his eyes, standing up from his chair and placing a hand on the taller boy's shoulder. He began walking him to the door, shouting behind himself, “It has been good, boys, but that’s it for me for now! Man needs some fresh air.”

He took the young man outside and stood on the stoop of the butcher shop briefly. He turned to the boy and asked him, “you stored them like instructed?”

The young man nodded in response. Eduordo nodded as well and said, “Okay, drive me there then, lets take a see.”

The boy regained his grin and with a quick step he turned to his right to head for his car. Eduordo stood still and cleared his throat loudly. The boy stopped in his tracks and turned to Eduordo with an inquisitive look on his face. Eduordo laughed and pointed to the car that the kid was heading to, “You think I’ma get into that piece of shit? Mine is around back,” he pulled out his keys and dangled them, “you’re driving.”

The two of them got into the black, mid sized SUV, with its deep tinted windows, and began off. They were heading south through town to get to the via road to head further south several villages and towns or so. Eventually they would get to a storage locker at a lumber yard one of Eduordo’s third or fourth cousin owned. They did not talk much during the drive, a short trip through Villacidra and then a quiet twenty minutes or so through some farm land and suburbs before entering the congestion of the next Marcomer village.

Eduordo gained some insight from the boy, whom, along with his friend, had been quite successful in the mission. They had driven to the Trieste and Tivoli areas at the outbreak of the fighting with a simple task; to lay low and collect abandoned arms and munitions from the casualties of the battles. Apparently it had been easier than had been expected, not to mention more lucrative. The Republican troops were armed well, clearly by Wintonian support, but the troops had seemed to lack a general battle plan, besides to converge on Tivoli. This meant that there was a plethora of well armed but poorly trained units running around the country side in small bands. They were getting chased and eventually decimated by scrambling Legion troops while everyone else headed to Tivoli.

“I mean, it really was crazy. These guns are in groups of thirty, or whatever, running around till they hole up in some building to get massacred. Carlo’s guys don’t even hang around after they just split immediately cause they got to be doing this all day long. We was just following one of their transports at one point, cleaning up after them.”

Now Eduordo was grinning, “Uncle is gonna love this,” he muttered to himself. He looked out the window as they drove down the main street of the village they were in. He looked out the windshield and saw a gas station up ahead on the right and told the kid to pull over there.

They pulled up to a pump, the tank on the passenger side, next to Eduordo. He opened the door and got out, ordering to the man who was driving him, “Gianni, get out here and top her off, why don’t you. I’m gonna head in, need some smokes and a drink.

Eduordo walked towards the corner store the gas station was attached to. As he was walking in, another man was walking out. As they crossed paths they lock eyes. The man got a weird look on his face as this happened and scurried off. Eduordo was stopped, momentarily, with a weird feeling in his stomach. He could have sworn he had seen that man before. He shrugged it off and walked inside and over to the coolers in the back. He grabbed a drink, a 40oz bottle of Birra Superiore, while thinking about where he could possibly know the man from. His face had stuck out, like as if they had met before, and not just in passing.

Eduordo walked up to the counter and asked for a pack of Fortunas, above the clerk on top of the shelving for the cigarettes was a tube television. It’s blurry screen was capturing another segment of La Nazione, which seemed to have been running constantly for the past few days.

”...taking advantage of the temporary lull in action, EdGM Corps not caught on the Tivoli siege have been deployed towards the border of….”

Eduordo nodded to the clerk who, after handing him the box of smokes, stared at his feet as the Eduordo exited the bodega. Eduordo stood out in the sunlight and took a deep breath. He lit a smoke on the stoop, and it wasn’t until he put his lighter away that it hit him how he knew the man from before and who it was.

That is when his attention was split in two directions as his name was shouted. The first shout was by his driver, Gianni, who exclaimed, "Eduordo!!"

Before he could fully comprehend he turned, looking out to the right ahead of him, in front of the car at the pump. There he saw the man who he had been wondering about it. The man was an old ‘acquaintance’ of Eduordo’s named Tony or something, an Ampari family cousin. There he was, holding a pistol and pointing it right at Eduordo.

"Fuck you, Pannio sunamabitch!"

Eduordo dropped his bottle, it shattering on the concrete stoop. His white sneakers were stained brown from the splattered beer at his feet. Then the gunfire started. Eduordo was still in shock, the moment of realization of how he had known the man was almost simultaneously as he spotted the man pointing a pistol at him, in broad daylight. A bullet whizzed past him, narrowly missing him and instead blasting through the glass door to the bodega to lodge in a wall eventually. He was not so lucky as the second bullet struck him in his right arm; although he was lucky enough that it was more of a grazing wound and kept traveling afterwards.

He was fumbling for the revolver in the back of his pants, pain coursing through his arm which he had been using to reach for the gun. Eduordo pulled the revolver out from his belt and pointed it out towards the man to watch him drop as Gianni shot him dead. The kid looked to Eduordo, who was sweating and bleeding. They locked eyes and Gianni had an exacerbated look on his face.

"Don't just fucking stand there! We gotta get out of here, start the fucking car."

Gianni slung the saw-offed shotgun he pulled from Eduordo’s car and had blasted the Ampari with. He sprinted to the drivers seat, in the car and starting it before Eduordo could even reach the passenger door to reach for the handle. This time there was no enraged shout before the shooting started and the windshield exploded with the impact. Eduordo dropped down, narrowly avoiding the haphazard spray of the semi automatic rifle that tore apart the car and Gianni inside. He dove behind the pump and walked around it to look out at the shooter. It was another man that seemed familiar, with a rifle and wearing some sort of military pants.

Pannio fired his revolver, emptying it into the attackers chest, shouting, "Fuck you, you Ampari pig!"

[Parthonopia]

Soletti Family Farm
Marcomeria
16th of July, 2019

In the morning hours immediately after midnight the humble farmhouse of the Soletti family sat in between rows of olive trees that surrounded it. The small groves, the home, and the barren acres behind it, emptied after the wheat harvest a month ago, had an ominous light cast upon them from the red in the night sky, caused by fires in the distance. It had been incessantly thundering all day and night. There had been no rain, however, at least any that fell on the Soletti’s, nor was there any lightning to be seen.

In the open attic loft over the kitchen, the youngest Soletti boy laid awake in his cot, staring at the red moon through the small window cut into the wall above him. He did not lay there awake because of the thunder, although it certainly helped, besides peaking his curiosity. He was the youngest of all the siblings, the last of eight. His parents had named him Ignazio when he came into the world in the summer six years ago, but he was often fondly referred to as Iggy. When he was born he had evened the boy to girl ratio of the family, the fourth son. He had been told, though, that a tie breaker was coming, most likely in the fall, as his mother was expecting a delivery from the cranes. This upset him a little bit, mainly because birds, albeit never cranes, came into the house kind of often, especially during the summer. When ever birds entered the loft through that window above him when it was open, they would poop all over his bed roll.

The Soletti farmhouse was a small home; one story with only two rooms and a knee wall above the kitchen with the gable ceiling for a loft where three of the Soletti boys slept. Below the boys the house was pretty much split in half between the open kitchen and the Soletti parent’s bedroom. A hallway in front of the master bedroom led to an addition on the house, that Iggy’s grandfather had built. In there was a bathroom and the second bedroom where three Soletti daughters stayed.

Iggy rolled over in his sleeping bag, turning his attention from the window to stare through the banisters at the old wooden dining table down below. He had not slept for a wink yet that night, nor had he slept well for the past two or three nights prior. The poorly insulated walls and the open air floor plan allowed for sound to travel quite easily within there. All Iggy could hear, besides the mild drone of his older brother Paolo’s snoring and the sporadic, but consistent, thunder, was the truly incessant fighting between his parents.

His mother and father had sent him, as well as his brothers and sisters, to bed early that night. His two sisters, who were only a few years older than him, were happy to do so as they lived in the addition with his oldest sister and her husband. The brick exterior wall that the addition was grafted onto was in between their and their parent’s bedrooms; thick enough between the brick, framing, and plaster that they could not hear the bickering that had been going on for the past few nights.

”How could you even say that?!“

”No! How could you say that? I mean, what do you want from me..“

”What do I want from you? What the fuck do you want? Do you want us all to die?“

”No!“

”Do you want me to get kidnapped?“

”Emilia! Just..“

”Do you want me to get raped??“

”Emilia, please.“

”Stop with the fucking ‘please’. Do you want to see your baby born? Or are you just okay with throwing away another daughter...“

”Emilia! Just put it to rest already, just fucking quit it!“

”I guess you just don’t care! You want this to happen, you want to see us all dead! You wait and see what happens, testa di merda, you wait! We stick around and we’re all dead!“

Iggy did not fully understand what his parents had been fighting about so viciously for hours each night. He had lived through multiple spurts of times in his life that he could vaguely remember where he could hear the murmur of arguments between the two of them when he was supposed to be asleep. These recent fights had been on another level and while he did not comprehend the substance of them, he could more than interpret the tone. Especially when they were not talking to each other during the day either, save for short, terse conversation. Iggy had spent the day following his father around who had spent his day seeming to be avoiding the home and his wife; working in the barn on the tractor for hours, cursing to himself under his breath.

”It isn’t near us! They’re fighting at border, we are safe here...“

”Tell that to old man Rossi who was found dead in his empty pig pen yesterday!“

”Emilia! All the more reason we have to stay here!“

”Do you even hear yourself? I guess you want to end up like Rossi?“

”You say we are dead if we stay, we are dead if we leave! Where do we go? Sapri, Carrara? To hell with that!“

”Anywhere is better than sitting here in our graves to be...“

The young boy was fed up with it all and rolled back over to face the window, hoping to stare off into the stars and drown out the arguing. He could not help but wonder why they could not just make up and why everyone could not just be happy. It was summer after all, they had just worked so hard the previous month to harvest the wheat crop. Last weekend they had the first loaf of bread with dinner from the flour made of their wheat by the mill. Times seemed to be good and Iggy was baffled at what could possibly cause his parents to seem to hate each other so much.

”And they’re not even that close to here! Rossi was a fluke, stragglers or something!“

”Adamo went in to town today and said Carlo’s men have it locked down! The turnpike is closed and under patrol… if they’re here the invaders are close! Fluke, my ass! Rossi lives near the route, and now he’s dead. If it’s just stragglers and you figure they’re just ROAMING the countryside, where do they end up next?“

”Oh and today is the first time that sack that does anything for this family besides taking our daughter to have zero grandchildren with her...“

”Where do they end up next!? Straying off the turnpike maybe? Where does that place them, I wonder?“

Iggy had his eyes focused on the moon, the red haze in the sky that discolored its light was mesmerizing. He was straying off into his imagination, thinking about games he had played and neat animals he had been told about or seen pictures of. Watching the stars was something he enjoyed a lot and would do whenever he could stay awake long enough to do so. As much as he enjoyed it, doing so had the effect on him that it would often put him to sleep. His eyes were becoming heavy and he occasionally blinked them, the racket of his parents quarrel, while still present, was beginning to tune out.

”It’s four months until our olives are ripe! Wheat is ready to plant in two, I can’t just abandon that, I can’t abandon everything we have. Everything I have worked for, everything my family has worked for. Everything we have you are telling me throw away to get pillaged?“

”Oh, I see! Big man! You what, then? You going to defend this shack’s honor! Stand up to an invading army with what? Your plow? Haha!“

”I have more than a plow… I still have some of the guns...“

”You what?! Oh no, really, this just gets better. So you’re not only a fucking idiot with a death with, but you’re a criminal and a liar! You said you sold them during the buy backs! You know what happened to the Loguro brothers when the Miliziani found out they were holding onto their old stash...“

A rather strong burst of thunder, closer than the others had been, made Iggy alert enough to linger awake a while longer. He had not fully shut his eyes and was still gazing out at the heavens through the window. He was amazed at that moment to witness a shooting star rocket across the skyline in an instant. It danced with a flash, descending from right to left, towards the ground on the horizon. The dispute that had enveloped the household and his hearing was forgotten momentarily as he smiled to himself. He felt so warm inside as he tightened his grip on his sleeping bag and pulled it close to his mouth to suppress the sound of his blissful giggles.

”Okay then, Marshal Ongaro, what are the battle plans! So now it’s you, great soldier, by yourself, against an invading army with your drunk dad’s rusty hunting gun! Should I wake up the kids now to start digging our graves?“

”Beo! You have no faith! Not only is it not just the hunter but it’s not just me! Paolo knows how to use a rifle, and maybe Adamo could do something for this house for once! Calogero is old enough too...“

”Oh, brilliant! You’re right, why was I so naive to forget about the Soletti family militia! Defending this dirt to last stand! Should we give little Iggy and gun too? Why not! You’ll all be dead when they’re raping your wife and daughters after anyways! Or maybe we should arm the girls too, while we’re at it, make it a family affair...“

”Emilia...“

Thunder struck again, even louder than before; Iggy could see the house shake as he watched the window panes jostle and frame of it seem to bounce. He was wide awake now, and a little bit frightened. Hearing his name spoken turned him right back onto the eavesdropping. He had certainly not understood much but he was sure he had heard his mother speaking of giving him a gun. What would he need a gun for? He knew his oldest brother Pietro had a gun; his parents were very proud that he was in the Legion, especially since it was not one of the penal battalions.

While he thought of his older brother for a second, who he had not seen since around the new year, he noticed that one of his other older brothers, one that still lived at home and slept in the same space as he, was also awake. Calogero, the middle of the three boys at the farm, was rustling in the corner, attempting desperately to do so as stealthily as possible. He was hunched over an old, wooden chest that their initials were carved into, tampering with the lock. Iggy became deathly still as he spied on his brother, staring his back while he did whatever he was doing.

The arguing, while still going on, was forgotten, and Iggy was focused on watching Calogero. Instead of the demeaning insults, which he did not fully understand, being hurled down stairs, he heard a sound he did recognize; the satisfying click of a lock opening. Calogero quietly opened the lid with minimal noise, save for an almost entirely unavoidable creak of the old brass hinge. Iggy had not moved since he noticed his brother, in fact he was trying to be so unnoticeable that he was even holding his breath, although not entirely deliberately.

Iggy’s eyes widened as he watched Calogero carefully withdraw something long out of the chest. He was extremely curios as to what it could be, especially since they were not allowed to enter that chest and none of them had keys to it. He had no clue what it was that his brother had taken out and leaned against wall before pulling something else out. Calogero put the second item right into his pocket, a handful of something that had a bit of clang to it. He began closing the chest back up while Iggy continued to ponder what he grabbed. Whatever it was, it was long, stiff, seemingly heavy, and hidden inside of a dirty, canvas sock that covered the length of it and was tied shut at the top with two frayed pieces of rope sewn to the fabric.

In an instant, Iggy had went from large, wide opened, inquisitive eyes to having them firmly shut when Calogero picked it up and turned around. Iggy stayed perfectly still as Calogero tiptoed past him, unaware he was spotted, and began to climb down the ladder to the kitchen. As soon as Iggy could hear his brother was at the foot of the ladder, he rolled to the edge of the loft to look down and witness his brother sneakily putting on and lacing his boots.

He had always looked up to his brother; he was older and way smarter, besides being pretty tough. Calogero was a little more than twice Iggy’s age, having just entered his teenage years at the start of the summer. Despite the age gap, he was gentle and very friendly with his little brother where as their older brother, Paolo, was not as kind. Iggy had been able to recognize that his brother Paolo was not terribly fond of him, even if he was not able to recognize all of the insulting remarks thrown at him by his older brother or what they meant when he did understand he was being made fun of. Calogero on the other hand was always keen to teach Iggy things and defend him when other kids in town would pick on him. Iggy followed Calogero around like a puppy when he was not doing that to his father instead, and Calogero never had the nerve or ill will to stop Iggy from doing so.

At that moment, Iggy put it all together, he had the strongest urge from inside of him to do just that, and follow his brother to see whatever he could possibly be doing so late at night and without the parents’ permission. He was scurrying out of his sheets as quietly as possible now, much like his brother did. Throwing a pair of pants on over his long johns and grabbing his favorite jacket, he slid down the ladder as soon as he heard the front door shut behind Calogero. Iggy grabbed his shoes from the pile by the entrance, not even bothering to put them on, and rushed out the door for his brother.

He quickly caught up to him, losing any amount of stealth as he awkwardly walked briskly around the corner of the house and gave a whisper of a shout, “Calo!”

His brother had still been tiptoeing as he hugged close to the house on the wall under the window in their sleeping quarters. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his brother had appeared behind him; he had been so focused on moving himself as silently as possible that he had not noticed his brother approaching not so silently. He turned around to see his disheveled, speedily dressed brother standing there looking up at him with confusion in his eyes.

“Iggy!” Calogero said a little anxiously, “What in Beo’s name are you doing out here? Go to bed!”

Iggy frowned when his brother said that him, he had never sent him away before. Calogero could see his brother saddening and lightened up his body language, relaxing his shoulders and placing one end of the covered stick he carrier on the ground, leaning the top of it under his armpit. Calogero leaned down, looking at Iggy as they both stared at each other before the young boy said meekly, “Where are you going, brother?”

Calogero sighed and grabbed the stick in the sock by its center, picking it up. He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m sorry, little brother, but I can’t tell you. I need you to go to bed, Iggy, and that way we can play hide-and-seek alll day together tomorrow when you wake up.”

“No,” Iggy said with a pout. He knew when he was being bribed and was getting mad now, “tell me where you go or I tell momma and poppa you sneak out!”

Calogero rolled his eyes but knew that he had found himself in a predicament; instead of immediately answering he moved over to his brother and got down on a knee and spoke to him gently, “Ok, ok, fine, but you have to be quiet. Come, we walk over to the barn and then I will tell you.”

Iggy was pleased and nodded yes with a grin. The two of them marched off in silence through the grove and to the barn they spent so much time in. Once there, Calogero leaned what he was carrying against the wooden wall and took a better look at his little brother. He squatted next to him and pulled something out of his pocket, a little chocolate piece in a wrapper, that he handed to Iggy, “These weren’t for you, but I will let you have one.”

Iggy gave a little delightful squeal as he accepted the offer graciously and quickly devoured it. He did not get to eat chocolate often and had been certain his brother had stashed some from the spring feast’s festivities but could never find the reserve whenever he searched. To be freely given a piece of this secret, private stash meant his brother was being extra nice to him. Once the treat was gone, however, Iggy was right back to his interrogation, “So where are you going, Calo?”

“Fine,” Calogero said with a sigh, “you really want to know?”

Iggy was grinning, his smile bigger than his face, “Yes!”

“Ok, well, I need to go save Maria...”

Iggy was still smiling, not as tremendously however, but stood there with a blank expression beyond that. The little boy was staring at his older brother in awe while he fidgeted with the ends of the loose, opened jacket. Calogero was a little taken aback by the sudden cessation of the questions so he prompted one, “Um, ok, Iggy?”

“Maria is the one with the white dog, right?”

“Yes,” Calogero chuckled, of course that was what his brother remembered about the time they had been with their father to Maria’s father’s farm near the turnpike.

“And the hairy cat?”

Calogero was genuinely confused by that question as they had not seen any cats when they were there, nor did he think that his crush, or her family, owned one, “What hairy cat?”

“I heard you telling Paolo about how she has a hair pussy cat…” Calogero quickly cut his brother off from going any further. While he was thankful for the boy’s innocence he learned a lesson of watching what he says in front of him.

“So now that you know that I am going to save Maria with the dog, and, er, the hairy cat, can you please go to bed, brother?”

Iggy shook his head defiantly, firmly saying only one word, “No.”

“Come on, Iggy! Give me a break, I will give you allll my chocolate stash if you go back inside.”

The pleading was not working, the adventurous appeal and mystery to what Calogero was doing was too enticing for Iggy, “No, I want to come with you.”

Now Calogero was firm as he spoke, “No. Enough haggling, you got to go to bed now or there will be trouble.”

“If you don’t let me come I’m telling momma and poppa then!”

With a deep sigh and exaggerated eye roll, Calogero relented against the unmovable, debating powerhouse that his little brother was. He agreed to let him come under one condition, “Fine, but you need to put on your shoes and let me fix your jacket.”

He gave his brother a hand tying up his shoes and straightened out the boy’s jacket, zipping it up and tucking in his shirt. As he worked at the zipper, his face right in front of Iggy’s, the little boy picked back up his line of questions.

“Where is Maria?”
“She lives near Signore Rossi’s farm, you remember where we bought the pig for the winter feast?”

Iggy blinked a few times before rubbing snot away from his nose with his wrist, “How are we getting there?”

“We are walking.”

“Walking! Thats like a 1000 miles away, it took like two days to drive to get that pig!”

Calogero gave his brother a tsk tsk and responded, “More like an hour, and that’s because there isn’t a straight road to there. I’ve gotten there, cutting through the woods and across the turnpike, in twenty minutes before, on my bike. It won’t be bad, unless you want to go home now, before we leave?”

“No, I no want to go home,” Iggy was still defiant.

“No? Okay then, just follow me and don’t be a bitch.”

They began to walk, Calogero grabbing the item he had taken from the chest in one hand and holding Iggy’s in the other. Within a few minutes, Iggy was yawning and asking his older brother more questions. His first question put him on the spot a little, “Calo, what’s a bitch?”

”Merda,” Calogero said to himself, under his breath while trying to think quickly, “it’s, uh, it was a misspeak, I meant to say baby but I was itchy as I said it and combined the word. Don’t be a baby is what I meant to say.”

“Oh, ok,” Iggy was content with the answer, pacing alongside his brother and bopping his head around as he walked, “I won’t be a baby, I promise.”

They hiked on for what must have been over an hour. Iggy was feeling the pain of the walk and trying desperately hard to not complain. As young as he was he had already grown a certainly strong stubborn bone and would not let his brother think he was a baby and that he should have gone home earlier. They were approaching more open fields again, nearing the more well lit pastures along the turnpike that wriggled through the countryside from Tivoli to Sapri and beyond. As they got closer, Iggy could sense his brother becoming less relaxed and more tense. Calogero was gripping what ever he was carrying with white knuckles.

Before they got any closer to the road, which they had to cross to get to their destination, they laid low in the grass and watched it. There were no passenger cars, or evening cargo trucks shipping anything. The road was bright, however, with military vehicles flying up and down it during the thirty minutes or so they sat there and watched. There was no permanent post or visible units but trucks were consistently driving down it every five minutes, all heading towards Tivoli.

It was then that Calogero revealed what he had been lugging with him. He untied the string at the top and unfolded the flap, reaching within it and sliding out an old wooden rifle from it’s gun sock. He rolled up the fabric and shoved it in his back pocket before he loaded the rifle with a cartridge from his pocket. It took him a few tries but to do it right before he was sure he had done it correctly and they moved again.

Now Iggy was truly in awe of his brother, this must have been the most insane thing he had ever seen. And that was awesome; he could not imagine holding a real gun and the fact that his brother was blew his mind. That’s when Calogero shared with him some information he thought Iggy might appreciate, “You see this, Iggy? This was our great-great-grandfather’s gun that he used in the Olympic War. After the war, he gave it to his son, who gave it to his to gave to his, who gave it to poppa, who will give it to us.”

“Wow….”

“Yes, wow, so since poppa will one day give this to us, I did not steal anything, ok? Since I am only borrowing it, first of, but because it is kinda mine, I can’t have stealed it. Okay? Good. I haven’t seen any soldiers in a few minutes, you ready to move, brother?”

“Yes!”

“Alright, then,” Calogero sped up his brother’s ascent to his feet and they soon made quick work of climbing over the small wall dividing the highway and the fields before sprinting across the pavement and then over the wall on the other side. They were ducking back into woods, this time on the other side of the turnpike, within minutes and without having been noticed by a living soul. They were still a little off from their destination and Calogero was not always the best at navigation. As they wandered in the dark fields for a while, they began to smell a strong stench of smoke nearby.

They were not actively seeking it out but the path they found themselves on seemed to lead directly to whatever the source was. The red hues in the sky were more intense over here the sound of the thunder they had heard the past two days grew louder and stronger. They could also hear lighter thunder, not as audible but more frequent, that was coming from all around the valley. There was soon a fog in the tree line that they traversed through. The smell of smoke was getting stronger by the moment and soon the cloud around them was almost too thick to see through.

Their eyes were beginning to water as they pushed on, hoping that whatever was causing this disturbance would not last for long. It was warmer than earlier and now the smell was at its strongest and more than just that of burnt wood. The smell reminded Calogero of the smell they had experienced when their mother had brought them to town last year and they walked past the wreckage of the recent electrical fire at a delicatessen.

They stumbled through the haze of smoke and fog, traveling down hill until they wound up in the olive groves of someone else before it turned into a clearing all of a sudden. They were wrong when they thought the smell was strongest before; like the thickness of the smoke, the smell was strongest here as they walked forward before becoming motionless in awe.

Tangled in the dirt and carnage of a row of olive trees was some sort of heavy machinery. It was smoking profusely and surrounded by ash and the smoldering remains of the trees it had destroyed. Staring at it for long enough, both of the boys, while no experts, were able to gauge an idea of what it was that laid before them. There, wrecked in the countryside, was some sort of air plane. Not that they had ever seen one in person, up close like this, before, but they had both seen enough war themed movies to know a jet when one was in front of them.

Decimated, it was far from the image of one in flight, a toasted and tattered hull of one instead. What was clearly visible, however, despite the scorched streaks around and over it, was a roundel on the surface of the most intact side of the aircraft. It was no Parthonopian blue and white stripes, instead the orange, black and white glistened in the moonlight.

[Winst]

Port Lafida, Lafida-Marcomer
September, 22nd 2019

A somber mood hung over the Senate, while Wintonians and Parthonopians alike celebrated their perceived victory the leading men of Marcomer-Lafida knew they the truth. They sat on a resounding defeat. Men and Woman cheered and paraded through the streets of Silvus and Ancona, the Parthonopian Republic was burying it’s dead. So many dead for such small concessions.

The senate building was an old building in a Wintonian style, a gift to the Lafidan people after occupation. A gesture towards good will and a promise to stay out of their internal politics. The senate room itself was in a circular amphitheater style with the senate floor at the bottom. It hadn’t been renovated since it was built, damage to the plaster and the molding were evident. It was a cramped room now, as Marcomerian delegates had joined their Lafidan counterparts, leaving the youngest members standing along the back wall. A new senate house was one of hundreds of projects waiting to be completed. President Carlo looked around the room from his central location as the final delegates squeezed into the room. He stood up walking over to the podium as if trying to clear the room of its maisma.

“Signore e signori” he began as he circled the senate floor, “this was a hard fought battle it has awakened us to the challenges we face. We knew going in that we would not achieve a sweeping victory, we knew that the Parthonopian army was mighty, and yet here we stand our republic has not fallen, we have recovered a significant portion of Marcomer from its occupiers. This is but a first step in our mission to free our people from Duke Carlo. We must be proud of our people our resilence and prepare for the next battle.”

As he sat back down, Senator Pavia stood. He was a Lafidan Senator freshly elected and part of the Dottrinario faction.

“We must face reality, the people do not trust us. They see us as little more than Wintonian puppazo. We sat complacent while the foreign powers continued to subject our lands and keep us divided. We may be a bastion of Republican Values, but that itself undercuts our message in the face of our Wintonian backing. Our existence defangs our very goals. Carlo has a propaganda machine pumping our people with lies. Now that we have spilt the blood of our brothers, they will not lend us their ears. The Marcomer plan has given us a phyrric victory. Some land in exchange for our brethern both fallen and those under Il Duca’s control. We need a leader to rally the people against the dittatore regale. To excite the people and unite them under La Repubblica. We need a hero of Resorigmento who hates Il Duca with the same ferrocity as we do.” He paused to let the men in the room think quietly of the answer he was looking for. He took the scowl appearing on President Ferrara’s face as his que to continue. He held up a Jashnagar newspaper showing tanned Parthonpians posing for a picture in a tropical location.

“We need Field Marshal Friuli.”