III
Yet Darker
Friedrich Georg.
4th of April, 2162.
Moscow, Russian SR.
Months of planning. That was the effort Friedrich had put into this. Months and months. President Lvov had called Nicholas Lenin, the highest commander in the army. And that was not good, not good at all. He had not been able to get as many of his fellow army mean to join his side, and he feared some would betray him, saving the President would probably get you a larger price than being an upjumped revolutionary would.
“Friedrich, come on. We’re going to the Kremlin.” Vladimir said, slapping him on the shoulder. “We’ve got this.”
“Yeah, yeah. Save the President.” He nodded his head, following between Vladimir and Boleslaw.
They left the camp, walking with the rest of the army along a dirt road. Vladimir tapped him on the shoulder, “I know a shortcut. It’d be great if we got there before everyone else.”
Friedrich nodded once more, following along. Vladimir and Boleslaw had seemed the most open to the plot when he had told them about him. And he knew they were good, he had fought alongside them in a war or two during his time in their army. He followed them into the forests, the night was falling over Moscow. Today would be their triumph, he thought with a smile.
He had been caught lost in his thought of triumph, because a fist smashed right against the back of his head. The world started spinning as he stumbled around, the evening spreading dark around the forest. “Vladimir! Boleslaw!” He shouted, pleading for help. But there was no response, only another fist connecting with his skull. The world went dark for a moment, and he slammed into the ground hard. “Help! Help!” He begged once more, trying to push himself up from the ground. A foot slammed down on his foot, twisting on it. His hand made the gut-wrenching sound of bones shattering and breaking, causing him to let out a yelp of agony. He opened his eyes, staring straight up into the eyes of Boleslaw. “Why?” He asked weakly, quivering in pain from his shattered hand. “Loyalty is rewarded around here. You of all people should know that, Fri--”
BANG!
Boleslaw fell to the ground, blood streaming from the side of his head where a bullet had entered. Vladimir rushed to Friedrich’s side, “Friedrich! Friedrich, are you alright? What did he do?” Friedrich gestured to his hand, and Vladimir nodded. “Come on, we have to get going.” He reached a hand down to Friedrich, and Friedrich reached his healthy hand up to take his. As Vladimir pulled Friedrich up, he pointed his gun toward him, firing a bullet right into his gut. Friedrich screamed in agony, falling back into the dirt, blood spreading from his wound onto his shirt and the ground around him.
“Sorry,” Vladimir said, offering a mocking apologetic smile. “As Boleslaw said, loyalty is rewarded around here.” He poked his boot into Friedrich’s wound, causing him to flinch. “And, well, I’m just not going to share that reward with anyone.”
Friedrich’s vision was fading, slowly. Everything was getting darker and darker by the second, and he was unsure whether it was because of it nearing nighttime, or if it was the blood that was steadily flowing out of his body. He groaned, trying to move himself up.
“Oh no. No, no. Friedrich, stop trying, okay? You tried, you failed. Give up, okay?” Vladimir shook his head, sighing as he raised the gun to level with Friedrich’s head. Friedrich leaned back into the dirt, meekly shrugging his shoulders.
Just as Vladimir was going to pull the trigger, gunfire erupted from the woods. Apparently the rest of the army had heard the commotion coming from the forest, and a dying Marshal in the dirt did not look good for Vladimir. Vladimir ran off, followed by gunfire. Friedrich tried to push himself up to see if Vladimir had escaped, but he was too weak, too close to death. Soldiers rushed to his side, but it was all too late. “Magnus…” Friedrich whispered, likely his final words, as the darkness drew closer to him, and everything faded.
He found himself in a wooden hut in the jungle. It was nice and cosy, and he was playing a card game with Sebastian, August and Maximilian. “Fish,” Sebastian said.
Friedrich snapped back into it. “Drat!” He exclaimed, reaching over to the pile of cards and drawing the Queen of Hearts. The small town in the jungle was a place he could picture himself going on vacation to. It was right next to a lake with clean water, there were a few farms which seemed to offer them all the food they needed, if not they also had cattle and other livestock on the pastures around the farm. Him, August and Maximilian had been prisoners here for almost a month now, but it certainly didn’t feel like a prison, and they had easily made friends with the leader, Sebastian the Dane, at least that’s what the townspeople called him. Friedrich had never been to the Danish SR, but since Sebastian had fled to Africa and started fighting in a revolution, he supposed it wasn’t that nice a place. But this town, Sebastian had made it his home, and it was beginning to feel like a home to Friedrich too, he didn’t particularly want to go back to the German SR.
“Any fours?” August asked Maximilian, who passed him the four of spades.
A townsman came running into the hut, “Sebastian! Sebastian! They are here.” He stated, he appeared to be panicked and in fear. “More than expected.”
Sebastian sighed, “Friedrich, August and Maximilian, I suppose this might be where we part ways.” He offered the three of them an apologetic smile. “I suppose you’ll return to your normal lives once this is over, free slaves going back to your dull lives in the German SR.” He shook his head, drawing in a deep sigh. “But, I’m going to give you a chance. You can fight with me, we can make a change.”
August and Maximilian immediately offered to fight with him, and they were given guns by the townspeople. AK-47s. Sebastian looked expectantly at Friedrich, “So?” He asked, offering a weak smile to Friedrich.
Friedrich wanted to, he truly wanted to help Sebastian, he wanted to take up the fight, for this small community he had discovered could so easily be a home. But he couldn’t, he had to go home, he had to return to his family. His wife, his son, his parents, his brothers, his sisters, all of them. He needed to go back home.
Friedrich gulped, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Sebastian’s smile only widened at that. “You have something you believe in, don’t you? Something that matters to you more than this war.” He nodded his head, he pulled an AR-15 off of his belt, offering it to Friedrich. “This belongs to you. I’m sorry we have to become enemies again.”
“Thank you, Sebastian. And we’re not enemies, we’re still friends.” He smiled to Sebastian, tipping his head in a nod. “I hope we’ll meet again.”
“Same to you, Friedrich.” Sebastian smiled, before gesturing for Friedrich to leave.
Almost as soon as Friedrich left the hut, gunfire started from almost all sides of the jungle around the village. Civilians were dying all around, and so were the guerillas. Friedrich rushed into cover, he had no intention of being shot. He could see August, Maximilian and Sebastian, they were hiding in cover behind a hut, shooting into the jungle. A few shots were fired from the jungle towards Friedrich, he started running towards the jungle, straight into a group of soldiers from the USSR. They all immediately pointed their AR-15s at Friedrich. “Identify yourself.” One demanded.
“Friedrich Georg, only surviving member of the 7th Group of the German SR.” He quickly responded, saluting the soldiers.
“Magnus Hansson, leader of the 1st Group of the Swedish SR.” The soldier responded, returning the salute. “Are you ready to slaughter some revolutionary dogs?” Magnus asked, breaking into a chuckle.
Friedrich nodded his head reluctantly, but he had no choice. He joined Magnus’ group, and it became a total bloodbath. Civilians, revolutionaries, and soldiers all fell alike. None of them were anything but men fighting for what they believed in. To Friedrich’s relief, he saw Sebastian, August and Maximilian flee into the forest, albeit it did not make him feel better about the slaughter he had participated in. There were no civilians, nor revolutionaries left alive in the town, and many fewer soldiers than there were at the start. The only member of the 1st Group of the Swedish SR who had survived was Magnus Hansson, but thankfully they were not the only two. Many groups of soldiers were alive, and one of them approached the two.
“What a victory, eh boys?” A soldier asked, evidently the leader of his group. “Alexander von Markev, leader of the 3rd Group of the German SR.” He saluted the two of them with a smile.
“Friedrich Georg, leader of the 7th Group of the German SR.” He returned the salute.
“Magnus Hansson, leader of the 1st Group of the Swedish SR.” Magnus saluted.
“You two don’t seem to be leading much anymore.” Alexander jested, patting the two of them on their shoulders. “We best get going, before the revolutionaries find out what happened here. They’ll certainly be out for blood.”