Betwixt Oder and Vistula [MT][PPC Maintence Thread]

[Polish Prussian Commonwealth]

OOC: This is restricted to me and specific nations I approve only.

Betwixt Oder and Vistula
Current Year: 2021
Now Playing: The Voice in My Heart - Violet Evergarden OST

A quaint little Central-European federal constitutional monarchy marked mostly by plains, old-growth deciduous forests, and ubquitous military bases, with the Carpathian mountains to the South. Boasting a population of around 50 million, with 45 million in the Kingdom of Poland and 5 million in the Kingdom of Prussia, the Commonwealth of the Kingdoms has been ruled with a fair hand by the House of Hohenzollern-Jagiellon since the Uprising of 1992. With a rapidly growing economy, strong military, and it's allies close at hand, the Commonwealth has much reason to celebrate.

However, not all is well. The Aureumterran Lion boasts and blathers to the North, but his words are backed by claws. Cassadia and Palmyrion extend their tendrils further into Prussia-Poland's society and government by the day, and there are those who would listen to their poisonous whispers; to throw away the her hard-own independence and the moderate course charted painstakingly by Reichswehr, Church, and King, and to reduce the Commonwealth into a mere pawn and appendage of foreign masters and ideologues once more.

Still; no matter how great the trials to come, today, Prussia-Poland is the master of her fate and the captain of her soul. She is free, and her people will, despite the ravings of madmen and all the bombs and bullets in the world, continue to keep her free.

[Polish Prussian Commonwealth]

And war is like a cruel lottery,
And we were all eager to go home, serving there
But now when I look at the photos, my heart skips a beat
I wish I could go back to those places
But now when I look at the photos, my heart skips a beat
I wish I could go back to Afghanistan

- Rostov - Lottery

June 1st - 2021

“We’re leaving.”
Such joyous words. Sweet, joyous words, to Berengar’s ears. He would see Heidi again, he would see father, and he would see Ida once again.

The sentiment was the same throughout the whole platoon. Everyone had had enough of Afghanistan; the dirty children who swarmed around their vehicles, IEDs, and ‘allies’ who were worse than the insurgents they fought. It was time to go home.

---

Combat Outpost Cascade is a joint Prussian-Polish and American installation, located in the Zana Khan District of Ghazni Province, consisting of a pair of concrete buildings, surrounded by HESCO barriers topped by razor wire. It has at its disposal two Rosomak IFVs and several M1114s, armed with heavy weapons, 30 cavalrymen of the Guards Cuirassiers’ Lancer Battalion, and 30 troops of the 173rd Airborne Brigade...

“All of that firepower.” Berengar remarked, as tore up the description and threw it off the side of his Humvee. “And we spent ten years here?” He looked around the plains surrounding COP Cascade’s roadside checkpoint. “A full decade?”

His dismounted counterpart, Corporal Czarniak, shrugged. “Fuck if I know, Berengar. Keep your eyes on the perimeter.”

Berengar sighed and peered through his heavy machine gun’s sight again, waiting for an attack that would never come. “So, Czarniak.” he started up again. “...How’re the kids?”

“...Wife took ‘em. I got the word yesterday. Ex-wife, I should say. Fuck ‘er anyway, once I go back I’ll fight that damned hag for all I’m worth.”

“Hope it works out.”

Czarniak nodded. “I hope so too…Say, did that broad, from...Teressieren, she ever work out? Her name’s Ida, right?”

Berengar flushed. “Don’t call her that.”

“I take that as a yes.”

“...Yeah. I hope to spend more time with her once we leave.”

“‘If’, not ‘once’.” Czarniak replied. “Until I’m on the ground in Warsaw it’s an ‘if’. Better yet, don’t say that shit at all. It’s how all the redshirts in those shitty stories and movies die anyway, they talk about their girl at home and then splat, their brains are all over the camera.”

“Well, we’re not in some shitty war story, right?”

“I don’t know, man. Sometimes I wonder if some edgy American teenager’s pounding away at his cheap Lenovo laptop, trying to figure out how to fuck us over next.”

“...Let’s hope he has at least some semblance of competency, if that’s the case.”

“Aye. Say, Ida, she’s the reason you came back with a giant box of choccy, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. That’s a keeper, if I say so myself. Treat her well.”

“I will.”

Berengar peered through the sight once again, and saw a few men armed with M4s and dressed in grey camouflage uniforms moving through the streets up towards them.

“Oi, Czarnik, the Yanks are back.” Berengar said. “Be a sport and don’t shoot at ‘em like you did last time, aye?”

“Fuck you, Berengar, that was once.”

---

Normally, the return of an American patrol was a loud affair. Americans are chatty, Prussian-Poles are silent and stoic; that was supposed to be how it went.

But not today. The Americans were silent, and as they entered again through the gates, they dispersed quietly.

One of them approached Berengar and Czarniak. He lit up a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth, before flopping down in front of the HESCO wall and shutting his eyes.

“Ey.” Berengar called. “Elias. How’s it out there?”

“Still shit.” Elias muttered. “Kids smell like shit, men smell like shit. Once I get home I’m gonna take a giant fucking shower.”

He yawned and rubbed his face. “We finally managed to trick the kids into saying ‘Fuck Afghanistan’ though. Shit was surreal. If you want a copy of the tape ask Zacharias.”

Czarniak smirked. “Pft. I’ll be sure to do that...hang on.”

He leaned in slightly, and narrowed his eyes. “Ey, Elias. You’re missing a mag.”

Elias nodded. “Aye, and?”

“Where did it go?”

“We were cleaning up some dirty laundry. Nothing that’ll matter in the long run.”

“...I’m sorry, what?” Berengar asked, after a pause.

“Elias.” Czarniak said. “I’m not fucking around. What did you do?”


Elias closed his eyes and rubbed them, and remained silent for a long while.

“...You remember that guy? Head honcho of the local border cop garrison?”

“Tarzi?” Berengar asked. “Him? That bastard?”

Czarniak nodded. “Did you…”

A long silence passed, before Elias finally opened his eyes and wiped them with the back of his hand, before nodding. “There was a body in the house. Some kid.” Elias croaked. “Wasn’t much older than 10. Bastard. Should’ve done this earlier.”

“But his gang,” Czarniak objected. “Won’t they be after us now? They’re big on... what do you call it, uh, bacha bazi-”

“Let them.” Elias muttered. “I’ll shoot every son of a bitch who tries. It’ll take awhile for them to figure out who did it, anyways. We’ll be long gone by then.”

Berengar glanced around from his Humvee’s turrent nervously, before looking back down at Elias. “What about his deputy? And...your...your CID? Aren’t they going to investigate?”

“The CID?” Elias shook his head. “They withdrew already. All that’s left is the local police, and they couldn’t investigate their way out of a United Airlines vomit bag. We planned this whole thing, start to finish. And I don’t give a damn if this gets me arrested either. I don’t think anyone else gives a damn. And his deputy...the last joint patrol, when you provided overwatch for us? We did him in that time.”

The revelation stunned the Poles into a long silence.

“Couldn’t you have reported him?” Berengar asked, after awhile.

“The last guys tried two years ago.” Elias shot back. “We tried again six months ago. Things like these are out of ISAF’s jurisdiction so the case got passed on to the locals both times. He’s still receiving aid. Well, was still receiving aid. Whatever. What’s done is done. He’s dead now. Tell whoever you want.”
Elias stood and walked further into the encampment, leaving the two Prussian-Poles behind to digest what they had heard.

---

To Ida;

I’m coming home. I’ll see you soon. At least, I hope.

To answer your question. Afghanistan’s still horrid. 200 years and all of the Great Powers of the world haven’t learned a damned thing.
I was listening to the long-wave radio a few days ago, as usual, with a couple of other people. The translator was there as well. Some ANA troops in charge of a border outpost in the province over from us surrendered to the Taliban last night. Not a single shot was fired.

Halfway through our translator started crying and couldn’t go on.

The US State Department denied his visa request the day before that. He tried to get my help an hour before we left; said that if he couldn’t get his family out, they were dead. I believe him.

I couldn’t do a damned thing. One of the guys passed him a pistol. As we were going through the gates I heard a gunshot. Word’s coming in from other units in the area too. This is happening everywhere. They’re leaving the translators for dead.

He saved my life once, on patrol. Pulled my head down right before an MG would’ve cut it off. He was a funny man too, always ready to smile and crack stupid jokes that we laughed at anyway. Once he started a betting pool on which vehicle would blow up first.

You would’ve liked him, I think, if you met him.

Enclosed should be a package with precisely six packets of American MRE desserts, to be precise 3 apple-flavored pound cakes and 3 carrot pound cakes. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did the chocolate you sent over. How are your sisters? How's the job going? And how’s your grandmother?

Hugs;
Berengar.