Doomsday RE: The Vanishing Shadows CH-2

Doomsday RE: The Vanishing Shadows

A 1983: Doomsday Tale through Different Eyes.

CH - 2

Somewhere in the Sopron Frontier. 2012.

Where could she be? Roderich Edelstein kept asking himself as he looked over the aging map laid out in front of him. Several dark red marks were scribbled all across the borders and towns marking the Frontier. All of them were false leads. How could…Mein Gott, this can't possibly be happening!

That those kidnappers managed to elude both the police and garrisons did not put the Nation at ease. The fact that they were able to slip in through what should be one of the most tightly secured borders in Europe alone was a potential crisis for the Alpine Confederation as a whole, let alone his own people. And no matter how hard the Nation of Austria tried, he simply couldn't sense Sopron anywhere. Neither in his land or in the other Alpine territories.  Hearing brisk footsteps coming up from behind him however, he turned to find an aide still wincing in pain from the attack.  No time to show weakness.

"Report Franz," he ordered in a stoic yet carefully measured voice, his face betraying nothing. "We are running out of time."

"A-Apart from the growing unrest, nothing else Sir," the Lt. Steiner replied wearily. Roderich could see the grimy bandages covering the young officer's arm, blood stains still fresh. "A-According to intelligence, the perpetrators were headed east into the Wastes. Given the timeframe, they most likely wouldn't have gotten too far. Perhaps just enough from the villages and patrols into bandit-infested territory, but whether or not they'd see us coming – that's an open question." He seemed to pause for a moment before trying  and failing to breath calmly. "I-I'm deeply sorry for f-failing my mission, Herr Edelstein. But if you would like my resignation, then it i-"

"You needn't worry," Austria cut in, allowing himself a faint if assuring nod to his aide before forcing back his mask. Admittedly, it seemed more than a stroke of luck that the man even survived that strike at all when it should have been fatal. Either way, you would make your ancestors proud. "But we must get to action now. Mobilize the Expeditionary Corps...Nein, call in every available garrison. Julia must be found at al-"

"HOLD THAT ORDER!" The aristocrat turned to find his fellow Alpine groaning in frustration over a hastily installed radio as the Swiss embodiment stood up and faced him. "Verdammt Roderich! You know that we can't just send the Alpine Militia out into the Wastes for an operation like this. You might as well tell the damn world about Sopron and all of us!" It was clear even through the anger that Vash would rather be back in Vaduz with his dear sister rather than put up with what might very well be a fruitless search. The more Switzerland went on however, the more he seemed to sound somber than bitter. "Just don't think Lilli or I enjoy any of this Scheiße! We want her back just as much as you do. But with the situation as is, our bosses wouldn't even risk having an international incident on their hands."

Austria bit hard on his lower lip, straining to keep his emotions under control. "Herr Zwingli, I am her – guardian. I won't let neutrality be an excuse to do nothing while those fools pose a threat to all of us. I..."

It took so much effort just to keep from saying "father." That all this was happening around Seleenwoche only made the growing anxiety even worse. A thought then crossed his mind that he wouldn't make it in time to save his little Julia. That those accursed Wastes would claim another casualty. Just like her mother…Nein, not again. I won't allow it! I…

"...I made a promise to keep her safe," he muttered almost silently as his hands brought out an old Luger pistol from its holster. As much as the Nation tried not to indulge in fighting, he still couldn't help but admire if reluctantly the old world elegance of the weapon. A relic from the days of his, or rather their Empire, it had seen him through two world wars and even the bitter bloodshed that followed Doomsday. And just as with his old saber, he would not hesitate to use it again. "I don't intend to break it. Not now, not ever."

For a brief moment, however he thought he heard words through the strong wind outside as a peculiar bird flew past. We can still save our child, Szerelmem, the familiar voice whispered, scorned yet still assuring. You are not alone.

"Bitte," Austria finally insisted, his eyes staring down at the Alpine Nation. "We can do this. We have to."

"Roderich," Switzerland started, a slightly bewildered look on his face before clearing his throat. The Swiss blond then glanced at the Austrian's aide. "On Herr Edelstein's behalf you are authorized to deploy the Expeditionary Corps. If anyone else asks, say only that it's only a routine patrol. This is strictly off-record."

Jawohl, Herr Zwingli."

As Franz saluted and left, the Nation noticed Vash turning back to him. "If it helps, I'll also lend a hand on this…but this is not as a favor, you cheapskate!"

Against his better judgment, Austria smirked wryly. "Danke schon, Schweiz. Your help is most appreciated." Just as is yours, meine Liebe.

As the other Alpine was about to think of a retort, however, the radio went haywire in a mass of static. The same familiar voice suddenly seemed to overcome the noise before the set finally gave in.  It was in Hungarian.

"That – That didn't just fucking happen right?" Switzerland gasped haltingly.

"It's...best to leave such matters be," the Nation replied curtly. Despite the calm tone, even he felt a tad unnerved as he quietly translated Elizaveta's words: We have to crush them. CRUSH ALL OF THEM NOW!

Undisclosed location.

"Y-You think that you'll get away with this?! I've seen bullies who have more dignity than you!"

Even in the decaying, crumbling corridors, Jean could already hear the captured girl defiantly shouting and struggling against her bindings. As he moved closer to the cell, the writer took a moment to look around his "host's" dilapidated excuse of a hideout, wrapping his jacket closer to keep out the chill. Here and there were the burnt remains of furniture, carpet and even photographs. But the faded posters, makeshift netting and boxes of weapons spoke of the darker purpose it now served. Must have been a nice house once, he mused. Anything to keep his mind preoccupied. This isn't what they told me in that blasted letter.

The men Col. Andrei and Mark had wandering about were little better. Apart from a few heavily-armed guards, most were little more than hired guns taken from the local warbands that still plagued the Hungarian Wastes: rough Serbian defectors, old Soviets still in their tattered uniforms and lowlifes just eager for some action. Some of them either had few bullets or none at all, instead using swords, spears and bows made out of what remained from the ruins. Or whatever else is left by now. The sooner I'm through with these… His thoughts came crashing when he finally reached the door, only cross paths with his "contacts."

"One day, we find out how to rid ourselves of these things," the French author heard the Russian murmur grimly to his American comrade before finally noticing him, sliding once more into a forced, unnerving grin. "We've had a most pleasant conversation with our new guest. But you wish to conduct your 'research' now, da?" There was something nerve wracking about the greying man's smirk and the stains on their clothes. "Well then, don't take long, gospodin Burnel. Our benefactors have big…plans for it."

So they say… Curtly nodding as they passed him, Jean walked inside. He closed the door to find a filthy, dilapidated room lit only by a lone light bulb close to a barred window. A mix of dread and discomfort seemed to fill him as he stared at the captive bound up at the other end of the cell. Non, not it. Her. A young, barely adolescent girl in a torn-up country dress, grime, sweat and tears covering her skin. She seemed to have hardly slept at all from the marks around her eyes. Yet she stared at him with such intensity that it was at once defiant yet tender. And despite it all, there still remained a warm trace of a grin on her face. Julia Edelstein-Héderváry, the author grimly recalled the child's human name. Otherwise known as the Sopron Frontier Territory.

In another time, he would have found meeting one of these "Nations" to be a chance of a lifetime. If the writer were even more frank, he could already see hints of the knowledge and insight in the girl's eyes. Her people's history, culture, aspirations, fears…all taken form in plain sight before him. And all within his very reach.

But not like this…not like this…  He found it harder to even move forward, his hand still grasping tightly at the door knob as though reluctant to get on with it. This isn't what I want! Until finally he sighed, taking one more glance at her.

"Je suis désolé, Mademoiselle," he solemnly murmured, forcing himself not to look away. To his shock however, Sopron gave a warm smile, her face seemingly glowing for a brief moment.

"Ismerem," she replied warmly in Hungarian before sliding into German. "You're not one of them, ja?"

For a second, Jean Burnel found himself caught off-guard by the fact that she actually understood him. But somehow, it was right there and then that he realized what he had to do.

"Oui," he finally answered, wearily returning a smirk. It was the least he could do at that point. "I'll try to do what I can, Julia. Just hang in there. Help will come."

"I hope so. And don't worry." Sopron tried to smile once more, despite coming across forced and pained. "They won't break me."

He knew that it meant great risk and possibly having his so-called benefactors out for his blood. Heh...They'd be after me anyway. Perhaps it really was a mistake taking that flight from the Pacific. But merde if  I don't try to give those bastards hell.

Just before he turned away however, the writer thought he saw a strange bird by the window for a moment. It seemed to have green piercing eyes and a flower on its head. But maybe that was just his imagination.