Adieu Toutes Les Femmes - Nathan's dumb writing thing

(Title taken from the chorus of La Chanson de Craonne) Just me and my dumb writing thing. have fun reading it i guess? "Main" blog: https://www.tumblr.com/breadmurderer2

[altfbynate]

A ragged rifleman and an officer that may be familiar to some.

First ATLF art!!!!! Made by my man Rautablo after I made a tank for him. (Link to his twitter: https://x.com/rautablo)

[altfbynate]

This is a digitalized reconstruction of a 'vlajka štěstí', translated to 'luck flag' The luck flag was a standard issue item of the Royal Velarian Land Guard. This flag, typically a swallowtailed banner consisting of the national colours and extra blank space was issued to a man when he is inducted into the army. It is then typically signed by the soldier's friends, comrades, family, co-workers, or even neighbors on one side, and spells were written on the other by priests and other spiritual leaders of the Oritsan faith. The flag was supposed to be stored folded in a soldier's pack or pocket, however, memoir, photographic, and even film evidence have shown these flags tied to the fore-end of rifles or even tank and artillery barrels. One E.Y. Kurchovsky of the Krasnovarian 72nd Infantry Brigade recalls in his memoirs: "The Royalists had all been killed charging down [Hill 173], Yegramov and his posse naturally scrounged for whatever trinkets they could get their hands on. I hung about with them as they did, but i didn't take anything, with one exception. These Velarians had these peculiar flags tied to their rifles, looked like their national red-white-blue but with some white space on the sides which were covered in writing. I couldn't read any of it, of course, so I took one to bring to Antonov. He had a look at it and told me it was mainly mystical bullshit, but he also said that there were some motivational slogans or something written on it. Clearly didn't work out for the poor buggers. I traded it in with a tanker for a pack of cigs the next day. Seems he wasn't fazed by all the blood on the damned thing." - E.Y. Kurchovsky, "Those Who Died There", 6672. As per the traditions of the Oritsan faith, cremation was the norm for body disposal, and rememberance of the deceased. However, due to the nature of war, KIA soldiers were not afforded the luxury of being given a proper departure from the world. In lieu of ashes, it was more common for the luck flag to be sent home to the family of the deceased soldier. These flags were proudly presented in living veteran's homes and even more inscription was usually added during events reuniting RVLG veterans. The luck flag was also frequently looted by Krasnovarian soldiers, as they saw these flags as a valuable trophy, and collecting them was seen as a mark of distinction. Unsubstantiated rumors also state that Krasnovarian officers would place considerable bounties on these flags. These captured flags remained as trophies in Krasnovaria before relations between Velaria and Krasnovaria thawed in the 6680's. Many have now been sent back to the living relatives of their original owners or to Velarian museums. Please enjoy this extra ATLF lore posting, resumed work on the next chapter, but progress is glacial at best. Got diagnosed with tuberculosis so progress may slow even more, but still, work is resumed, hooray probably.

[altfbynate]

An announcement

It's over. Okay, no, It's not *over* over, but all work on ATLF has been indefinitely postponed for reasons of mental health and a lack of time. That is to say I only have about 3-4 hours of free time left in 5 days of the week and I feel the most down I have ever been in my entire life. The simple fact is: I've bit off way more than I could chew. This project is way too grand for the time and effort that I could realistically pour into it. It's like a fountain that I have to fill with a single small sized canteen. Not to mention the fact that earlier chapters are already falling behind my own standards. To be honest, the whole thing is falling behind my own standards. I really liked writing ATLF, it's genuinely one of the few things left that I enjoyed doing. But I don't think I could do much of this right now.

Adieu, for now. Don't worry, Ivo and Anton are just taking a well-deserved break for the time being.

[altfbynate]

Chapter 3 (Yes it's all one chapter and not chopped up into parts, I'm a bit lazy today)

CW: Wartime violence, and quite literally all the nasty stuff you'd expect from the 30's and 40's.

Anton Chvátal was never really one to be acquainted with the outdoors. The woods that surround him, the moss ridden trees and rocks, the earth cluttered with overgrown plants and fallen leaves. All of this was as alien to Anton as the vast, unending expanse of sky was to a fish. The only real experience he had with the wilderness was playing on the fields that surrounded his hometown, exploring the well-kept grounds of his uncle’s manor. Other than that? Nil. And now here he was, watching his step, fearful of stumbling over a fallen tree trunk or stumbling on the slippery surface of a moss-covered boulder.

The brunette officer yawns. He hadn’t been able to catch much sleep recently. Between the paperwork, the intermittent screeches and thunderclaps of an errant shell, the constant worry and doubt welling in his chest, the fear of a tomorrow yet to come. Thanks to all of this, sleep had been lost to him. The white stripe on his helmet and the fancy stitchwork on his epaulettes meant something, so did the pair of binoculars hanging from his neck, hovering above his chest. The map-case and pistol holster attached to his belt, the sword dangling on his hip. All of this was a testament to what is expected of him, of a duty laid upon him not by merit or capability. But by connection of blood.

Authority. Responsibility. These words were constantly at the fore of Anton’s mind, these were things that are vaunted, actively sought after by other men of his standing. And then there’s him, Lieutenant Anton Chvátal, rifle slung over his shoulder and a compass in his left hand, wishing that his position was given to someone else.

He reigned over the lives of fifty men, each one had a family to feed, sons and daughters to lift up onto their shoulders and guide through the intricate and unfair game of life. These men had mothers and fathers patiently waiting for their sons to come back home as heroes with shiny medals and ribbons pinned to their chest, not as charred, grey ashes in an urn. They had wives and girlfriends to embrace and pepper with sweet kisses, or weep as they are handed a death card written by a brunette in round-framed glasses who had the responsibility to keep them alive. Who knew, maybe even one of these men found comfort in the arms of a comrade, who hold back their tears as their beloveds fade into naught but a sweet, but fleeting memory.

Ach! To hell with these thoughts! Never mind all of it, to keep these men alive, you must be strong. You must be able to take these fears and push them back into the void where they belong. Anton steels himself, taking the advice of his own head.

A man behind him laughs loudly and obnoxiously, another man, a machine-gunner, complained about the weight he was hefting. Anton was leading a patrol through the woods; he had taken only two of the three infantry squads under his command along with his own 5-man command section and a two-man stretcher-bearer team. Their objective was simple: The enemy, recently dislodged from a defensive line, had fled into these woods. Multiple patrols have been sent in to hunt down any remains of organized resistance. But as of now, not even a single Krasni had been sighted, let alone engaged.

Another man was conversing quite loudly about some brothel in a nearby town. Anton took this as a time to take action. He stops and turns his head back over his left shoulder, he also raises his hand in a signal to halt.

“I am not telling you that you can’t have any small talk, but keep it down for the goddess’ sake! The reds could probably hear you all from a mile away.” Anton tried to keep his voice down as much as possible, he attempts to be loud enough to be audible to the columns of men behind him.

Someone let out a groan of annoyance, another complained in a hushed voice. And yet another man pointed forwards, into the trees beyond Anton. He asks quietly in an alert tone; “Do you see that?”

Anton snaps his head back forwards, he could, indeed see it. White, silky strands of smoke lofted into the air about a hundred and fifty meters ahead. But what could emit it? A few options rolled through Anton’s mind before the most obvious answer popped into mind. A campfire. No time to berate himself over not thinking of that instantaneously, action must be taken now.

“Rezső, Vida, get over here.” He’s calling over the two Desátníks* to his position in a silent a voice possible. Rezső was one big motherfucker, both in height and bulk. He had a magnificent bushy beard and was lugging around a sub-machinegun in his hands, as well as a stupendous number of grenades forming a ring around his belt. Vida in stark comparison sported a thin, lanky figure and a disdain for looking professional with his sleeves rolled up and tunic half unbuttoned. Anton couldn’t complain much though, the man didn’t earn two medals by being ineffective in combat.

“Right, Let’s be simple here. Vida, get your men into a skirmish line and follow me. Rezső, do the same, trail behind us but keep your distance. I’ll give further instructions once we actually get eyes on what’s causing the smoke. Understood?” Anton’s whispering. Everyone is.

“Gotcha, sir.” Rezső was much laxer when it came to terminology compared to Vida, who responded with a simple repeat of Anton’s last word. “Understood.”

“Good. Move out.” That, is the execution phrase. The two squad leaders get to work marshalling their squads at astonishing pace, each transitioning from an on the march column to a skirmish line, pretty much a looser version of a typical line formation. Each Velarian infantry squad consisted of 13 men. One squad leader, usually armed with a newfangled self-loading rifle or a sub-gun, and smoke grenades. His duty was, quite evidently, to lead and organize the squad. Then there was his deputy, usually armed with the same rifles as the regular infantrymen had, however he receives extra smoke grenades. His duty is to assist the leader, and to replace him if he were to fall in the line of duty.  The next three men comprised the MG team. One gunner, an assistant gunner, and an ammo-bearer. The main-line ‘light’ machine gun of the Velarian army was fed with 27 round strips of ammunition instead of magazines or belts. It was a quite antiquated system at this point, but they had to make do with what they had. They were responsible for laying down continuous suppressive fire, keeping the enemy’s head down contributes as much to victory as killing them outright. The next six soldiers were the regular riflemen, armed with straight-pull bolt action rifles, grenades, and bayonets. These men were versatile and could act as both as assault troops and suppressive fire teams. The last two men were grenadiers, they had a special provision of rifle grenades, fired from the muzzles of their rifles with the use of an adapter and a blank cartridge. Very good at neutralizing lightly fortified emplacements such as machine gun positions, or providing concealment with smoke grenades.

Anton had kept with his command section as the infantry squads formed up behind him. The command section consisted of five soldiers, the platoon commander himself, Anton in this case. His deputy, who usually also acted as a radio operator if they were issued a wireless set, and three couriers.

“Do you think they are actually down there? This whole thing seems fishy to me. The reds may be idiots at times but they wouldn’t just keep a campfire up in the middle of the day, while we are hunting them down no less.” Eidi, Anton’s deputy platoon leader voices his concerns. Anton is inclined to believe him.

“I know, it could very well be a trap. But I still feel it worth to investigate, we are here to engage and destroy the enemy, after all. Keep your eyes open and hit the deck if you see or hear anything that could even resemble a commie. Just, follow me.”

Anton looks back to the now formed infantry squads. Both the leaders are wheeling their hands about as if they were crank-starting their cars. This was a ‘ready to move’ hand signal. Hand signals in the Velarian army was a bit of a haphazard and informal matter, as no official set of hand signals were actually adopted. Anton responds by using his left hand to signal the ‘follow me’. He does this by sort of putting his hand below waist height and scooping the air forward.

The patrol began moving again, this time at a slower pace, it crept along as quietly as possible, even then the rattle of equipment and the noise of feet falling on all sorts of natural debris were producing a racket. Anton’s command section was on point, followed very closely by Vida’s squad, which in turn was shadowed with Rezső’s. There was a sort of berm blocking direct view of the campfire from the perspective of Anton’s patrol. Once the command section reaches the berm, Anton raises his hand and performs a ‘get on the ground’ gesture. Everyone complies, they get on their bellies with a swiftness of a peregrine falcon diving for prey.

Anton crept up the berm, before finally reaching a point where his eyes were above this terrain feature’s summit. The sight that greets him is somewhat surprising. About 100 meters in front in a forest clearing, lies not just a solitary campfire, but an actual camp. Ivo estimated there to be enough tents for about a platoon sized force of reds. But there was not a soul in sight, the place was deserted.

“What do you see up there?” Whispers Eidi.

“The enemy have definitely set up an actual camp about one-hundred meters front. But I can’t see any movement or any other sort of activity about.” The only thing moving is the gentle swaying of a tent-flap as the wind swept through the place. Anton turns around and beckons Vida to keep moving forward.

“There’s a deserted enemy camp ahead of us. You set your squad up in a line right on this berm. You’ll have a good view of the objective. Oh, and may I add: If anything happens, stay put. Hold your position until I say otherwise.” Vida nods, and signals for his men to move up to the berm. Anton turns to one of the couriers in his command section.

“You, you head down to B squad (Rezső’s command) and relay these orders: You are to split your section into two groups, and order them to sweep around the flanks of the camp in front of us, about a hundred meters from where we are. A squad will cover them.” The courier nods and responds with an affirm before getting to the task at hand. Squad A has taken up positions on the berm, forming a quite literal thin blue line. The soldiers attentively scan the camp and the line of woods past it, their eyes catch nothing other than the ordinary sight of empty tents, shrubbery and trees.

The bespectacled officer crawls up to Vida and taps him on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Mind if I take two of your riflemen? We have no clue where the enemy is, and I feel that taking a small detachment to that camp could force the enemy’s hand into revealing their positions early. And if they aren’t there? For the better.”

It was somewhat odd for the man highest in the chain of command in this case to recklessly endanger himself and possibly decapitate his own company. But the mythos of the brave and gallant officer had rooted itself deeply into the commissioned cadres of the Royal Velarian Army, and Anton wasn’t keen on breaking the mold just yet.

Vida ponders this for a moment. “Go ahead, just, don’t get them killed alright? Psst! František, Marinko, follow the Lt.”

The two riflemen who were called out scurried over to Anton, who was in the process of taking the sword off his belt. Even with the tan canvas field cover veiling the intricate bronze detailing on the scabbard, it would still give him away as an officer immediately. And Anton is not very keen on getting shot today.

After setting the blade aside, he takes off his helmet. For it bears a signature white stripe running across it, designating its wearer as an officer. ‘By the goddess I need to get a cover for this thing.’ He thinks to himself. The helmet’s design was unusual compared to the ‘default’ imagining of such a piece. Imagine a regular steel pot helmet, except this time the brim extends out on all sides, a bit longer on the front and shallower to the sides. The rear part of the brim actually extends low and rearwards, covering the wearer’s neck while also allowing them good vertical movement. He places the piece atop his sword. He looks to the two men compromising his new ad-hoc detachment with eyes equal in unease and expectation. He swallows a lump in his throat.

“Ready?”

The two men nod. Anton orients himself upright, and un-slings his rifle, placing it firm in his hands, before springing forward over the berm. The two men follow behind. They move at slightly accelerated pace towards the camp, still no activity shows itself within. They keep low, their heads on a swivel. They are nearly half-way there before – A crack, no, two cracks.

One is of a rifle’s report. The other is of a bullet, cleaving through air as it breaks the speed of sound.

Anton dives to the ground, at the foot of a large boulder. He hears an anguished cry to his right.

In this wood, birds used to chirp and sing. Creatures of the forest scurried about on the ground or up in the trees. Now the birds stop chirping. The animals rush to their burrows and nests. The ambience of nature’s beauty ceases. Replaced by the cacophony of rifles and machine guns performing their lethal task.

Anton props himself up with his back to the rock. To his left is Marinko, he thinks, taking cover behind the fallen trunk of a tree, he peeks out to fire a barely aimed shot in the general direction of the initial snap. To the officer’s right is František, curled up in the fetal position. Anton could spot faint glimpses of crimson leaking from the man’s stomach.

Fuck, Shit, damn! A million curses are exclaimed in Anton’s mind. The casualty is out in the open. The lieutenant flinches as a bullet strikes the earth somewhere in his vicinity. The reds had set up behind the camp. They were just fucking waiting there, waiting and waiting to kill some dirty servant of the crown of lies. Anton could have dismissed that lit campfire, and took it as a sign that they had left in a hurry. Half of his platoon could be sharing the fate of František at this very moment. Bleeding out in a mossy forest far, far away from home.

A full firefight had started, first begins the haphazard and scattered pops of rifles, then the machine guns begin rattling. Shots land all over the place, they whizz by the bodies of combatants who shudder and flinch as they snap past. Lead shatters as it impacts rock, trees are chipped as bullets strip bark. Anton has no precise conception of where the enemy fire is coming from other than ‘in front of you’.

Anton takes his rifle in hand and peers out from behind the rock. He shoulders the piece and aims it in the general direction of a faint muzzle flash from beyond the deserted encampment. The lieutenant finds himself unable to align his front and rear sights with how his hands shake with adrenaline. He fires, the weapon kicks into his shoulder, the muzzle raised after belching lead and smoke.

He pulls back into cover. With one swift pull backwards resting the butt of the weapon on his hip, the ejector pulls, then kicks the spent cartridge out of the chamber. and the firing pin is reset into ready position. And with one strong push, the second bullet of the six-round magazine is pushed into the chamber.

This (relatively) new rifle model was so much handier than the nearly meter long infantry rifles that had preceded it. Unfortunately, this beauty, the Zl.35, was yet to fully replace the aforementioned meter-long Zl.11/17 in standard infantry use. And even then, it’s replacement by newer auto-loading types was looming on the horizon already.

Anton looks to the wounded soldier once again. His moans and whimpers of agonizing pain is the only thing he could hear, not even the long bursts of MG fire are spared from being blotted out by the Lieutenant’s ears. He can’t be a coward. Not at any time really, but especially not right now. He reaches out a hand to the injured soldier. It gets nowhere near close, but Anton takes another deep breath, he prepares for a lunge.

“Right lad! Hold on I will get to you in but a moment!”

A ping resounds through his hearing, the sobbing private goes limp. A coin sized hole has been neatly punched into the back of his helmet. Anton slinks back into the protection of the rock. His breaths are ragged. He could feel the dirt on his hands, his tunic and undershirt uncomfortably sticking to his skin thanks to the sweat pouring out of his skin. His hair is damp, sticking to his forehead, mimicking his clothes. The acrid smell of burnt cordite assaulted his nose. Tracer rounds, green and red streak through the air above him. His hands grip so tight around his rifle that the thinks that the wood stock could shatter in his hands. The world around him is whirling, nearly incomprehensible. Anton thinks he knows is that squad A is laying down heavy fire, the enemy was reciprocating, there was a heavy machine gun firing almost continuously, he couldn’t really tell where it actually was. Squad B was… Somewhere. They better engage soon.

Anton flinches again. A thunderclap of explosives, Anton mutters “shit!” under his breath. Don’t tell me they got a mort- wait. The rifle grenadiers! They had finally gotten their bearings and were slinging grenades downrange. Another burst. There were only two rifle-grenadiers per squad, so they must be reloading at this point.

Anton peeks once again. He could barely see anything other than greenery. Muzzle flash is a great way of determining where fire is coming from, but even then, most shots actually fired only discharges a puff of unburnt gas and smoke. Muzzle flash was the result of the re-ignition of these unburnt gases, which was not a guarantee. Anton just pulls the trigger. The rifle lets loose its cry; however, it is only but a singular note in the discordant tune of snapping rifles and cracking bullets. The Lieutenant pulls back on the keg-shaped bolt handle yet again. But this time he notices something off.

He ducks back into cover. Oh, by the goddess, it seems that the case of the fired cartridge had snapped in two. Only the rear stub of the fired case had been thrown clear by the ejector. The rest of the cartridge sans bullet remains blocking the chamber. This, is suboptimal to say the least. This was not just a failure one could fix with a few practiced movements. No, this was something that will put your weapon out of the fight for now. It’s hard to clear in a safe environment, when you’re being shot at? Good luck.

“Fuck!” Anton annoyedly growls as he swiftly retrieves his pistol from its leather holster. The sword and pistol were not really combat weapons, they were badges of office. The pistol for non-commissioned officers, and the sword for the commissioned. If you were to use these weapons in combat, something has gone very, very, wrong.

Anton once again exposes himself to return fire. A bullet strikes the boulder in front of him, throwing up powdered pieces of stone, some fragments rain down onto the lieutenant. The adrenaline rushing through his system orders him to ignore it. Anton fires again and again, the pistol jerking in his outstretched hand as the weapon throws lead and belches smoke, the slide rocking back and forth, ejecting and chambering cartridges. The Lieutenant fires every single bullet from his eight-round magazine.

As he ducks down to cover – an explosion. Rifle grenades burst. The heavy MG fire suddenly stops. The exchange of fire suddenly turns to Velaria’s favour as the reds suddenly peel off and start engaging other targets.

Squad B. They had finally made it. More grenades burst as they engage in close combat with the communist ambushers. Anton witnesses one man clad in the crown’s blue rush forward, before firing point-blank into the green-clad form of a Krasnovarian in a foxhole. For his bravery, the soldier is rewarded with a bullet in the back. Anton swears he heard the shot from behind him, damn! Friendly fire. Another Krasni takes his chances and sprints away into the brush.

“CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!” Anton stands up, facing squad A and waving his hands frantically in an attempt to halt their fire. They obey.

“A SQUAD! CHARGE!” B squad had practically cleared the ambush position of enemies. Now it was A’s turn to charge forth and put their bayonets to good use. Anton raises his pistol above his head and rushes forward. Squad A follows behind, though two of them are left behind due to injury.

He reaches B squad panting. Rifle shots ring out frequently. They are still moving forward, in pursuit of the fleeing remnants of the ambushing force. Anton looks around the scene of devastation for a moment. The heavy machine gun, a water-cooled model, had been utterly trashed by the barrage of rifle grenades. The crew fared no better. The gunner lacked everything below his waist, his assistant’s shrapnel-peppered lungs were visible through a gaping, bloody hole. The lieutenant looked somewhere else, this time his eyes lay on another dead Krasni, his hands still clutching his rifle in firing posture, pointing at the former Velarian position.

“Sir! They’re running! Should we go after them?” It’s Rezső’s booming voice calling out to him.

“Just Go! Do what you can.” Anton is still panting in between every word, at this point A squad comes barreling past them.

Anton forces himself to take more steps forward, he nearly trips in doing so. His boot had almost snagged on yet another dead red. There was at least seven green-clad men currently lying still here.

The pursuit commenced, yielding unimpressive results. Two men had surrendered. And most had managed to run far enough that the Velarians couldn’t catch up to them thanks to exhaustion. But they had caught up to one.

He was injured, managed to limp up to a tree before Anton and his men got to him, but he managed to dash behind a great cluster of tree roots before the Velarians could take any action. They outnumbered the injured man nearly twenty to one. But Anton held them back, maybe a little bit of diplomacy could solve the issue.

“Do any of you speak Krasnovarian?” Anton queried.

“I know a little bit.” Replied a private, Janovic was his name.

“Tell him to put down any weapons he could have, and come out with his hands up. We will not harm him, and we will get our stretcher-bearers to tend to his wounds.”

The private promptly carried out the order. “Tóvaryshu, vykhodʹte z pidàtymy rukáimy, my vas ne skryidymo. Ya óbitsiayu. U nas tut medikiy!” No response. Well, there was a response, a barely audible click.

Anton couldn’t hear what the injured man said, even if he did, he couldn’t understand it. But he did understand the utterance of a name – ‘Anna’.

Janovic took a step forward, ready to entice the man into surrender once more. But the opportunity closes that very moment.

An explosion rings through the forest once again. A cloud of dust erupts from behind the great cluster of tree roots. The platoon recovers from their collective flinching. They took a fraction of a second to process and understand what had just happened. The fucker had blown himself up. Anton winces. Gods damn it.

“We should head back, go rifling through the dead guy’s pockets for intel. And- Go check on our wounded.” Anton slurs, his usual posh, formal manner of speaking slips away from his tongue.

“Goddess damns you, you idiot! We were giving you a chance to surrender! And you just fucking blow yourself up? You fucking Krasnis are all brick-headed swine! Fuck!” Vida is angrily raving at the mutilated corpse of the dead man. His chest is blown in, hands were mere stumps.

“Vida. Calm down. No use screaming at a dead man. We should go back and, Urgh. Just, let’s go.” Anton growls out, leveraging whatever authority he had. He makes his steps, followed uneasily by the rest of the company, still in shock.

“Well, he exited with one hell of a blast huh?” One of the soldiers blurts out to no-one in particular.

“A contender to Ota after eating some of those meat rations.” Another man says, loud enough for his squad to hear. The joke isn’t terribly funny but they laugh anyway. Better to laugh than cry Anton supposed.

                                                                 ~0--0~

Raindrops are quite nice to hear when you are under a roof. It isn’t quite so pleasurable when you are out standing in it. Ivo was leaning on the opened hatch of his tank, with a poncho pulled over his head. He was observing the field ahead of him with an eagle eye, watching for any movement of the enemy. They had attacked down this field in the waking hours of the day, and were promptly slaughtered by artillery. Company reckoned that the enemy would try again, but the onset of this heavy rain would most likely impede their advance. They wouldn’t come, Ivo knew they wouldn’t, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

So here he was. Looking through his binoculars while his crew were bantering over which raunchy pin-up model they had gotten their hands on was ‘the hottest’ through his headset.

“No, have you even seen Mademoiselle Ivana’s tits? They are the best goddess-damn thing I have ever seen in a year!” Exclaims Pavel, close to yelling.

“What? No! Her tits look off-putting. Yeah, sure a big bust is quite nice but they just look like a ball stuffed into a sack and attached to a lady’s chest. You really have to find the best between all worlds. A cute face, a good behind and good set of breasts. Madame Gloriana definitely checks those three boxes handily!” Retorts Jan.

Ivo returns back to the task at hand. The field. Corpses litter about the place, slowly sinking into the mud. Poor bastards the lot of them. Ivo ignores the conversation about all the horny bullshit happening right below him.

The motor-cavalry’s uniforms were nearly identical to the uniforms worn by the standard infantry, the only big difference is the silver-piped black collar tabs and shoulder boards have had colors switched out. The piping was still silver, but the infantry’s black has been replaced with the cavalry’s khaki-yellow service insignia.  They wore significantly less equipment compared to an infantryman, usually the infantry needed Y-straps to support all the ammunition pouches and whatever else on their belts, but this was unnecessary when in a tank. The motor-cavalryman only sported a pistol and holster on his belt, map cases and binoculars if you were an officer, as well as a gas-mask bag worn as a satchel. (The infantry was also issued these gas mask bags. It’s just that it is much more accentuated thanks to a tanker’s lack of individually worn kit.)

The tanker’s helmets were an interesting design, what they did was take a regular infantry helmet and replace the inside liner with a thicker, bulkier padded liner. (He should add that the lining around the ears had been cut out for a headset.) The rim of the helmet was cut off and replaced with another set of lining, in this case, padded leather running around where the rim used to be. It would not be uncommon to see dust goggles worn on the helmet itself, with the goggles only being lowered to protect the eyes if need be. Overall, it worked well to protect a tanker from all the bumps and smacks he may experience in a vehicle’s interior, though it was a bit heavy and cumbersome.

Oh, right, almost forgot the god damned sword. Ivo sure as hell wasn’t wearing the stupid fucking thing on his belt, why on earth would he ever do that in such a tight space. No, his cavalry saber is currently hanging off a sling looped around the radio’s antennae mount on the turret roof, situated behind him.

“Oi! Sir! This guy just said that ‘the best is anything you could get your hands on’! Get a load of that!” Pavel exclaims unbearably loud through the headset.

Ivo sighs, he fights the urge to dive into his pockets and produce that lovely pack of ‘Jambu Premium Tobacco’ brand cigarettes he had ‘requisitioned’ from some warehouse in a town he couldn’t even remember the name of.

“First off, I’m not a sir, I work for a living. Second off, if you people really want my opinion on this, Miss Nightinggale's a real honey." Ivo weakly and somewhat hesitantly said through his larynx microphone.

“What? Isn’t she some bloody hag? Never knew you were into grandmamas, lieutenant.” Pavel seems utterly bewildered.

“The fuck? Over 25 is a hag now?” Jan’s response comes out quite unimpressed.

“Mate, I’m 24, she’s much older than me, thus I’d say that hag status is very well earned.” Pavel chortled. It should be noted that Dalimil was currently cooped up in the loader’s seat wrapped up in blankets. Little lad looked like a damn mummy down there. He couldn’t perceive any of this nonsense about women.

Ivo once again forces his attention back to the field of death. He makes a quick survey of the cadaver ridden, shell-pocked patch of open ground. Why the hell did they come charging in with no support? He couldn’t see any tanks or heavy weaponry around; seems an entire infantry company just charged to their deaths. Why?

More importantly: Why should he care? The dead lie still. The fact that they were covered by a green uniform was a good thing, one less commie here is one less problem to deal with. Ivo never really thought about who any of them were, they were just targets, nothing more. The dead soldier was a mark of good work, they may have been more than this once upon a time, but it didn’t matter when they donned that green tunic, when they took up their arms and marched forward into somewhere they had no right to belong.

Ivo could never suppress that smirk when a shell found its rightful place, bursting somewhere and killing as many of the bastards as it could. It was somewhat ironic that Ivo Souček, a man aligning with his own nation’s socialist parties, was so enthused by the deaths of his ideological comrades. ‘Comrades’, yeah right. They would have been comrades if they weren’t fucking burning down villages and slaughtering their denizens left right and center as ‘reprisals’ for partisan actions. (Even these ‘partisan actions’ are dubious at best.)

Was this a somewhat fucked up mindset, you ask? Sure. But Ivo didn’t really care. He was going to be dead before it could make an actual difference in the long run. A bullet, a shell, lung cancer? You name it. It’ll find him at some point. Ivo wasn’t one to believe in gods. But he did believe in luck, and was he so sure that he had ran out of it a long time ago.

What did matter was that he was going to be the dead one, not any of his crew. It was his job to keep these guys alive after all, they had things to actually come back home to.

Ivo groans. He wants some good sleep. The rain patters away on the roof of the tank with a soothing rhythm. Ivo could feel his eyelids closing on their own. He would go for coffee, but their ration was in a crate currently strapped to the tank’s engine deck. He didn’t feel like getting himself and everything else wet just to get some nice caffeine in his system. Pavel and Jan were still bickering, he could hear them even without the aid of his headset.

His heavy eyelids descend over his eyes, his breath calms. He yawns, the attempt at staying awake and alert is failing. There’s a glint out in the middle-distance. Hm? What on earth could make that, light reflecting off a dead man’s watch perhaps? Or was it some other incredibly reflective piece? Ivo’s heard so much about how seeing a glint in the distance only yielded death. Oh what, it’s another one of those soldier’s fairytales to tell around a campfire. Wait- Aren’t sniper scopes notoriously reflective? With all the magnified bits made of glass and all. Wait a-

Ivo wakes up the moment this realization was made. No more rain, no more bickering. Just a soft bed on his back and a blanket covering the rest of him. He looks around, this is not his own bedroom. He sits upright and recollects and pieces together the disparate shards of yesterday’s memory. Aha. Right, yes, last night did indeed happen. It seems to be raining outside.

Sleeping beauty over here seemed a bit… Distressed? People usually don’t sleep with a muted expression of terror on their faces after all. Even then they usually don’t groan and whimper too. This is about the moment the realization struck Ivo like a sledgehammer to the cranium. He’s having a bad dream too, isn’t he? Ivo is suddenly gripped by an urge to do something, anything, to release Anton from whatever painful delusions his unconscious mind has brought to him. And yet… His hands and mouth refuse to carry out any action. He doesn’t know exactly what to do. Make loud noises? Take him by the shoulders and shake him awake? Actually – Yes. Do that, it’ll probably work like a charm!

“Psst. Hey, wake up.” Ivo says in a low tone, lack of response prompts him to softly shake Anton’s shoulder. Nothing but a wince.

“Oi! You’re dreaming! wake the fuck up.” Ivo is practically one step away from yelling. He repeats the shake, much firmer this time.

Anton’s eyes dart open, his fight-or flight response active. And it seems that fight had triumphed over flight. Ivo had to endure a few seconds of panicked thrashing before he could convince the brunette that there wasn’t anything even near a threat here.

“Holy shit. And I thought I was prone to violence, fuck.” Ivo’s voice was exasperated with a tinge of lingering shock.

“I- I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorrysorrysorr-“ He’s blurting out the word as if the mere act of saying it could save him from death. His eyes remain wide in terror.

“No, Anton it’s fine. Everything is fine. It’s okay, I’m right here for you.” Ivo reaches out to grasp his partner’s left hand, yet Anton recoils the moment contact is made.

“Sorry. Just- don’t-“ Anton’s panting as he weakly mutters the words.”

“Hey, come on now Anton. It’s alright. It’s me, Ivo, you know, your friend. Nothing’s here to hurt you.” Ivo lowered his voice considerably. It seems to work well in tempering Anton’s fear. His eyes begin relaxing, the curled up posture he took with his back to the wall loosens, and soon dissipates.

He maintains this for about a minute, before he weakly reached out for the other man. Ivo takes him in his arms. Ivo could feel the brunette’s unsteady and nervous breaths on his chest.

“Sorry. I don’t know. I- I was behind some tree roots, I think I was s- shot beforehand. Enemy all around, I was all alone. Had a grenade on me, it was the only thing I could think of. I knew you weren’t there, you couldn’t be there. Sorry. But- Don’t bother. Sorry.”

“I keep telling you. It’s okay, love. Nothing’s going to happen to us now.” Ivo feel those words ring hollow. Nothing ever goes the way one wants it to.

“What time is it?” Ivo is quick to respond to Anton’s query. He glances at the bedside cabinet and the clock above it.

“Uh. Half to nine.”

“Well into the morning then. I suppose I could lie in bed for an hour or two more. Nothing really to do unfortunately.”

“You… Don’t have any work to do? I mean, I get that you are blind and all but do you really have nothing else to do?”

“I write things sometimes, but the mind is not quite in place for that this morning.”

“Oh, you write?”

“It is one of the few things that I could do now. Though not being able to see what I am putting down on paper is quite a nuisance. I could not write straight either so I resorted to using that typewriter over there.” He points to the typewriter on his work-desk.

“I bought it myself before the war. Alas, I could not commit the keys to memory, so I continue with the pen.” His voice is laced with a tinge of disappointment.

“I would love to read your little scribbles at some point.”

“I… I rather you do not.”

“… Why?” Ivo draws out the word in confusion.

“It is embarrassing! Very much so!”

“O- Okay? I’d still be up to read it. Right, you feeling hungry?”

“Yes, I do feel quite famished right now. Are you acquainted with using the stove?”

“Kind of?”

“Good enough.”

“I’m not some mage capable of creating the most succulent of meals out of nowhere, mind you. But I’ll see what I could do.”

“Once again: Good enough, Lieutenant.”

                                                                 ~0--0~

“So, Anton, what were you studying before the great fuckup of ’37?” Ivo had prepared a very, very simple sandwich with whatever he could find, primarily pickled pork, bread (duh) and some potatoes. A supply run to the nearest market would be in order soon, there’s barely anything edible in here. (As well as trying to figure out where the hell the gas cut-off was on this newfangled gas stove. It’s out of action in the meantime.

“Ah, I studied biology, biology in terms of animals to be more specific.” Anton replied, sitting on the couch.

“Really? If I’m going to be honest, I thought you studied law or something.”

“Oh, dear goddess no! Law is much harder for me to understand in comparison to the mechanisms of an organism.”

“Okay how much more complicated is land ownership law compared to figuring out how many species of frog there are?”

“It might not be much more complicated, but I have a much harder time getting my mind to grasp insurance policy as compared to figuring out evolution, thank you very much.”

“How on earth does that work? Like, you put a cat in a desert and it comes back out as a tiger?”

“What? No! That’s not how that works! Evolution is the result of multiple natural processes that causes a creature to adapt to their conditions, usually over a large period of time. It does not entail some magical transformation from one thing to another.”

“Okay, so how does it work exactly?”

“So, your example. You put a cat in a desert, or I would rather have it be a population of cats. If the cats start off with say, a thicker coat of fur adapted for colder climates, whichever cats have thinner furs due to mutation or whatever would tend to perform better over a cat which overheats quickly in its thick coat. Cats with thicker coats either tend to migrate to an actually suitable climate, inter-breed with cats with thin fur, have their offspring develop thinner furs due to mutation and or natural selection, or simply die off.”

“Uhh… Yeah, sure. I’ll take your word on that.” Ivo hands a sandwich to Anton, who has some difficulty actually locating said sandwich until Ivo literally pokes him with it.

“Thank you very much.” Anton lifts it up to his mouth and takes a bite. He doesn’t seem all too impressed. Doesn’t stop him from taking another bite though. Ivo finally takes his seat beside his partner.

“You, Ivo, you never got to university, right? The fact that you got promoted to an officer the way you did was truly extraordinary.”

“Desperate times, desperate measures.”

“I always found it quite counterproductive how snobbish my colleagues were back when I was still in officer training, did you have any issues with that?”

“Oh, I had a lot of damned issues. Thing was I didn’t really care, I worried about my guys, not trifling over this place filled to the brim with stuck-up assholes. There were a few exceptions though, I quite liked them personally. Mainly because they weren’t pricks.”

“Kindness can get you a long way.”

“If only that’s how most things went.”

Ivo takes the following silence to muse upon something that had been bugging him since he first got here really, but had been lurking in the back of his mind until now.

There are only three places one could enter and exit, and only one of them is truly viable: The front door. The windows in Anton’s room and the one at the end of the main corridor could be theoretically used if shit hit the fan. Problem was, they’re on the fourth floor, not exactly preferential when you want to be intact on landing. (Even then those windows led out to a street that is paved, no soft grass to land on here.)

The police aren’t really into busting doors down trying to catch random homosexual couples, they much preferred raiding queer establishments if and when attendance was high. High arrest rates for the same effort it could potentially take to catch a single pair was simply more efficient. BUT: That doesn’t mean they don’t kick down doors in pursuit of two inverts, Ivo had heard more than enough stories from a few (un)luckier fellows to know that this was the case.

This leads back to the main concern. There was practically only one way in or out, there aren’t any convenient hidey-holes to cram yourself into if a search is conducted. (And even then, the chances of said hidey-hole being found is quite high.) Fighting your way out is, well, very much a not good idea. All in all, Ivo’s confidence in this new abode was comparable to his confidence in a boat with sizable holes in the bottom.

“Thinking of something, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, not anything worth talking about though.”

“I doubt it, would you mind to share your th-“ Anton was interrupted by three firm knocks on the door. He rises to take care of it, only for Ivo to stop him with a hand pushing him back into the couch.

“Wha- Lieutenant? Why are you-“

“Shhh, don’t worry. I’ll take care of this myself.” Ivo takes a moment to position his crutch correctly, before hobbling his way to the door. He puts on a mask of bravery and indifference, he can’t be seen being nervous, that would be a dead giveaway.

He peeks through the peephole on the door. He can’t see a damn thing through it, Ivo has no time to discern if it was somehow broken or he had just been looking through it wrong. He steels himself and takes the door knob, he unlocks it and gives it a twist. He pulls the door open.

The sight that awaits him is not quite what he had expected. Indeed, it is very much not anything that he did expect. It sure wasn’t the black-clad forms of a gaggle of police officers, nor a solitary door-to-door salesman ready and waiting to peddle his goods. This is…

“Uhh. Good morning?” He drawls out the last word to the towering figure casting their dreadful shadow over him.

“Oh, my! Hello there~ You must be the boy Anton was blubbering on about.” Replies a voice that exudes femininity, something Ivo did not expect considering the figure was at least six feet tall, maybe a bit taller. She rears her head tall and proud, as tall as the Sternpunkt mountain ranges of the border betwixt the Durcati-Ulflander confederacy and their Constanzic neighbors.

Ivo takes full measure of this lady standing in front of him, he swallows a lump in his throat. He feels…

Intimidated.

______________________________________________________________ *Desantnik - A rank equivalent to corporal, usually squad leaders.

A pre-emptive thank you to anyone reading. This one is probably the quickest chapter I have hammered out yet! This marks the end of the introductory arc! I have been planning each arc to be about 3-4 chapters long (though frankly sometimes I do feel that even that is too long)

[altfbynate]

Chapter 2, Part 2

CW's: Not really anything that comes to mind, honestly.

There was nothing more natural to Ivo as being ‘on the move’ as it were. The subtle motions of the train hurtling down the tracks, navigating inclines and curves really brought the man back to cruising the fields on top of his steel-clad steed. At least this time there weren’t any CO’s bitching and whinging at him for something utterly inconsequential. Or having to hop out and check if the tracks needed tensioning adjustments every 4 hours. That is a bit of hyperbole, and Ivo gets why maintenance is so important, but that didn’t stop him from whining under his breath every time he had to do it. Oh, and of course, no one is actively shooting at him with all sorts of nasty things this time around.

This time the things he has to contend with involves that child in the row of seating behind him violently ejecting her stomach contents out of the window. Hey, at least it’s not onto his back. Ivo keeps forgetting people actually suffer from motion sickness. But that is but a minor distraction to the task at hand: Finishing up a story he was telling to Anton. A story of naturally created sulfur and the inadequately ventilated interior of a combat vehicle. “They never put two and two together on the identity of the phantom farter. But I will relay to you a horrible and damning secret:” Ivo lowered his voice.

“It was me.”

“How foul of you, Lieutenant! Not only did you commit such heinous acts, but you failed to own up to it like a man. Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Anton shakes his head in disingenuine, playful disdain.

“In all seriousness though, it was honestly a nice respite despite how foul it was. Nothing like your whole crew accusing each other of terrorizing their nostrils right after all the stress and adrenaline of being shot at. You really had to keep the mood up one way or another.”

“One of the most important duties for an officer to perform is to foster and nurture the bond of your men. I would imagine it was much easier in your case as a crew of four including yourself is much easier to manage than an entire infantry platoon.”

“Hey, at least you could delegate such a task to your squad leads. But now I have to wonder; how well did you get along with your boys?”

“Well, they trusted me and my judgement enough to follow me headlong into the fray. If you give your men your best, they will give theirs. That is how I understood leadership, and thus, that is how I applied it.”

“It seemed to work for you, so I couldn’t really cast much judgement on that. The weight of responsibility really weighed down on our shoulders then, didn’t it?”

“It truly did, when you were the one in charge of fifty-some-odd lives. It was difficult when you were informed of casualties, deaths especially. The mind churns, it wonders if you could have done something different to prevent it. Even if it were just a cruel twist of fate that you, the mortal that you are, had no hand in.”

An experience Ivo knows all too well. Ivo gazes out of the window, Trees, fields, so many things pan across his vision. They appear into view, yet they are gone moments later. Were their deaths an inevitability? A part of some grand design? Was it just a strike of particularly bad luck? Ivo ponders the fields scrolling past, of the bones hidden under the layers of earth and silt. Did any of them deserve their lives to be cut so tragically short?

“Are you all-right there, Lieutenant?” Anton seems most concerned.

“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.”

“I assume it would not be in your interest for me to prod. Would you like a change of topic?”

“Sure, something other than the war would be nice to talk about, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed. I suppose I could give you a little exercise concerning the duties you will have to carry out soon. “ Anton gestures to the window – or more accurately, the things outside of the window.

“Describe the sights to me, please?” Ivo feels like this is going to become a very frequent directive.

“Right then, ‘master’, would you mind if I pointed directions out with clock-hands?” Ivo’s still quite unaccustomed to calling his bespectacled partner that, but it is a part of the job description. So, he couldn’t really complain about that, now, could he?

“I wouldn’t mind, it’s the same system you used with turret traverse, wasn’t it?”

“Yes indeed. Now would you rather I have the twelve o’ clock position to point where you are facing, or to where the front of the train is?”

“Having twelve at the front of whatever vehicle we may be in makes sense to me. Ready to get going?”

“Yes. The terrain is mostly flat. there are fields to our nine, our three is a wooded area. Some of the fields to our nine are being cultivated, but most of it seems like pasture land to me. There’s a road running parallel to us about three-hundred meters to our nine. I could see a tractor on our ten, about a hundred and fifty meters. A motor-car on the road, at our seven. Four-fifty meters perhaps?”

“Splendid. Not exactly poetic, but it still paints quite the picture. Besides, intel on potential obstacles is much more important to me than details to conjure a scene.” Anton takes a lot of words to say: It works well enough.

Ivo forms a little smile that the boy in glasses just in front of him unfortunately couldn’t see. “Thank you.” Is the only thing Ivo could really say.

Now he takes his time to mentally describe the bespectacled man before him. Anton’s hair seems to have gotten just a bit shorter at about ear length, as was the fashion at this time. The old, messy form it had once taken back in that field hospital has been replaced with a much more dignified and organized formation. Ivo supposes he could describe it as bangs parted to the right, long enough to reach his brow. He moves on to a feature quite distinct to Anton, well, for him and his fellow gas victims anyway. Ivo had previously noted that the scarring done to his skin had healed remarkably well, seems it has not changed since then. One could probably mistake such scars as an odd skin condition at first glance, as the mark of past injuries themselves were ‘only’ of a slightly lighter pigment as compared to the rest of Anton’s already somewhat pale tone. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much on his actual face, with the exception of the area around his eyes, which seemed to have take the brunt. Did Anton rub his eyes after being exposed to whatever chemical was used? Is this the dreadful result? The scars amplified their dreadful presence on his hands and neck. Ivo physically twitched and cringed as he imagined the agony it must have wrought. Gas wasn’t a frequently used weapon during the war, but it was still a looming and terrifying threat. And even then, the chemicals used were usually respiratory ‘irritants’, unlike what had befallen Anton, which was some sort of vesicant agent deliberately targeting skin and other such external tissue considering he had not suffered from respiratory issues afterwards.

Ivo takes a degree of doubt in that. Perhaps the meek Lieutenant has just held his breath and pinched his nose in his initial exposure to the substance? No, that seems too simplistic of an explanation. But then again, the simplest answer is usually the most truthful. It doesn’t matter in the end, how the damage was done is irrelevant in the face of the fact that the damage was inflicted in the first place, to such a severe degree too. It was a slow and insidious thing, unlike the exceedingly quick and brutal happening relating itself to Ivo’s own injury. Never mind the thoughts, Ivo’s throat is dry and coarse. He needs a drink.

But just as he made the first motions to clamber out of his seat, he remembers that he should probably ask Anton if he would want anything. Fetching things for him is going to be yet another duty he will have to attend to. “Say sir, would you like a cup of water, or coffee perhaps?”

“May I have a coffee, any kind, I don’t mind. Thank you, by the way.”

“You don’t have to thank me every time I do something for you, it’s my job now, after all.”

“Well yes, but it would be rude of me not to, I say.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Just thank the goddess that the damned bar is in the same carriage as ours.”

                                                                 ~0--0~

So this is Anton’s place. Well, not really. Anton’s apartment- Wait no, he said he actually owned the place as opposed to just living in it and paying rent, right? Okay, his condo was on the 3rd floor. A very important distinction to make. The pair were currently waiting for a lift, because it was convenient and neither of the two were keen on dealing with the three flights of stairs. The lift arrives soon enough, accompanied by a racket of various metallic noises. The doors of this crude device opened, and the cleaning man hastily hurried out with all of his equipment, he gave Anton a wave and a greeting as he went barreling past. “G’ ‘fternoon sir.”

“May the rest of the day be pleasant, Mr. Bláhová.” The cleaner, an older gentleman with a bald head and whiting beard came to a halt. This fellow looked quite rough-hewn. And his accent followed his looks.

“Aye. O’, an’ may I ask wo’ this laddie is? W’hus yer name boy?”

“Souček, Ivo. Err, I’m this guy’s new uh- Servant. Yeah.”

“G’luck to ‘ye then Souček. I’ surprised ye’ took this long to get a servant c’nsiderin’ ‘yer sight. ‘An cause ye’s a rich as ye’ are. ‘Well ‘en, best to git and ask no more. See ye’ lads tm’rrow.” And off he goes.

“See ya’ tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Bláhová.”

“So, we’re taking the lift?”

“Of course.” Anton had already made his way to the machine’s boxy interior (not before bumping his shoulder on it, of course.)

Ivo couldn’t help but to be somewhat skeptical about the elevator. Especially with all the creaking and screeching it tends to exclaim. But he steels himself and follows his partner into the box. Anton lightly drags his fingers over the buttons before finally finding the fourth one up. (The third floor was actually the fourth button in the sequence due to the presence of a basement) He gives that a firm press before he pats down for another button near the bottom of the panel. He finds it eventually. The doors close and with a sudden jolt, the lift begins the ascent.

The thing takes ages to reach its destination, well, not really. It took about 30 seconds. But to the third floor? It would genuinely take an eternity to reach the top floor of the place. Ivo stumbles out the moment Anton found the button to open the doors. He doesn’t trust that goddess damned thing with his life. Anton strides out following him.

“Right yes, here we are at last.” Anton produces a key from his pocket. He has to perform some fiddling for it to get open. But it does open. Anton steps back and faces the approximate direction of Ivo, and with a flourish, he gestures with an outstretched hand to the open doorframe.

“Feel free to come on in, Lieutenant.” He ends with a bow. What kind of normal person does this? Then again as if there’s anything normal between these two anyway. Ivo peers into the flat, the sight before him imparts an odd sense of humbleness considering Anton’s means. The walls are clad in surprisingly well-maintained green wallpaper adorned with floral patterns, the wooden floor on the other hand does seem a tad weathered. The floor plan was somewhat interesting. He is facing south peering in through the doorway. The place seemed rectangular with the exception of the south-east corner, which is cut. No coffee tables or anything, it seems most, if not all of the furniture have been placed in a manner where at least one side is touching the wall. This gives a lot of room to move about, perfect for Anton’s particular predicament. To the north-east corner are two rooms side-by-side. After that is a sort of clearing, and then a final room.

Ivo steps inside. He eyes over the room once again, now that he has a better view. And one particular object catches his eye about as quickly as catching sight of a glint of metal out in a pit of mud. Lying still on a stand perched upon the top of a drawer is a sword resting in its scabbard. The design itself seemed to be typical of that of the infantry pattern of officer’s small-sword with its somewhat thin and straight blade. What wasn’t typical was the sheer, audacious flaunting of wealth that it was. The scabbard alone was intricately detailed and designed, the basket-hilt is equally as intricate. Bronze seemed to flow so eloquently in ways to protect the user’s hand from cuts and other blows. Ivo knew the man currently attempting to close the door behind him was rich, but he wasn’t that rich now, was he? There were a few other objects on that drawer-top, the first one Ivo examines was a photograph framed in a surprisingly humble frame as compared to the sword behind it.

 It’s a portrait of Anton looking quite sharp and dashing in his uniform. He’s standing tall and proud, his lips forming a long, thin smile conveying a sort of conscious and regulated pride. The kepi resting on his head proudly displays the national blue-white-red in the form of a button, under that is the regiment’s number, ‘84’, displayed proudly in bronze. A distinct thin white band runs horizontally between the national colours and the regimental number, signifying a commissioned rank. There is a quite familiar pair of round-framed glasses hanging from his ears and resting on the bridge of his nose, this vision problems definitely didn’t start with the gas. The colour was bleached from the picture, but Ivo could very well picture the brunette’s blue-gray uniform pop, contrasted by the silver-lined black collar tabs and shoulder-boards of the infantry. The sword hangs from the left side of his waist, his arm on that side rests on the hilt. His pose seems quite dignified, unlike Ivo’s own portrait taken right after he got out of his extremely brief officer’s training course. Unlike his bespectacled partner, he was sitting down on a chair, looking mildly annoyed that someone was taking photographs of him instead of churning some reds to dust under his tank treads. And well to be honest that was what he felt at the time, Ivo wasn’t exactly one to love the battlefield, but he knew he had a duty to his men and his nation. And wasting time taking photographs could have been time spent kicking the Krasnis from the Kingdom’s vaunted soil. More time ensuring that his little family of tankers were alive and well under capable leadership. But back to the original point of discussion. Ivo still isn’t sure if it’s the uniform, Anton, or the combination of both, that is making him feel a certain way. No, no! Save that for later, you promiscuous fuck.

The second object of interest was an urn. This is not an uncommon sight in the homes of those who worship the mother goddess and her four children. See, sacrifice to the gods by immolation is one of the core functions of worship in this faith, usually the things sacrificed are objects of personal or spiritual value to those participating. And so, cremation became the ubiquitous way of disposing of the dead. Their bodies and souls will not be left to rot under six feet of soil, no! May their flesh and soul ascend to a higher plane, to dwell with the divine. Graveyards still exist, but they are quite rare and don’t contain any actual corpses, just ashes.

Ivo has had his fair share of experience helping the dead along to the afterlife. He remembers the corpses packed like sardines in a can, filling up a shell-crater. He recalls the smell of gasoline, the sulfur of the ignited match, the stench of burning flesh. Very suddenly, he doesn’t want to remember it anymore.

The door behind him finally latches shut. Anton turns the lock and leaves the key and his jacket hanging on the door in a motion surprisingly swift and smooth for a blind man.

“I suppose you will need to know the layout of the place, so would you mind if I give you a very brief tour?”

“Sure.”

Anton first points in the general direction of the door nearest to the entrance “That right there should be the first bathroom, there’s a tub in there. Wait, am I pointing at the right one? Er, Am I pointing to the door closest to the exit, yes?”

“Yes, yes you are. What’s the next one?”

“Ah, yes, the second room is officially yours. Though it is in an unfortunate shape right now, I have been using it as a storage area for some time. Though I don’t think you will mind too much considering our, well, you know. After that is the kitchen, I don’t really use it much often though. I don’t really trust myself with a stove when in this state.” He lets out a dry and somewhat somber chuckle.

So that’s what that ‘clearing’ was. “I guess that food is going to be another duty for me to attend to. I’m not exactly a master chef, but we’ll see what I could do.”

“I suppose, yes, don’t worry about it, love. I’ll be happy to have any hot food available, I have been practically only living off bread, vegetable, fruit, all that sort for quite a while now.”

“A- ah. I see.” He really called Ivo ‘love’ huh. Good thing he isn’t very susceptible to the all-consuming and terrible thing known as the blush. Or so he thinks.

“Finally, in this here corner is our room. In there is my work desk, though I prefer eating there as well. I don’t have to go outside much since there’s a toilet attached to this room. So, this is where you will be finding me most of the time. Oh, and don’t worry. I am quite sure that there is ample space for both of us in the bed.”

Oh my, getting a little proactive there, eh? He’s probably speaking in terms of sleeping though. Yes, he’s definitely not talking about sex, he’s related to a fucking aristocrat, these fuckers are too prudish to comprehend the mere concept.

“And I may have also stockpiled some items for special use. Though I presume you wouldn’t be interested in that until later.”

Oh. “Oh my~ I sure do wonder what you’re talking about.”

“We will see, darling.” Anton cracks a grin. “But first – We should celebrate this momentous occasion, should we not? Mind getting two wine glasses from one of the cabinets here, can’t exactly point to which, sadly. But it’s around the area of the kitchen I believe.” Anton plops down on a velvet couch.

Ivo complies, though not before letting loose an ‘aye, milord’ with enough snark to appease some sort of higher being. Anton seems to have produced a bottle of wine and a corkscrew from out of thin air. No, actually, now that Ivo’s on the return trip off to hand one of the glasses to Anton, he spots one of those wine bottle holder things off to the right side of the couch. As for the corkscrew? Damn if he knows, was probably just on top of a drawer or something. Anton seems to be having issues getting the bottle open. It was quite an awkward moment.

“So, uhh, while you try to get that open, mind if I ask a question”

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

Ivo sighs before speaking exactly two words. “The sword.”

Anton pauses in his attempt for a moment, before resuming. “Oh, that thing. Before you pass on judgement, it was not I who came up with the idea for such a piece. It was a gift from my great-uncle, I wanted to refuse it at first, but I had to give in.”

“Did you actually bring that to the fron-“

“Yes. Yes, I did. I still have no clue how I avoided being picked out and shot by a sniper immediately.”

“Or being relentlessly bullied by your own troopers once your back was turned.”

It was now the brunette’s turn to sigh. “You laugh, but that was quite a genuine concern that I had.” He gives one more exerted effort right after those words left his mouth. A satisfying pop rang across the room, almost like a gunshot.

“Good grace that cork was quite a stubborn little fellow. Come, now have a seat beside me, Ivo.” He says, holding the newly opened bottle in his left hand while patting the seat with his right. Ivo accepts the invitation, taking his place with some care. He hands a glass to Anton, who in turn hands him the bottle of wine.

“I will give you the honour of filling our glasses. Because, well, I am not so keen on staining the couch with wine right now.” Ivo takes the bottle and begins filling up Anton’s glass first, before moving on to his own.

Ivo gives his glass a light swirl, he watches the liquid splash around. Ivo wasn’t exactly a teetotaler, but he wasn’t much one for alcohol either.  His recent drinking binges were, well, recent, very recent. So, he hadn’t grown addicted to the stuff just yet. (Unlike his vice of choice, nicotine.) It’s probably how he managed to stave off getting piss drunk during that faithful night of reunion.

“Right, to the occasion. I know we still have just a bit more paperwork to deal with, but. A toast, for your newfound and hopefully, lasting employment. Anton trusts his glass in Ivo’s general direction. Ivo commits to the second part of this ritual. A clink of two wine-glasses reverberates throughout the room, in stark contrast to the relative quiet that had reigned. The pair both retract their glasses in a nearly synchronized motion. Ivo takes a sip of the dark liquid, as he does, he witnesses Anton not quite take a sip, as more gulp down a good portion of the glorified grape-juice.

“Another one! A toast, to us, as veterans and officers.” Anton wants to go again. A repletion of actions occurs. Another clink. Another sip of wine. The contents of Anton’s glass are rapidly decreasing at a concerning pace.

Anton raises his glass for the third time. “And A toast for us. Finally, together after all this time.” His face is cherry red, Ivo couldn’t tell if it’s because of the alcohol or a result of what he just said. Anton doesn’t even bother doing the clinking thing. Jaw agape, Ivo watches as the brunette takes yet another gulp before setting down his glass on the nearest flat surface, uncomfortably close to the edge no less.

Before Ivo could determine a course of action, there is a finger under his chin. It lifts his face up towards that of his bespectacled partner.  Light reflects bright off his glasses, one of the lenses is cracked. He doesn’t recall such damage the last time they had been this close together.

“It has been so long, you know? Since I last heard your voice, since I last felt your touch. I spent long hours of the night dreaming about you. I got your letters, Ivo. But I couldn’t read them at the time, I know I could have gotten it read to me but- I don’t know. I was scared that you could have put something scandalous in there. I know you didn’t. Please forgive me. For being a coward, for wasting so much of our time yearning for each other when I already had you in reach. I know the value of this in nil when it comes to an apology, but please, accept this.”

The brunette leans forward and places a kiss on the tip of Ivo’s nose. He suspects this was not Anton’s intended target, so a quick and decisive corrective measure is performed. Their lips meet. It’s been so long since either of them had felt this. Ivo could feel his heart thumping in his chest, its life-giving rhythm accelerating. He could feel Anton’s hand on his nape, the contacted skin felt like it was touching live wire. His own free hand is in the brunette’s hair. The feel of soft, silky strands on his fingers was delightfully familiar. Three or so years for this, and by any and all available metrics: It was worth it.

The rest of the night went past as a blur. Whatever Ivo could piece together the next morning were barely recognizable shards of memory.  But that didn’t really matter. The fact that it was a quite pleasant night did.

[altfbynate]

Chapter 2, Part 1

CW's: Mentions of depression and a bit of suicidal ideation. Mentions of homophobia and some other nasty stuff you'd see in war and the 1930's/40's in general

Ivo Souček was never one to doubt his own senses, after all, being a tank commander does require a keen set of eyes that, crucially, gives the brain accurate and correct information. And yet, Ivo refuses to believe that said information flowing into his head is in any way accurate and correct. The person clattering down the street may look like a certain lost love, but rationally, there is no way in hell is that what he actually is. The question of why reigns here – Why. Why would someone that had broken contact with you for three years suddenly show up at an extremely unexpected time and place when he, rationally, has no reason to be here.

He is a blind man who lives in a city a good ways away from yours. Could it be for business perhaps?  Alright, but riddle me this: Why is he alone? Couldn’t he have brought an acquaintance at the least to guide him around? More importantly; why is he not in the commercial district or any other place where the moneybag-assholes reside, which is most certainly not here. Sightseeing is definitely a no considering the state of his vision. So, back to the original question. Why? Ivo attempts to muster another reason, but nothing is coming to the forefront of his mind. Except for one idea, the idea that he had already ruled out to be the most improbable – He’s here for Ivo.

He’s heard stories, a lot of stories. Stories of soldiers, coming back from war and finding out that the other side of their heart was not so faithful to them as they once seemed. Ivo never got any replies from the letters he had sent to Anton. Which led him to the most probable conclusion: Anton, for some reason or another, was forced or chose to break their connection. Either that or he just lost interest. This isn’t Ivo’s first time experiencing that, fuck you, Elena. But back to the point – It could very well be Ivo’s wishful thinking, but he really couldn’t think of any other way to explain this little madness. So, he swallows a lump in his throat and takes the initiative. He waits for the other man to come into close proximity before launching his ‘attack’.

“Good afternoon, sir, it’s a bit late to be out right now.”

The other man came to a halt, before quickly pivoting towards the source of noise. He sure looks like the man Ivo loved years ago, but once again, his brain is refusing to believe in any way that this could be the same person. Until he spoke his reply, that is.

“I had suspected that it was getting quite late, yes. But well, hard to figure out what’s going on when my eyes are in such a state. Say, do you know the way to Bendegúz Takács street? I’m visiting an acquaintance you see.”

Hold on. That’s the street Ivo lives in, and that voice… It sounds exactly the same as it did three years ago. Ivo’s head is flooded with memories that he really didn’t like to think about, not because they were unpleasant, but because they were too pleasant. All the time he had spent with Anton was wonderful, even if the times were hard in every other way, having Anton there made it infinitely more bearable. But once he had been put on that train back home, once his letters lie unanswered for a year, the fire of hope burning in his chest flickered and faded. He would never experience anything like that ever again – Until now.

He took a step forward and latched onto Anton’s arm. The other man shuddered a bit but stood his ground.

“Anton.” He spat out the other man’s name with a growl. Ivo doesn’t really know what he is actually feeling right now, emotions of all descriptions are swirling around and mixing in his head. The tone of his voice is furious, and well, he is angry to some extent. But anger is just the one emotion that just so happened to yell the loudest.

Anton’s face morphs into an expression of surprise and shock, but this only lasts for a fraction of a second before changing to one of concern.

“Ivo? What-“

“What are YOU doing here is a better question. You’ve been gone for fuck if I know how long, and then you suddenly just show up out of nowhere? I had finally accepted that you were gone and now you come back?! You- you- you fucking-“

Oh, there we go. Ivo’s rant stops as quickly as a motor-car impacting a lamp-post. His near maniacal raving is replaced by something he has been doing a little too often lately, crying. He abandons his grip on Anton’s arm and swiftly attempts to turn a hundred and eighty degrees and run off to find a secluded corner for him to sulk in for a while. However, his actual performance of the maneuver leaves a lot to be desired. Chiefly, the whole ‘don’t fall over’ thing.

Great. He’s now just, there. Sobbing on the sidewalk while Anton and possibly a few others bear witness to his utterly pitiful state. How did it all come to this?

Anton stoops down and grabs Ivo by the collar.

“Look- goodness me, Ivo. Ivo if that’s you, look at me, just look at me. Do you think you’re doing yourself any favours right now? Come on then, I’ll help you up. Just- argh- keep it together for a moment alright?”

Ivo attempts to bat the hand away, to no result.

“But, w- why? Why are you here after all this time? After all of-“

“What? Do you think I willfully wasted all of that time?” His voice dissipated from a tone of mild annoyance to something much softer. He continued; “Ever since I stepped onto the train home, I thought about you, for every day, every hour. I was absolutely ecstatic once I first managed to get your letters read to me. On nights like this I dreamt of us. Unfortunately, I was in the middle of this thing called ‘getting my life together after losing a major bodily function’. Look, dear, I would have done anything sooner if I could have, but as you, yourself have stated in the past: Shit happens.”

‘Did he just call me dear?’ oh fuck right off. Ivo wants to say those sharp words, yet he just couldn’t. The shock of quite literally everything happening has paralyzed him. His brain sends out orders and yet the muscles in his body are refusing to take action.

“I’m sorry okay. Just- I promise you that we will make up for all that lost time, alright?”

Ivo finally concedes. This is, indeed, reality. And now he has to accept it, for better or worse. And out of all of the outcomes presented, this one is not that bad. Well, for now. Time will tell. Anton has let go of his collar at this point and is now offering a helping hand ready to guide the man sans leg back out of this impromptu sidewalk adventure. Ivo takes it with a sigh. The other man pulls him back to his feet, well, foot. His grip on the Anton’s hand is only comparable to a vise as he takes a moment to get his crutch into a stable position. Ivo sniffles as he lets go of the brunette to pat the dust off himself.

“There we go.” Anton says as he rifles through his pockets in search of a handkerchief. He finds one and promptly hands it to Ivo, who wastes no time using it to wipe down his tear and sweat drenched face.

“I’m sorry. I’m so-“

“No, Ivo. It’s fine. I should be the one apologizing here.”

“But I – Ugh. Fine. [sniffle] But still I feel a bit-“

“No, it’s fine.”

“But [sniffle] it isn’t.”

“Oh for- ach, right err, what’s the time again? Seems pitch dark out here.”

“Fuck if I know. It’s night time though, I’ll tell you that. [sniffle]”

“Not very helpful, Lieutenant. But still, we should probably get ourselves under a roof, shall we?”

“Yeah yeah, I live like, a block away, shouldn’t be too much of a walk.”

And so, the two set off on a journey back to Ivo’s house. Well, his parent’s house. The Souček family residence. Yes. That’s it. Ivo’s still sniffling as he asks Anton a question that has been bouncing around in Ivo’s head. “So, uh. Were you just walking around the streets hoping to find me?”

“For the most part. Yes. I knew your address so I asked these fine folk to point me in the more or less right direction.” “Fucking really? This place isn’t exactly the capital of crime but I’m surprised you didn’t get mugged or something.”

“I suppose the criminals have standards.”

“Yeah. Ugh. Fuck. Sorry. That was uh.”

“Awkward?”

“I feel like that is an underestimation of everything that just happened.”

“I’m sorry too, for, well, you know.” “Yeah, I know, I know. I shouldn’t be mad at you for it, but still. I thought you, I dunno, lost interest in me or something.” “Lose interest in you? Preposterous! I could never do such a thing!”

“Well, Happened to me once before. Wouldn’t be too far-fetched to assume it would happen again.”

“Goodness. Whoever did that to you made quite the error. They did not deserve you in the slightest.”

“Whatever you choose to believe.”

Now here comes the part that Ivo is dreading. The pair finally reach the door they were looking for. Ivo knocks. The dreadful part is the fact that as soon as that door opens, someone is going to start bitching at him for being late. Nothing’s going to change now, he feels that in his bones. The door swings open, revealing a blonde young lady wearing a face of mild annoyance. However, the annoyance turns into surprise in a fraction of a second.

“Oh! Who’s that?” Ivo’s sister, Anna, exclaims in surprise.

“He’s-“

“I am Anton Chvátal. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am an army friend of Lieutenant Souček here. You see, I have not seen him in person for a while, so I came for a visit.”

“Oh. Uh. Right. This is a bit unexpected. Ivo! Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

“Hey! I didn’t know that he was coming over until I saw him on the street. Good thing too, cause he’s uh. His eyesight is not very good.”

“I am blind.”

Anna shoots the both of them a look of bewilderment. She sighs.

“Well, bit late for dinner now isn’t it.”

“I don’t mind Miss, I have already eaten before I- er. Went all the way out here, I do not want to impose anything upon you. I do appreciate the concern though.”

“Are you planning to stay here, Mr. Chvátal? Because there may be a bit of an issue.”

“Which is?”

“Well, we don’t really have accommodation here.”

There were three bedrooms in the Souček family residence, one for the parents, one for the kids, and the last being a guest room. The house was put up way back when the Součeks weren’t having financial issues. But now, all of the rooms were occupied. Ivo’s mum and pops slept in their dedicated room, obviously. All of the Souček siblings used to share the kid’s room, but of course as they grew older, the order of things shifted. Ivo and his brother Jadranko shared the room while Anna got the guest room. Then Jadranko moved out for university, and Anna proposed a room-swap, so now Anna has the former kid’s room and Ivo gets the guest room. It’s a bit small, but he never really cared much about small spaces. It had enough room for him to sleep in and store all of the stuff he owns, that’s all that mattered.

“So what? The nearest hotel is a long way off, and I kind of have to guide this monumental- Id- I mean- er. Ugh, ignore that. I don’t know. Look, We’re kind of out of options here.”

Anna sighs again.

“Right, get in, I’ll talk to mom.”

“Finally. Thanks.”

Ivo guides his blind partner to the nearest couch before they both plop straight into it. Both of them are exhausted from the whole emotional reunion and walking thing. Ivo really needs the moment to catch his breath.

“Ivo! Why didn’t you tell us sooner!” Great, this time it’s his mum. Ivo sighs.

“It’s because he didn’t tell me.”

“I admit that was quite the oversight on my part. I apologize.”

“Oh goodness this is quite the mess we have on our plate. We really don’t have anywhere for our guest to stay.”

“I guess he could take my room and I sleep on the couch.”

“Goodness no! We have an extra mattress. We can’t put it in our room, or Anna’s especially. So, Ivo, would you mind having him in your room for the night?”

Ivo puts on a voice and air of someone who is very unsure about the proposition, but has to accept in lieu of it being his only option. Obviously, the reality is he’s fucking stoked, like holy shit. Really? His mother is proposing for him and Anton to share a room. They had never had this level of privacy before, and then here it is, being handed over to them on a silver platter. However, Ivo holds back his enthusiasm a little bit. Destiny, or whatever other unknown higher force is out there, has a way of things. They place down golden eggs on your plate then proceed to bowl you over the head with a frying iron the moment you pick it up. So, high alert mode shall be active for the night.

“A- Alright then. If it’s the only way.”

                                                                 ~0--0~

Direct skin-contact with a god. That is what being wrapped up in a nice comfy blanket feels to Ivo. He’s gotten too used to either sleeping on the hard and uneven surface of his tank’s engine deck or simply sleeping in his seat as the thing rocked around during a road march. The lights are off, in a show of hospitality, Ivo’s mother insisted that Anton have the actual bed, while Ivo got the mattress lying on the foot of said bed. However, as soon as the lights turned off and the door locked shut, the pair decided to try something.

Ivo isn’t a stranger to having someone else in the same bed, but Anton does not seem to be similarly experienced. He’s shuffling about trying to get into a much more comfortable position. He somewhat distances himself from Ivo but he remains in close proximity. He rolls to face the other man.

“Right. Uhm.”

“Liking it?”

“It’s not exactly bad but. Well- I don’t know.“

“I guess you’ll just get used to it.”

‘I suppose. But if you wouldn’t mind, I have to ask you something.”

Oh! What’s this now?

“Hm?”

“Are you currently employed?”

It’s definitely an odd question, but alright. Ivo answers swiftly.

“Well about that - No. I have actually been having trouble with employment. You can guess why.”

“Unfortunate, but that makes things a bit more convenient for me.”

Ivo raises a brow in question, before promptly realizing that Anton can’t see that. He responds again, this time with a simple “Hm? What’s this all about?”

“My aunt has been pestering me to get myself a valet or some other sort of manservant to assist me in my suboptimal state. I don’t think I am in particular need of one, however, I realized this was a golden opportunity for us. Not only could we meet again, but we now have an excuse to live together, stay by each other’s side for an eternity.”

…. What? Ivo takes a moment to process what he had just heard. Valet? Living together? What on earth is he on about? What’s going on? As his mind finished connecting the puzzle pieces to form something even mildly coherent, said mind raised a multitude of concerns and questions in an instant.

“Woah woah woah. Hold the phone for just a moment. Are you telling me that you are willing to hire me as a servant? Well, okay but wouldn’t that be just a teeny bit suspicious? I have absolutely no prior experience in fucking service of all things, not only that, but I am a dictionary-defined cripple. How on earth would that not be akin to firing off a signal flare in a clear dark night?”

“Well, I suppose I could handwave some of the first issue away with citing my experience with you during our stay at that convalescent home. And for the second, I could say that this is my way of rendering assistance to a comrade in need of aid. By giving you employment, I could say that not only am I willing to help out a friend in need, but it could also display to the world that ‘cripples’ like you and I could do our little bit in this society.”

“This… No. This sounds like a fairy tale. No way are we actually going to be able to pull this off!” Ivo raises his voice, but not loud enough to the point that it could be heard in any of the other rooms.

“That’s what our fellow countrymen were saying when the war started, and yet here we are. Sure, we had to cede some land, but our nation is still breathing without the pressure of a foreign boot on her neck. We, as a people were able to weather the storm of bullets and bombs every single day for two years. Us being, well, us, is not going to be easy. But it isn’t waking up every day with the possibility of getting hit with shrapnel now, is it?”

“Well yeah, this time we have to wake up every day fearing that we’ll be found out. We’d practically be committing social suicide if that happens! Not to mention that the fucking police could get involved. If you took a bullet, lost a limb, got gassed or whatever, you could still live your life after it. If we get outed? We’re fucked. Even if we get lucky it’s going to be a black mark on us, a scandal that will follow us far beyond our grave. And if we don’t get lucky? Tch. We gave our all for this country, yet they won’t give a shit.”

“So what? Do we just squander our best chance? Did you listen during your marksmanship classes? You miss one-hundred percent of all shots you don’t take, Lieutenant. Your fears are valid. Yet I should remind you that during antiquity, flying for our species was deemed an impossibility. Now weapon and passenger alike take to the sky regularly. You know what I am getting at here, Ivo. I don’t care how small the chances of a peaceful life together may seem; I feel it best to take the chance and reach for it. And if something goes wrong? We have each other’s backs, we’ll find a way out.”

It sounds insane, but Ivo does feel like the other man has a point. If he turns this down, well, maybe they’d still get to see each other from time to time. Maybe they could have some ‘fun’ here and there. But that isn’t enough. That would never be enough for either of them. They love each other, plain and simple. And this is a near perfect cover. It will be stressful, yes, but most of life is stressful anyway. And all of that pressure will be so much easier to bear with someone by your side. Problem is that said person at your side is indirectly causing all of the stress. No wonder Ruža preferred to quite literally fuck around instead of pursuing any lasting relationships with anyone.

Ivo groans. This entire night has been a twisting and turning road and he feels like he’s just driven right off said road and into a pine tree. He’s slipped back into doubting if any of this is real, he feels like he has to go to sleep and wake up the next day to make sure that this is, indeed, reality. Even Anton’s beautiful green eyes boring into his soul was not enough to convince him at this point. Ivo nervously tugged at his collar before finally mustering enough courage to let loose his response.

“I- Tch, by the gods everything is moving too fast today isn’t it. But yes. To the point, I’ll take you up on your offer. Just, ach, how on earth do I explain it all to my family?”

Anton’s face lights up with excitement, by Eridiyan, the goddess of summer, love, and many other things, this man is way too cute for his own good.

“I will be heading home in two days, so mind if you would lead me around the place? Would be nice to experience the local quirks of your hometown.”

“I’m afraid that we aren’t that foreign. But I wouldn’t mind. Shit, I think the sun’s gonna come up soon. I’m back off to my wonderful floor, let’s save sharing the bed like a married couple for when we get to your place, alright?”

Anton reached out for Ivo, but he was too late, a thud resonates through the room as Ivo lands on the mattress.

“Hey! It isn’t that late in the night, is it?”

“No. I just want to get to sleep and not have to deal with any bullshit in the morning. Good night then, Anton.”

“Good night, Lieutenant.”

Ivo shuts his eyes, today has been… Interesting? That barely scratches the surface. He really should get some sleep now, no use over-thinking everything and getting a grand total of 4 hours of sleep, then complaining about how groggy he is in the morning.

                                                                 ~0--0~

It’s actually happening. Like, really, actually happening. The reactions to Ivo’s unexpected hiring was… Uh… Well, the reactions weren’t negative for the most part, Ivo’s parents were pretty happy (money is money after all). However, Anna pointed out that the whole thing sounded a bit fishy to her, fair enough.

Ivo is currently sitting on a stool as he packs up everything he’s planning to bring over to Anton’s place. His suitcase is packed in only with (his own interpretations of) the essentials. A roll of toilet paper, a biscuit tin filled with sewing materials, his old service pistol, some lubricant (not exactly the type to use in a motor) and some snacks. Clothes, however made up the bulk of the space taken, Ivo’s taking a few sets of underclothes along with a waistcoat and an old but well-kept suit. And of course, two pairs of trousers. And that’s about it. Actually, wait, one more article of clothing wouldn’t hurt now, would it? He asks this because he had just found something unexpected in his dresser, that being the dark coral shaded lump that just so happened to be his officer’s jacket. He reminisces as he strokes the soft fabric.

Ivo getting a field commission really was quite the feat considering the staunch traditionalism surrounding officers and their social class. There weren’t many officers hailing from the lower classes prior to the war against Krasnovaria, the aristocracy of the kingdom was dying ever so slowly. And those with ‘noble’ blood running through their veins knew it. And so, they enacted many a policy to tighten their grasp on the power that was slipping and falling from them in between their fingers. The Royal Velarian Army, was an oxymoron when it comes to innovation. Velaria was one of the nations spearheading technological development, Velarian soldiers were equipped with the best of small arms, the air service fielded the fastest and most maneuverable craft seen yet, the tank forces of the cavalry and infantry were equipped with the latest and greatest in armor technology. And yet, all officers were still issued and expected to carry swords into combat, soldiers were running around with blue-grey uniforms that concealed these fine fellows as well as dressing them in a pink tutu. Archaic rules were still present even as the flames of Krasnovaria’s invasion raged on. One of these, is the very rule that got Ivo to the rank of Lieutenant.

You see, the Velarian army high command had decreed that any and all tanks crewed by three or more men had to be commanded by an officer. This made some sense when tanks were first introduced, usually with crew numbers ranging from six to even twenty men in one particular model. However, tank crew sizes began to decrease to five to four as their vehicles shrank in turn, and that coincided with a mass expansion of the tank forces. Suddenly, a staggering number of officers were required for the infernal machines. Blokes who barely passed officer training were quickly shuffled into the tank formations, even cadets from other branches were pulled into the tank corps under accelerated instruction. This led to two things: First off, now a good portion of tank commanders in the cavalry and infantry tank formations had no clue what they were doing. And this led to the horrendous losses inflicted upon Velarian tank formations in the initial invasion. Secondly, the gap left by the horrific casualties of the early war had to be filled, and this led to the death of the ‘gentleman officer’. No more were the days of aristocratic monopoly on the commissioned ranks. In an act of desperation in the eyes of the Velarian aristocracy, NCOs from the lower social orders were booted up into the officer corps as replacements. This was an occurrence throughout the regular army, but it was felt most deeply in the tank formations. And with it, a blow was dealt to the power of the aristocracy.

Speaking of all officers being issued swords, Ivo is pretty sure he still has the cavalry saber that he received lying somewhere, he is also pretty sure that his issued kepi is similarly lost in the disorganized mess that is his room. But oh well, it isn’t like he’s going to bring those along. The coat on the other hand, he actually quite likes it. You know what? Sure, why not bring it along? It’s a reminder of the worst days of his life, but what could he say? It’s a damn good coat.

He's got a few hours left before he has to pick up Anton and lead him to the train station, from there it’s a four to five-hour train ride to Veliěsto. Ivo wonders why Anton couldn’t get his lady friend (A young lass named Olivie, from what he remembered) to drive the odd pair over there instead of taking the train, it’s how the blind codger managed to get here in the first place. But no, she’s got prior arrangements somewhere else. Train it is then. Ivo makes his way to the bathroom in the opposite end of the corridor. He remembered how much he struggled with the crutch back when he first got it, to say it got annoying would be the understatement of the century. But then he got used to it, and boy did he get used to it quick. It isn’t perfect, nothing is. But his mobility isn’t as impaired as he once feared. Good luck if you have to sprint though, stairs are also a pain in the ass, and not in the good way.

Ivo recalled how much he loathed being in the army at first. He really wasn’t quite fond of the shit food and the shit conditions, and having to deal with endless bullshit coming from your own superiors. But he got used to it. And somehow, suddenly it wasn’t quite as unbearable anymore. Ivo grabbed the stool lying still as a rock in the corner of the bathroom, and placed it in front of the white porcelain from of the sink and the oval shape of the reflective mirror hung above it. Ivo doesn’t really know what he feels about his time in the forces, he doesn’t know what he’s even supposed to feel. On one hand it truly was a miserable experience, and it got even worse when he was thrown into the flames of combat. It wasn’t easy when your ears were ringing, the commander’s legs up to his waist was still seated in his chair while the rest of him is existing on the roof, walls, and even your clothing all at the same time. And yet there were moments he truly, genuinely enjoyed. The most obvious aspect of this was the camaraderie, Pavel, Dalimil… Jan. They had entrusted their lives to Ivo because they knew he’d be willing to die for them, not for king, not for country, but for them. And they, in turn, were willing to do the same.

It doesn’t stop Ivo from believing that that never should have happened. And that even if it was predetermined by fate or the divine, it was only he who should have been taken.

He looks into the mirror. He couldn’t help but equate himself to a particularly miserable stray dog. His skin is pale, dark bags have formed under his eyes, some stubble is growing on his chin. Thank goodness Anton’s blind so he couldn’t see the current disaster that is his boyfriend right now. Ivo sits still as he withered the barrage of abuse his own mind was hurling at him.  He thinks to himself; ‘I really have to get my shit together.’ Sure. But he says many things all the time, but does he ever actually follow through with his own words, spoken or otherwise? Maybe, now with someone who probably truly cares watching over his proverbial shoulder, he could finally push himself forward one step at a time. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

And one of those steps is taking measures to look less like a disheveled rat. Nothing he could really do about the pale hue he had developed or the bags under his eyes, but he can do something about the disorganized mess of hair beginning to show on his face. A safety razor and a quick-working yet cautious hand could indeed make quick work.

[altfbynate]

Chapter 1, Part 2

Content Warnings: Mentions of homophobia, and all the nasty things that accompany this little thing called war.

It all started on a particularly chilly morning.

Ivo laid on his bed, reading a newspaper reporting on the war. The articles all said the exact same thing every morning. ‘We are beating back the red horde!’ ‘We triumph over the enemy’ blah blah blah. They were lying, he knew because the new patients were reporting that the situation on the front had actually grown quite dire. Whispers can be heard everywhere, from privates huddled around a fire on the frontline, or from the meeting rooms of officers. They whisper of a new Krasnovarian offensive, poised to cut off the Haasriek region from the rest of the country.

Ivo let out a deep sigh and handed off the paper to a man the next bed in the line. Good god did he want a smoke right now. But, much to his annoyance, the man in the bed parallel to him decided that he needed assistance from Ivo specifically.

“I apologize if I’m interrupting you, but would you mind giving me some assistance? I- I may need to be led to the rest-room.”

The man uttering those words was a victim of a chemical weapon attack that left him blinded. His chestnut hair was quite messy and unkempt, he seemed to stand three inches taller than Ivo. He was still wearing a pair of glasses even though they don’t actually do anything to help him with his blindness. Some remnants of chemical burn scarring remain on his face and hands, though it has somehow healed surprisingly well to the point that it isn’t every noticeable. Speaking of his face, Ivo found him to be… Handsome? Cute? Damn it! He mentally berated himself for those thoughts. All of this didn’t make sense. Why on earth was he continuing to try things out with other men? He did find members of the ‘fairer’ sex attractive too, so what’s the point of continuing his futile relationships? The last time he pulled this shit he nearly got arrested for the goddess’s sake!

But he couldn’t resist this chance to know this lad a bit better, for better or worse. Doesn’t stop him from being somewhat grumpy about it though. Despite Ivo’s haste, they only get to a comfort room just in time to avoid disaster. Ivo leans next to the wash room door, before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and his trusty old lighter. He proceeds to have a smoke. He isn’t even halfway done when the other man comes bumbling out the door.

Ivo sighs, before asking: “Would you mind if we stay here a bit? I gotta finish a smoke.”

The bespectacled man replies shakily.

“S-sure.”

Ivo takes a drag off his cig before asking the man a question.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Hm? Ah- Yes um. My name is Chvátal, Anton. Yours?”

“Souček, Ivo. So, Lieutenant Chvátal, what happened to you?”

Anton seems to swallow a lump before giving his answer. “I- I did something stupid. We were under fire from gas shells and… Instead of fitting my own first, I had to just had to give a helping hand to a man struggling with his mask. By the time I could put my mask on, it was too late.”

“Hey, at least you gave up a part of yourself to save someone else, I guess. For me, well, I was a tanker. Commie tank sent a shell straight through the front of my tank, killed my radio operator and ripped my leg off.”

Ivo took the last drag off his cig. “Alright, I’ll lead you back to your bed then.”

“O-okay.”

Things may have spiraled out of control after that point. Ivo, against the advice of all of his brain cells desperately yelling ‘no! this is a bad idea!’, decided that he would volunteer to be this blind man’s assistant for the time being. Maybe Ivo could sneak in a pass at him at some point. But maybe it’ll be wiser to lay low for now and get to know the lad better first. Currently he’s in the process of writing a letter for Anton. Ivo is currently sitting at Anton’s bedside, doing the writing while Anton does the dictating. The letter is for Anton’s mother, reassuring her that his injuries aren’t too severe and telling her that there’s no need for her to come all the way here for a visit, since he’s about to be sent home sooner or later.

“So, anything else to add in?”

Anton only responds with a disheartened sigh, prompting Ivo to ask:

“Anything wrong?”

Anton’s voice is weak and somewhat shaky in his response. “No, it’s just, I’m thinking about how I’ll probably never be able to pen my own letters again. Or write anything else for that matter.”

“You say that, but it really is blatantly untrue. Yes, you are going to have to deal with the world only being a hazy mess from now on. But this is a challenge to be overcome, you could probably figure something out.”

“I- I suppose. But some more… Complicated tasks are going to be quite a bit more finnicky.”

“Sure, but that’s why you don’t just try to do it all on your own. Find someone willing to help you out. Might be embarrassing that you couldn’t do everything yourself, but we’re officers, our job is to coordinate with other units to get the job done. You can coordinate with someone else to get the job done in your own life too.

Anton shrugs, seems he doesn’t have a retort to spill.

“So, this it? Nothing else to add?”

Anton nods in confirmation. Ivo’s pen strokes leave behind the last words of the letter; ‘Your loving son, Anton.’ (Not before also writing down that said letter had to be actually written down by someone other than her son of course)

“So, your mom lives in Letirovice? Do you live there as well or?”

“For my childhood, yes. But I’ve been living in a flat in Veliěsto my family owns ever since I went to university. We’re pretty well off, uncle has got a title that I can’t quite remember off the top of my head.”

“I see.”

“How about you, Souček?”

“Well, dunno, I was born to a barely middle-class family in Doten. Got an older brother and a younger sister. I’m probably not going to move anywhere so, there’s that. Do you have any siblings?”

“No. Just me.”

“My family couldn’t afford to get all of us a university education, so they gave it to my brother. Couldn’t blame em’ he was a smart cookie that one. I managed to snag a job at an auto-mechanic’s place though. Learned a thing or two there, that’s why I got picked out for motor-cavalry and not shuffled into an infantry unit.”

“So, you never got a university education? You got a field commission then?”

“M’hm. I was originally a loader, loaders are NCO’s usually, I was a junior sergeant at the time. During a sudden engagement, my TC took a hit from an anti-tank gun and I took over his station. I had to command the tank for a few more engagements because there wasn’t a replacement for my late TC. I apparently did well enough that they gave me a field commission, booted me up to 2nd Lieutenant and gave me my own tank to play with. Got another promotion later on too, so I’m a Lieutenant now.”

That incident had burned itself into Ivo’s mind. He could still clearly remember the globules of crimson blood that had coated the white interior of the tank. Some of it had gotten on his uniform too, there was never a time for a wash, so the blue-grey of his uniform was contrasted by the splatters of gore stuck to it for a week. It was terrifying, knowing just how fast you could turn into naught but pieces of meat and bone to show up in someone else’s nightmares. And oh, did he get so close to sharing his former commander’s fate.

Ivo repressed the shudder. Anton continued the conversation.

“You must have a fair bit of combat experience on your belt then. I never really got many opportunities to distinguish myself, but I kept as many of my men alive for as long as I could. That counts for something, right?”

“Of course it does, the lives of the men under your command are worth more than a piece of tin and a strip of colored ribbon after all.”

“I’m sure you did very well as a leader.” Anton said, completely sincerely.

Those words ring hollow in Ivo’s ears. Is he really though? Ivo asks himself. After all, if he did so well, then why was he here? If he were such a proficient leader, Jan wouldn’t be a pair of legs and a pelvis rotting away in an abandoned tank. ‘What do you mean that the slope of the ridge was too great for you to find a good hull-down position huh? No, Ivo. You just fucked up. And now a daughter won’t be seeing her father ever again. Despite this, Ivo attempts to blurt out something as nice and sincere as what Anton had just said.

“Thank you. I’m sure you did well too. Lieutenant Chvátal. I’m off to get these posted now.”

Ivo had written his own letters earlier, one for his parents, and the other for his sister. They both said the same things really; ‘oh I’m fine, need not worry about me! (ps. Tell me more about that bakery Anna works at now)’

But before Ivo could hobble off to someone who could get these letters to the post office, Anton asks him a question. “D- do you have spare time later?”

“Hm? Yes, of course. Why?”

“No, it’s just, I can’t recognize coins by weight and feel alone. If you have some with you, I humbly ask that you help me practice identifying them later. I hope you don’t mind.”

Ivo represses a smile. “I don’t mind, Lieutenant.”

Ivo does end up flashing quite a grin once out of sight though. Everything’s working out just as planned.

~0--0~

Anton studied the feeling of the coin in his palm. This one is quite smaller and lighter in comparison to the 5 korun coin he had handled earlier.

“A… 50 haleru coin?”

“Sorry, nope. It’s a 1 korun.”

“Ah, alright.” Anton lets out those words with the air of twinging disappointment.

“It’s alright Lieutenant, we’ve just started after all. Everything takes time.”

Anton’s world right now is nothing but a blurry haze of abstract colors and shapes, so of course, the only way for him to visualize the world around him is through the power of imagination. He imagines the corridor where his bed is situated, and he doesn’t conjure the image of the manor that this place is in. Instead, he imagines a drab and dreary place. Most of the things he imagines now are drab and dreary anyway, after all, the last thing he ever remembers seeing is the bottom of a trench. But there is one exception to this world of browns and greys.

For some reason, when thinking of the man currently handing him coins to identify, he doesn’t form the picture of just some officer in a dull uniform. No, for some reason, the face that appears is one of vibrancy, something bathing the world around it with contrasting colors. The face he pictures is… Beautiful, yes that’s the word. Beautiful. Kind of odd to say that about a brother officer, kind of odd to say that about anything other than a lass. But that is what he ‘sees’, and frankly, he doesn’t seem to mind.

Another coin in placed in Anton’s grasp. This one is heavier than all the others he had held thus far.

“25 koruna?”

“Correct. Good work there, Lieutenant.”

Anton smiles, both out of a sense of self-satisfaction, and something else, something that he couldn’t really explain.

~0--0~

The last thing Lieutenant Ivo Souček thought he would ever experience is going out on a picnic with one of the cutest guys he had ever met. As it turns out the grounds of the manor were free to access to all the convalescent home patients, and thus, this opportunity was immediately exploited. Acquiring food was a bit of a pickle because of all the shortages, subsequently, the snacks brought were a few slices of bread and some beet. Really though, why is there so much beet lying around? You would think bread would be the most common source of sustenance around, but no, shortages of bread, and pretty much everything else really, run rampant.

That said though, the Krasnovarian Revolutionary Navy had just been dealt quite a blow. The KRN Krasnoyets Putozhnist, one of Krasnovaria’s two battleships was severely damaged in an attack by the Royal Flying Service. This, coinciding with other KRN casualties are loosening the iron grip of Krasnovaria’s naval blockade. Because of this, imports of goods in shortage could continue once more.

But let’s get back to the matter at hand: The picnic. Ivo had picked out a spot that was conveniently out of sight and earshot. It was nice experiencing clean air for once, Ivo had grown too familiar with the stench of motor oil and other filth after being crammed into what was essentially a metal coffin for days on end. Anton sat to his left, currently munching on a bread loaf. They had just been conversing about a myriad of topics ranging from the war to which pie tasted the best. (Ivo insists meat pies are better than all other forms of pie, there is no method of persuasion on this celestial body capable of convincing him otherwise) They had now moved past the heated pie conversation. And once Anton sets down the half-eaten loaf of bread, Ivo asks him a question that had been bugging him for a while.

“Why are you still wearing the glasses? Doesn’t seem to be helping you out very much.”

“I don’t really know to be honest. I suppose I am just used to wearing them. I have always had eyesight problems since I was a child, so I have been wearing these glasses for the vast majority of my life. And I… I feel like they look quite good on me.”

“They do.”

Ivo did NOT mean to say that. Anton develops a barely noticeable blush before throwing at Ivo a question of his own.

“T- thank you, Lieutenant. I- I do want to inquire about something else related to my sight if you wouldn’t mind. You know what gas does, it really is a horrendous thing. I remember -when I could still see, it’s effects on the skin. I feel like I don’t want to know what it did there, but I do want to know what happened to my eyes.”

“Let me see them, then.”

Anton takes off his glasses for a moment as Ivo clumsily shuffles towards him. Ivo gets nice and close as he gazes into the blind officer’s eyes. They look normal, there isn’t really much to indicate that this set of organs didn’t actually function. There is one thing Ivo could assuredly say though, they really were quite pretty. Anton’s irises were strikingly green, to the point that Ivo’s first and foremost correlation was to a set of jade buttons.

“So, Lieutenant Souček, what could you say about them?”

Anton’s cheeks are turning a darker shade of red as each second passes. Ivo has noticed that he hadn’t reacted negatively to the somewhat accidental flirting a few moments ago or Ivo moving his face uncomfortably close. He realizes that this, right here, is the opening that he needed. This is the moment to drop the hammer.

“Your eyes are… quite stunning, really. And if I have to be honest, the same could be said about the rest of you.”

There it is, Lieutenant Chvátal’s face goes cherry red. Seems Ivo’s constant fretting over Anton’s orientation was unfounded after all.

“Ivo, are you a-“

“An invert? Yes. Do you mind?”

“No. Not at all. D- do you have any experience with this sort of thing?”

“A bit. Do you?”

“No. I haven’t ever gotten to kissing anybody, much less- well, you know.”

“Tch, it isn’t all about perversions, you know. All the ‘normals’ out there fall in love all the time. Why can’t we?”

“S- so you’re in… In love?... With me?”

“Affirm.”

“I- I-…. Goodness. I might have had some reservations about this, but well, I have always imagined you to be somewhat good looking. I guess we just have to take this to the next logical step.”

“That being?”

Anton is supporting himself with his right hand, so he instead uses his left to reach out for Ivo. He takes a moment to actually make contact, his hand falls onto Ivo’s right shoulder. Then, in an instant, Anton’s face closes the gap between him and the former tank officer. Unfortunately, Anton misses his mark. Instead of what he’d hoped for, he ends up slamming his nose into Ivo’s chin. The sharp pain makes Anton recoil so hard he falls onto his back. Ivo chuckles weakly.

“The hell were you trying to do? Headbutt me?”

“What do you think I was trying to do? Because physically assaulting you is not something on my itinerary.”

“Nope, you were trying to bash my skull in with your own thick noggin, obviously.”

Ivo had now gotten on his hands and knee(s) in a position overlooking Anton. He lets out a chuckle.

“I know you were trying to kiss me. But there is kind of a reason people usually slow down when doing this.”

“J-just do it already.”

Ivo lowers himself onto Anton’s. Probably only a fraction of a second passes as their lips brush against each other, but it seems to last more than an eternity for this odd pair. They soon part, Ivo rolls over onto his back next to Anton. He takes the blind man’s hand into his.

“Well, that was nice.”

“I don’t think I have had enough of it though.” This time it is Anton who rolls onto his side. He uses a hand to tip Ivo’s face towards his once again.

“Up for more, eh?”

“Of course. Wait- Can anyone see us?”

“Nope, picked out this spot specifically because it was concealed.”

“Good.” Anton leans in for yet another kiss. Ivo obliges enthusiastically.

~0--0~

The days that pass were equal parts wonderful and somewhat awkward. Kind of hard to make eye contact with the man you kissed a day or two again while you are in a room filled with other people. No-one has yet to suspect them of anything, which is a good sign considering Anton was apparently unafraid of taking risks whenever he could. Like really, Ivo suspects that they were this close to being found out because Anton couldn’t keep his hands to himself, though he is thankfully beginning to rein that in to the point that it shouldn’t be much of a problem anymore. The moon hangs bright in the inky night darkness. And the new couple were conversing about their respective combat experiences. They both had noticed an odd pattern concerning Krasnovarian tactical performance.

“Back during the start of this mess, the commies were motivated and seemed to know what they were doing. But their show seems to have declining in quality ever since we first stopped ‘em back in the summer of ’37.”

“I have seen enemy infantry attack our fortified positions without any support. Maybe you could see artillery and mortars drop here and there without any substantial effect. Good point, what could be causing it?”

“My best guess is that the replacements for their battered units are massively undertrained, that or their experienced officer cadre has been replaced by fresh leadership for some reason? But I have no idea why on earth they’d do that.”

“Politics most likely, you know the Krasnovarians. Most of their actions have been influenced or outright caused by ideology. When they marched into our land, they thought our working class would rise up in arms and aid them in their conquest. That, did not come to fruition.”

Anton was mostly correct; some collaborationist militias had been formed in the occupied regions. Along with small bands of socialist partisans staging small scale attacks on military installations or committing banditry. That said though, anti-crown sentiment had been running rampant in the northern regions of the kingdom long before the war started. The north for most of its history had been a rural, agrarian land. But industrialization in the area had begun ever since the discovery of rich mineral deposits in the western quadrant of the place. Once formerly small cities such as Vemidjie were hit with a sudden boom of prosperity as mines, refineries, and factories grew to exploit this new mineral wealth. But the rest of the rural north, especially the tracts of land that had been seized from Krasnovaria during their civil war, felt neglected by the Veliěsto government. For all Ivo knew, many in the north could genuinely see the Krasnovarians as liberators freeing them from the yoke of a crown that only saw to seek profit from them. Yet equally he could picture loyal northerners resisting the occupation with words and bullets alike. As most things in life, the situation is a complicated one. It’s not something that you could paint in broad brush strokes of black and white.

“Yeah. No plan ever survives first contact with the foe after all. But on a slight detour, did you hear of that anti-communist Krasnovarian regiment that just saw combat recently?”

“I have heard of something similar, yes. Though I haven’t yet heard of them getting thrown into the fray yet, where have you heard?”

“Right yes, I forgot reading is a bit of a… issue, for you. I read it in the paper. They seem to have done well, though I still have reservations about some of the recruits being pulled from prisoner-of-war camps. A lot of Krasnovarian families fled here in the wake of their civil war, I trust those guys any day of the week. But from POW camps? I don’t feel too sure about that.”

“I’m sure the recruiting process is rigorous and thorough.”

“Doesn’t stop things from flowing through the cracks though.”

“I doubt it. But…. Err… Lieutenant? Mind leading me to the rest room?”

“Would have thought you’ve memorized the route to the nearest one already, but sure.”

“Tch, just come with me at least, would you?”

They made good speed to the nearest restroom. Ivo stood around next to the door as standard. It was somewhat late at night, so the place was quiet. Pale moonlight beamed through the windows. Anton finished relieving himself of nature’s call soon enough. But this time he asked for Ivo to join him in the rest-room instead of leaving by himself and having Ivo lead him back to his bed. Odd, but most of the other patients were already asleep and the man on watch is probably not going to check out the toilets right now after being informed that someone had to take a piss. So, privacy achieved, worry exterminated. Ivo walks through the door.

Anton grabs Ivo by the collar and pins him to the wall. They spend a few moments fumbling in the dark to find each other’s lips. But they find each other eventually. They spend the next one, two, three minutes just doing this. Unleashing all of their pent-up love and passion hidden from the rest of the world on to each other in whirlwind of kisses. The exchange ends with Anton withdrawing his hands from grasping Ivo’s face, he latches onto the other man’s shoulders.

“I- I- We need to talk, Ivo.”

“Why? Anything wrong?”

“I am due to be sent home the day after tomorrow. I- I need to spend my remaining time with you well.”

“Remaining time? No, no way is this just going to end tomorrow. We can still find a way, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t want to leave you behind. B- but I don’t know how to keep in touch with you. I don’t want it to end. But-“

Ivo drags Anton into an embrace. He whispers into the blind man’s ear.

“You have been getting better with your writing you know. And you could get someone else to read my letters for you. We have been able to hide so well all this time, I’m sure it would be easier with letters, no?”

“Yes, but- It’s just that life has given me the bad end of a deal too many times for me to know that it won’t go our way. I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He’s crying now. Fuck. No, both of them were crying.

“Look, or hear, whatever. It won’t end here. Just promise me that you’ll write back. Okay?”

“O- of course I promise you that. But-“

“Come on now. It’ll be alright.”

Ivo lightly kisses the side of the other man’s head. Both of their breaths were ragged. Tomorrow couldn’t be it? Right?

~0--0~

“The next day was, indeed, the last.”

“Fuck, dude. You nearly got it. I’m sorry man. But don’t get too caught up here y’know, I’m sure you could find another guy like that.”

Ivo doubts it. He came here to get plastered, to forget about everything with the help of Mrs. Booze. Yet, the tankard in his hand remained full, he’d already downed one, why not gulp down the next? And the next, and the next? It was because every time he drank himself into a stupor, he’d make a fool of himself. He’d wake up the next day with the worst hangover known to both men and gods and he’d still remember. He’ll still remember the light gleaming off a pair of round glasses, he’d still remember the softness of that light brown hair, he’d still remember the even softer kisses and embraces that they had shared. No matter if he drinks himself to death or not, he will remember. And he will realize that he’ll never experience anything like that ever again. He takes a look around him, there are a good few men here willing for some ‘fun time’, hell, maybe even some actual love. But they would never come close to that one, the one. Oh, may the goddess damn it, he could feel tears welling up in his eyes again.

“Oh shit, you alright there Ivo?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. Just, be a mate and help me outta here would ya?”

Ruža raises an eyebrow in question, but he obliges Ivo up and out of there anyway. Ivo pulls a banknote out of his wallet once they get out of the front door and hands it to the blonde, It’s for the tab.

“You need help down the stairs?”

“Nope. I’ll be fine.”

“Sure then, see ya next time. Hope you get in better spirits by then.”

“Yeah. Bye man.”

Ruža retreats back through the bar door leaving Ivo with the doorman and the set of stairs.

“You need a hand there, boss?”

“No. I’m fine.” Ivo’s tone comes off as quite annoyed. So he adds: “Sorry, not in a good mood right now.”

“Ah, alright then. Be careful gettin’ down there, boss.”

“Sure.”

Ivo looked down as the descending steps before him. Right then, remember, going up? Good foot up. Down? Crutch first. He makes it down the flight(s) of stairs at a snail’s pace, not at all surprising. Soon enough he’s out the front door of the building. The moon hangs full in the night sky. It stands alone in the void, the stars obscured by light pollution. The city is bathed in a dim pale light, just like the officer’s convalescent home was two years prior. Ivo doesn’t know what to do now. Drinking is futile, finding sex with some other guy isn’t going to do him much good, going home and crying himself to sleep was miserable. What can he do now, other than observe the pale beauty of the cratered and scarred moon. There’s a sound off in the distance, some rhythmic clacking. The fuck is it coming from? A stick? Who on earth bats around a stick in the middle of the night? Wait- A cane. People use canes, dumbass. An old person then? Maybe. But old people tend to be slower than this, especially if they have to use a cane. Ivo takes his gaze off the white-yellow orb floating above him and onto the apparent source of the racket.

He's hallucinating. He has to be. Ivo has finally gone off the rocker and straight into the pit. He’s had bad dreams before, of course. But this? It’s the full audio-visual experience, and he’s not even sleeping (as far as he could tell.) He’s been thinking of him so much this night that Ivo is actually conjuring up images in his head and projecting them into reality.

For in the pale moonlight, Ivo could see the pale light illuminate a patch of light-brown hair, and dimly reflect off a pair of round-framed glasses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, thank you for reading!

I have no idea what gas could have been used that would have resulted in anton going blind, yet staying pretty. mustard gas and lewisite FUCK people up, like it's horrific shit. I also couldn't figure out the visual effects of gas-scarred eyes, so i defaulted to Ivo saying they looked normal to him.

[altfbynate]

ALTF Chapter 1, Part 1

Content Warnings: Violent depiction of armed combat.

Reconstruction – This is the word that stands stalwart in the minds of citizens of the Kingdom of Velaria. The year is 6640 according to the Oritsan calendar. And four years ago, their socialist northern neighbor – Krasnovaria, launched an invasion into the Kingdom. Fields of golden wheat and verdant grass were trampled under boots, marred by artillery, and tank treads. The tranquil skies over Velarian cities became themselves, battle-zones. Rural citizens witnessed foreign soldiers clad in drab green with red stars painted on their helmets march through their villages. Urbanites got used to Krasnovarian bombers dropping ton after ton of capsulated hate on their cities every night.

For two years, the struggle lasted. But, as the winter rolled in, as the third year of the conflict drew closer, ceasefire. Three days after the dawn of the year 6639, the war was officially declared over.

Now, the rusted hulks of tanks lay scattered in empty fields, they were statues made of rolled steel, monuments of humanity’s capability for hatred and atrocity. The same could be said of the unburied corpses, their uniform-clad shapes strewn all over former battlefields as if they were seeds cast broad from a farmer’s hand. Homes, offices, farms were reduced to nothing, so were almost three million lives. Now, the Velarian people gazed upon the devastation, and a new flame was re-ignited in their hearts. They gazed upon the rubble of ruined towns and cities, and made a vow.

They will clear all the broken debris away, and build anew. Build grander, build sturdier. A new Velaria will rise from the ashes.

And rebuild we did. Such is the thought of a man, he stands still on the sidewalk, marveling at the street before him. This part of the city was hit hard by the bombings as it was situated near the industrial centers, many of these buildings were wrecked the last time he saw them. But now they look pristine. Soon, however, his marveling ends. He has places to be after all, it’s just that it’s hard to get to said places while you are reliant on a crutch.

See, his left leg terminates just above the knee. This is no doubt the war’s doing. This man, currently hobbling down the street, perceives the world through two brown eyes. The mop on his head is stark black. His stature is short, about five feet, four inches. His name is Ivo Souček, and he is headed for a special bar he used to frequent.

He gets there soon enough, though getting up the stairs in a crutch isn’t exactly easy or quick after all. He remembers that there was a password you had to know to get in here, though apparently the doorman remembers him well enough that he doesn’t have to recite it. Inside is, well, a bar. Not very full today though, only a dozen or so men are present. The dark wood floor seems to have been refurbished, he recalls that it was much rattier and more dilapidated compared to its current state.

So, what makes this bar so special? Well, it’s because it is a meeting place for inverts. Ivo used to have quite a gay time in this place, in both senses of the word. But that’s not why he’s here today, though his mind will probably swap opinions after he gets sufficiently drunk. So why is he here? Nostalgia, and the overwhelming urge to get himself black-out drunk, of course. Life had been a bit of a bitch lately, Ivo had to jump between multiple jobs, all because of his leg. Well, the lack of leg in this case, but he doesn’t want to admit to anyone that he has to rely on his parents again because the pensions he’s receiving is not nearly enough to cover expenses.

He observes the people present for a moment, before someone catches his eye. This man is blonde, green eyes, Ivo could recognize him from a mile away thanks to his overwhelming fuckboy aura. And before you ask, no he’s just a friend, Ivo is not exactly this guy’s type. The blonde man, his name is Ruža Bodrogi, also notices him, he seems quite surprised. He beckons Ivo over to the stool next to him, Ivo accepts and takes a seat.

“Ivo?! By the goddess, I haven’t seen your horrid face in ages! And what on earth happened to your leg?” Ivo met Ruža here the first time he had ever went to an invert bar, Ruža was quite helpful in figuring out how things worked between men. They grew close, but only as friends. They wrote to each other quite a lot during the war, Ivo was a cavalry officer, a tank commander/gunner to be exact. While Ruža apparently never saw combat as he was posted along the southern border with Pozan instead of the frontlines up north. (note, the goddess Ruža is referring to here is Oritsa, the head goddess of the Oritsan religion. The very continent these men stand on it named after her. And the calendar is based off when she supposedly gave humanity the gift of civilization.)

“Didn’t I write to you that I had been injured? Anyway, how have you been?”

“Oh! I’ve been doing fine, I ain’t broke and there are more than enough cute guys that come through here. More importantly, how have YOU been? Especially with that leg and all.”

“You get used to it. But yeah, it has been a bit of a problem for me. Especially employment wise. No one wants to take me ‘cause of the leg.” Ivo lets out a groan of frustration before continuing. “They keep prattling on about supporting their brave heroes who defended king and country. But they never actually do anything to actually support us.”

“Yeah, you really got quite a pickle in your hands, eh? Is this why ya’ came here? Have a drink and relieve some stress if you know what I mean?”

“I’m definitely going to drink. Dunno about doing the other stuff.”

Ruža ordered two beers. Their chat continued.

“So, the hell actually happened to yer leg? Artillery? Infection?”

“You know I was in the calvary. I was in a tank at the time, enemy tank managed to get a bead on us and sent a shell through the front plate. A fragment took my leg clean off.”

“That sounded like a very unpleasant experience. The pension that they gave you better be good, you were an officer after all!”

“Too bad it isn't.”

“Government being cheap asses as always, completely unsurprising.”

Their order had arrived and Ivo was already gulping down the golden liquid at an alarming rate. Ruža was leering at some lad drinking on an adjacent stool.

“That guy looks like some corporal I hooked up with one night while I was still in the army, he was quite good with his hands, heh. Did you manage to catch a lad when you were still in uniform?”

Ivo sighed heavily. Yes, yes, he did. He remembers it all. The day he met him, his light brown hair, the spectacles nearly permanently bolted on to his face, his sappiness and- Damn it! The bastard never wrote back, despite his promise.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just. I did manage to hook up with someone. We met in an officer’s convalescent home; this was just after I had my leg blown off. He was a gas attack victim, went blind. I pretty much had to play as his valet for a while. But I quite liked him, he was a cute little thing. I managed to confess to him and - It almost worked out. But he got sent home before I was, he promised to write to me, but he didn’t.”

“I don’t blame him for it, it’s hard to keep a romance going when, well, said romance is deemed illegal. He’s probably just being overly cautious. You said he’s blind right? I doubt he’d want to write suggesting anything to ya when he might have to deal with someone else writing his letters for him.”

“I guess.” Ivo went bottoms up. The contents of his tankard had been fully emptied into his stomach.

“So, mind givin’ me the story of how you met that guy? You seem pretty fond of 'im.”

Ivo didn’t really mind giving the story at this point. It was painful to think about, but oh well, what else was he gonna do here other than drink himself to death?

“So. It all began when I got my leg blown off.”

~0--0~

Thud - This was the sound of a 38mm cannon firing, heard from behind an inch of riveted steel. Lieutenant Ivo watched as the trajectory of the fired HE shell intersect a group of Krasnovarian riflemen. The shell burst, throwing dirt and clay into the air, some of the green clad soldiers drop dead, Ivo swears he could see one of their helmets take flight before landing a good ten meters from its previous owner.

The cannon’s breech automatically opens once it returns from its recoil stroke, spitting out an empty brass case onto the turret floor. The boys over at CšK were fine engineers and machinists capable of transforming whatever chunks of ore pulled from the ground into the LKz. 36, one of the finest armored fighting vehicles of it’s time. Yet apparently, they hadn’t figured out how to make something to prevent empty shell casings from interfering with the turret crew’s work.

“LOAD HE!” Ivo shouts, he’s ordering his loader to ram a high-explosive shell into the open gun breech.

The boy pulls out a HE round from a rack and does as he was trained, quickly and efficiently loading the cannon. The breech automatically closes as the shell is thrown in. He exclaims:

“LOADED!”

Ivo set his sights on a retreating squad of Krasnis, it seems that they had routed. This attack of theirs had been haphazard and poorly coordinated. They came rushing in with only a handful of tanks and no artillery support, and for their efforts, they were slaughtered. He put the crosshairs right above the heads of the running enemy.

“FIRING!”

Thud. The muzzle flash blinds Ivo for a split second, the dirt thrown up obscures his vision for a few seconds more.

The shell lands in the squad’s midst. The shrapnel rips through flesh and smashes through bone. In a split second, four men are reduced to casualties. The fleeing enemy soon disappear behind hilltops and tree-lines. They leave behind six burning light tanks, they emit columns of thick, oily black smoke. At least two infantry platoons of dead men lie still. Many more wounded and marooned survivors are scattered over the pock-marked field, crying for the comrades who had just left them behind as they huddle behind the bodies of their dead.

Ivo hears a voice through his intercom. It belongs to his radio operator; he has a message to relay. “Sir! Message being relayed from platoon command. Enemy forces have broken through about two kilometers down the right flank, at least a company of enemy tanks and infantry support.”

Shit. So that’s why this attack ended the way it did, it was a feint. The Velarian reserves had been sent here to fend off this attack while the enemy threw all of their important assets onto a now weaker flank. Said flank had now collapsed. The boys of the 13th Cavalry now had the task of stopping them dead in their tracks before they could exploit the penetration.

“Jan! Get us onto company radio net.” Ivo bellowed at his radio operator who dutifully complied with the order.

“1st Platoon will be left behind here in case of further enemy attacks on this sector, 2nd and 3rd is to march south and cut off the enemy advance.”

The words of the company commander cut through the radio net loud and clear. Ivo signaled to Jan to get them back on platoon net.

“-ight, all tanks form up on rally point Martina. Restock on as much ammo we can get, then we advance south-east. Do you copy?”

“Understood.” Is Ivo’s simple response. He flicks a switch to connect him back into the crew intercom system, freeing him from having to shout at his crew all the time. The V6 engine in this thing was a noisy beast.

“Pavel, reverse us out of here and get us back to the rally point as fast as you can.”

Pavel, the driver, executes his orders. The tank jolts as it reverses from the position they had taken, right behind the crest of a hill so that only the turret would be visible from the front. The ride to rally point Martina provided Ivo the opportunity to open the hatch above him and experience the feeling of fresh air once again.

The fighting compartment of a tank is not very comfortable, once the hatches are closed, you are exposed to the overwhelming stench of motor oil, every time you fire the cannon or let loose a burst from the co-axial or bow machine guns, the compartment is filled with noxious fumes that are barely able to escape through a ventilator in the turret roof. And your vision is nearly non-existent, your only avenues of sight are the periscopes on the turret roof, the main gun sight, or the direct vision slits on both the hull and turret. To call it claustrophobic is an understatement.

2nd and 3rd platoons link up at RP Martina, where an ammunition truck greeted them with crates of cannon shells and machine gun belts. “Dalimil!” Ivo gestures at his loader by pointing to the ammunition truck. “Don’t bother with the HE, pick up as many armor-piercers as we could fit. We’re going up against tanks down there!” Dalimil nods in acknowledgement and hastily makes way to the truck, he soon returns with a crate of armor-piercing shells cradled in his arms. Ivo orders Jan to assist with the loading process as Ivo in turn, assisted the young loader. The box of shells is placed atop the tank’s right fender. Dalimil pulls out two 38x227mm rimmed shells, the brass casings shine brightly in the sun, the white band around the projectile’s base designates it an armor-piercer. He hands these shells to Ivo, who in turn lowers the shells down the loader’s hatch to hand over to Jan. He will perform the final act of loading the shell into the turret bustle ammunition rack, where it’ll be easily accessible in the chaos of combat. They then repeat the process.

Ivo doesn’t care to count how many shells they were able to cram into their vehicle. All he remembers is that there were still some shells left in the crate when the platoon commander ordered them to mount up and get moving. Ivo hears the definite clang of the circular hatch falling into the shut position above him as he shuffled onto his seat. They had shut down their engines during the resupply, so they had to restart them, the engines hadn’t run cold so they roared back into life without any complication.

The two platoons, four tanks each, formed up into arrowhead formations pointed directly into the flank of the enemy breakthrough. And with the order; “Tanks, advance!” the arrows were loosed upon the enemy with a rightful and terrifying vengeance. The tanks belched white smoke from their exhausts as their tracks churned the dirt and threw dust up behind them to mingle with the exhaust fumes. The ride was bumpy, the leaf spring suspensions creaked and groaned as the wheels hit bumps. Ivo held on tightly on whatever he could hold on to, in this case his gunner’s control handles. Dalimil had to hang on for dear life on a strap on the turret roof and a box filled with replacement blocks of bullet-proof glass for the direct vision ports. He looked quite nervous, Ivo couldn’t blame him, they were driving straight into his first tank-on-tank engagement.

The two platoons of B company, 2nd Squadron, 13th Cavalry regiment crested a ridge, and it was there that they met their opponent. Two companies of Krasnovarian tanks lay before them, the Velarian tanks had a perfect view of their flanks. It seems that they were engaged with a friendly force in front of them, most likely elements of A company that intercepted them. The enemy force seemed to consist of TRS-5 models of Krasnovarian fast tanks, they had little armor, but they packed a large V12 engine and could drive even without its tracks. The 45mm guns sticking out of their turrets were no joke either, the things were very potent tank killers.

Ivo wasted no time; ordered the tank to a halt. Then he estimated the range between him and the enemy to be about 600 meters. He adjusts his sights accordingly and aims for the white diamond painted on the side of one of the tank’s turrets.

“FIRING!”

Thud. A red tracer arcs towards the target. It impacts the thin steel, sending a lightshow of sparks flying all around. The effect on target is nearly instantly visible as smoke bellows out from the vision ports and the gap between the turret and the hull, the shell must have struck an ammo rack. Ivo does not observe the target further, he rapidly cranks the turret traverse wheel, manipulating the turret to run right to the next target.

“LOAD AP!”

“LOADED!”

“FIRING!”

Thud. The target was driving forward at some speed, Ivo managed to get a round directly center mass on the thing’s side. The driver was apparently trying to turn left at the moment of impact, as the tank seems to uncontrollably drive about in circles even as red flames belch from the hatches.

“LOAD AP!”

Ivo swings the turret to the left. He places his crosshairs over what seemed to be a command tank, judging by the handrail style antennae mounted in a ring around its turret.

“FIRING!”

Thud.

The enemy was suddenly decapitated as one of their commanders met their end in a firestorm of shrapnel.

B Company’s flanking action had wrought good results, half a dozen Krasnovarian tanks stand still, belching columns of black smoke as fuel and ammunition are set alight. A dozen more lie deserted, their hatches wide open, their crews flee, some are gunned down by MG fire. The survivors however, had now figured out what was going on, and they swiftly pivoted their turrets to their flanks.

One shell comes flying mere inches above 3rd Platoon’s command tank, another shell slams into one of Ivo’s platoon-mates, the crew are unable to exit their stricken tank before the flames get to them. Ivo sets his sights on a TRS-5 with its turret pointed directly at him. He could almost see down the barrel of the 45mm gun.

“FIRING!”

A bright flash appears in Ivo’s sight for a split second, the very moment he had hit the trigger. Two red tracers pass by each other.

Both shells hit their targets.

All of a sudden, it feels like Ivo is in a bell that had just been rung. All sounds are suddenly gone, the purr of the engine behind him, the roar of cannons. All of it was replaced by a painful ringing in his ears. He takes his eyes off the telescope; the inside of the fighting compartment is filled with smoke. Ivo is unable to see, his vison is hazy, his head is swirling. The smoke clears in what seems to be an eternity. He looks down at his lap. Jan’s seat was situated in front and below Ivo’s. Jan was not there anymore; a large hole had been punched into the backrest of his seat. Another, smaller hole was situated in the upper front plate, right in front of the radio operator/bow gunner’s position, Ivo could see a shaft of sunlight coming through it. But of more concern was a very disturbing fact.

His leg was… Was… Ivo couldn’t finish the thought before his consciousness fell from his own grasp.

~0--0~

“Fuckin’ hell. You got real lucky, I knew this one guy that got a piece of shrapnel in some major artery in the thigh or something. Poor fuck bled out in less than a minute.”

“Yeah, I got lucky alright. Thank the goddess that my loader got a torniquet on my thigh before I got all of my vitae on the floor instead of my body. Even then I still wonder how I’m still alive.”

“So, what happened then?”

“I dunno, someone pulled me out and I woke up in a field hospital. Spent some time stuck there before I got sent over to an actual hospital over in Konřeky. That’s where I got to know how to use this thing.” Ivo gestures to his crutch.

“After that, I was sent to an officer’s convalescent home nearby, it was some manor that had been hastily repurposed, the earl or whoever who owned the place and his family still lived there. And- that’s when I… That’s when I met him.”

Ruža raised a brow in intrigue, Ivo continued.

“So, it started on a particularly chilly morning."

"Is that how you start telling every story?"

"Shut it, anyway." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hi there! To whoever is reading this, welcome! This work was originally posted on AO3, however I felt that such site was not very appropriate for an original work such as this, (though tumblr might be an even worse place to do it really) so I asked on a discord for any alternatives. Tumblr was one of said alternatives. So here we are. (If anyone asks I refuse to go to wattpad, I am not quite fond of their user interface. I know of a sister site to fanfiction.net that was for original content but idk about that.) (ps i wanted to post this chapter by chapter because i am probably autistic and need my neurons firing everytime i finish writing a new chapter. congrats people you have basically become impromptu beta readers.) This is a very early piece of my writing, so I am not very satisfied with it (it gets better i promise)(actually i retract that i promise to not abide to any promises i make) Ch.1 pt.1 Notes: The LKz.36 tank Ivo is commanding is based off the Lt. vz. 38, more commonly known as the Panzer 38(t). Just imagine one of those longer and with an extra fifth roadwheel on each side. (It's actually the like big picture thing on this here sideblog, hurray!) The Krasnovarian light tank (called TR-24) is based off the T-26, and their TRS-5 fast tank is based off, you guessed it, the BT-5.