Monarchy Over the Danube RE: Chapter 5

Monarchy Over the Danube: an Alternate History Tale of Austria-Hungary Retold through the Nations Themselves.

-CHAPTER 5-

Somewhere outside Sarajevo, Yugoslavia. 17 January 1938.

It seemed only yesterday when Italy surrendered and deposed that fool of a dictator, along with more recent successes. Some could have said that it was too good to be true. Yet here we are, back in action, Roderich thought wryly as he moved towards the men blockading a small cottage. Though to be more precise, they were a couple miles deep behind enemy lines.

Of course, the bespectacled Austrian knew that his very presence here was classified. In fact, he was the one who agreed do to this seemingly small but dangerous mission personally. Everyone, including Kaiser Otto himself swore to deny this ever existed. Then again, he wouldn't want to be at the receiving end of Elizaveta's anger. If something were to go wrong. Or let her be with me, especially with who's hiding there… He sighed, careful to keep his uniform hidden beneath the long overcoat. Even with victory just within reach, their new campaign to “secure” the increasingly disunited Yugoslavia was much riskier than before. For one false move here would be most unpleasant. But this has to be done.

"We’ve secured the perimeter, Herr Edelstein," his personal aide reported after giving a crisp salute. "I can't guarantee we'll be able to keep the enemy back indefinitely, but we will hold the line if need be."

"Danke, Captain Steiner." Glancing momentarily at the small group of officers and agents – all disguised as local townsfolk – the aristocrat gave a very stern yet sincere nod of approval. It was something he had mastered after centuries of discipline, not that it wholly deprived them of the hidden smile beneath the facade. Despite recognizing the dangers and secrets involved, there was a sense of pride knowing that they were all doing this in the service of their Nation and the Empire. Still, he couldn't waste any more time. "Our task is nearly done. But mark this: do not open fire unless I say so. I have no intention of letting anyone die here. Neither you nor our targets."

"Jawohl, mein Herr."

Returning the salute, Roderich turned towards the unassuming cottage. Briskly yet in stride he walked up to and opened the battered front door, his right hand discreetly grasping the Luger pistol hidden in the coat. His first view inside was of a dimly lit dining room that looked as though it had only been used yesterday. There was a stack of newspapers on the side, its headlines printed in both of the local languages. Although he showed nothing of the sort, the faint sounds of artillery in the distance didn't help in calming his nerves. Or patience for that matter. Now, where are you…

But the moment the Nation closed the door, a flash suddenly appeared from the darkness, followed immediately by a bullet hitting his right leg. Considering the nature of his kind, it would take more than a mere gunshot to "kill" him, even if temporarily. But feeling the surge of pain working its way up his body, he forced back the urge to scream. He could hear a cold laugh coming from the same spot. Or rather two of them, though one sounded much more tired  and concerned than the other.

"It's been a long time, Herr Edelstein!" one of the voices shouted mockingly in a heavy Serbian accent. "Here for another round? I didn't think your puppeteers are so low as to send the likes of you here to finish the job!"

Cautiously he limped closer towards the sounds. It wasn't long before he saw two familiar-looking Nations at the farthest end of the room, both wearing ragged Yugoslav uniforms. One was a dark-haired young man with a Bosnian patch staring on blankly in pain, while his brother stood up defiantly with an old British revolver pointed towards the aristocrat. It amazed him how they still seemed keen on fighting, even though much of their land had fallen so quickly since this whole affair began just after Christmas. So much in fact that compared to Italy, it was almost disturbing.

It is time. Clearing his throat, Austria kept his voice as stern and level as possible. "I am not here to finish your so-called job. Your rulers' ideas have brought this misfortune down on themselves! We all know that there's little but blood to be had left in this! Slovenia has willingly accepted the Empire with open arms. Croatia has likewise welcomed us the same. But I implore that you accept reason!"

"Like hell we'll surrender!" Serbia shot back. "I'm sure you did a great job in making the rest of Yugoslavia submit to your wonderful jackboots! Though I'm sure Franz Ferdinand would beg to differ…"

"Do not test my patience, Marko! You were fortunate the Great War was won in your favor. But I'm not in the mood to exact petty revenge! Not on you." Though if the aristocrat was frank, it took so much willpower not to simply bring out his pistol and aim it straight between the Serbian's eyes. I will gain nothing from it, he reminded silently to himself. "Bitte, think of the possibilities o-"

The enemy fired another shot, this time at Austria's left arm, making him wince visibly in pain. "You think I'll give up EVERYTHING I stand for just like that?!" he shouted. "I bet you’ll try to wipe us all out for our oh-so-sinful acts of defiance and fill this land with your perfect race. I'm sure you and that whore have had this all in mind this entire plan!” Serbia shot another round, this time close towards his heart. “SO IS THAT IT?! COME ON!"

I've had enough! Quickly despite the wounds, Roderich lunged as he struggled to disarm the other Nation. It took much effort trying to subdue him. He wasn't known for being physically powerful, unlike Ludwig, Gilbert or even compared to Elizaveta. But finally he was able to corner Marko to a wall, the gun tossed aside.

"Have you learned nothing?! We are not them!" he snapped tiredly before calming himself down. "Do not take me or my wife as fools! But we can all put an end to this madness. As partners and equals under the Empire." He winced, as he heard a growing commotion just outside the house. "I can guarantee the safety of you and your siblings from these troubled times. Only if you accept my offer. This mistake doesn't have to cost more lives unless you want it!"

"Listen to him brat," Bosnia spoke, his voice frail but still firm weight. "Much as it's hard to take in, Roderich's got a point. At least – he's not torturing us…"

"Toma," the Serbian gasped in surprise, speechless before finally turning back to the patiently waiting aristocrat. A concerned though resigned smirk lined his face. "Well played. It'd take a bit of time to get back to my bosses in Beograd. But don't expect us to just let bygones be bygones so easily. We all have a reputation to consider, da?"

Austria sighed in relief, cringing slightly as he stepped back. They may never be friends. But at least they came to some understanding. "Ja, likewise. I guess we all do."

While the wounds were already healing up, he knew just how much of a close call it was. Yet with storm clouds spreading across the world, this wouldn't be the last time he, Elizaveta or the rest of the growing Empire would have to face this kind of crisis. But if it means peace and glory…perhaps there's hope after all.

"So then,” he finally nodded. “Let me be the first to welcome you back to the Danube…”