Sadmeli Testing Grounds, Sadmeli, Kartlis
The image of a row of men in uniform, binoculars lifted to their eyes and gazing at the horizon, was almost archetypical of a military demonstration. True to form, as the Kartlian generals and their guest watched through magnifying lenses, a battery of howitzers opened fire with the characteristic thwoomp of an artillery piece. In the far distance, prepositioned targets exploded in succession, fire, dirt, and smoke thrust into the air.
The battery fell silent, the men lowered their binoculars, and nodded to each other with the familiar satisfied nod acknowledging a job well done. Those targets had certainly been defeated. Hereditary Prince Constantine, son of the Kartlian monarch, lowered his binoculars as well, and looked to the officers.
"Well, gentleman, again a mighty victory for Kartlis." he said with aplomb.
They did not laugh, or smile. A four-star general with the name BAKHSOLIANI stitched on his uniform's breast pocket, gestured to the firing field. "As you can see, your Serene Highness, the D-20 model 152 millimeter towed gun is still quit effective as a ranged unit. The D-20 still forms the backbone of our long-range artillery forces, and will remain an effective piece of hardware on the battlefield."
The Prince nodded automatically, and wished he were anywhere else, wearing anything other than the uniform of a Colonel of His Highness's Life Guard of Horse, forced about at the government's beck and call, dressing up and smiling for the cameras as retirement-aged high officers prattled on about their antiquated artillery.
"Naturally, General Bakhsoliani." he said, defaulting to the standard royal voice. "I am very much impressed."
Bakhsoliani and the others saluted sharply, and then tour continued through the Sadmeli Testing Ground, where for several more hours Constantine would watch rocket barrages, soldiers firing shoulder-mounted RPGs, and a few helicopters. He smiled like an idiot through it all, nodding and pointing at all the right moments. Only during a brief interlude was he able to have any moment alone, and he quickly fumbled for a hidden cell phone in his uniform's breast pocket.
I cannot stand this at all, I need you with me, to feel your caress, no one else understands but you, if I could marry you I would but Father would never permit it
With a flash he was surrounded again, this time by smiling soldiers, the thin, wiry mountain farm-boys and shepherds that made up most of the Kartlian armed forces, excited beyond belief to see the Hereditary Prince, the son of the monarch! He smiled, waved, and shook a few hands with a Mihkeil here and a Pavle there. As it was over and his party turned to send him to the car, he caught some of the chatter; "how'd he get the uniform, though?"
That stung. Constantine had actually been through officer school at the Kutaisi Military Academy, and spent six weeks on the Life Guard training course before his father gave him the commission and its accompanying uniform. "I won't hand out swords and honors to anyone who didn't earn them" he'd said. Of course, he hadn't forced the Emperor of Excalbia to learn how to fire a howitzer when he created him a Field Marshal. But a sovereign could do whatever they wanted, right? Except, they couldn't. Only in Sabaristan, or Pantocratoria, where monarchs still were monarchs. Not here in Kartlis, with its constitutional monarchy.
In the car, hidden behind the tinted windows of a gleaming black Peacock Motors sedan, his snapped to his valet, "Andro. Scotch. Double." and unbuttoned the tall, stiff collar of his blue uniform. Andro Ianishvili, a man of around the same age as the Prince, handed him a crystal glass filled to the brim with amber liquid. The Prince drank it in two sips.
"I hate these trips." he said, knowing Andro would not respond. He never did. "I hate these generals, I hate the simpering politicians who demand I make them, and I hate most of all the stupid pageantry of having to be the Good Crown Prince in front of my lessers. Pour me one more. Where are we going next?"
Andro, for his part, poured only a single this time. The Prince drank too much anyway. Not that, as a valet, he could control how much the Prince drank in sum. "The airport. Returning to Mtskheta for the evening. Your private secretary is meeting you there. In the morning I am told the Premier wishes to see you."
Constantine drained the glass again, and then held it out to be refilled. When it wasn't filled immediately he shook it angrily. "Fine, Mtskheta tonight. Good. Listen. Once we arrive have the... other car, waiting. And as for Toma? Well, just tell him to call on me at Erekle House in the morning before the meeting. I want to relax tonight, no interruptions."
A look of trepidation crept across Andro's face. "Sir... I'm not sure that I can..." he started, but a thunderous look crossed the Prince's rapidly reddening face, and he folded like an umbrella in a hurricane. "Of course, Highness. The usual procedure."
Constantine, Hereditary Prince of Kartlis, wasn't even listening. The cell phone was in his hands, and he was rapidly clicking away, excitement and alcohol pounding through his veins.
I'm coming back tonight, meet me as usual, I cannot wait to hold you again, to stroke you and kiss you and love you.
We will find some way to be together in the end, I promise.