*Musical Theme*
The ashes of Muscovia filled the air. Muscovia; Our beautiful city, the jewel of the southern kingdoms, the seat of learning, and discussion, of philosophy, and toleration. Markets full of the goods of all nations. A thriving Celtic quarter, great temples of foreign cults. Sprawling gardens and eccentric town houses. A city that seemed to defy the rules of urban squalor and depression, that seemed to defy the rules in general. Here all had been life, vibrant, colourful... The city of the bountiful harvest of man. Now all was death; fire, smoke, great pillars of shadow rose from its skeletal remains, towering above its broken city walls, mournful spirits rising endlessly to the heavens, the sun shrinking from the sorrowful sight.
Muscovia was ash. A city had fallen, but a people remained. With darkened, bloody faces, flames glinting in their eyes, their faces expressed a thousand variations of defiance. Battered, aching limbs somehow found the strength to shoulder arms and form up for the next battle. My brothers. My sisters. Angels. Demons from hell. Muscovians.
War raged on. The invaders, proud, arrogant, despotic, cruel, dogmatic, narrow-minded. A cruelty that sought power over the whole world. Never could it allow such an annoyance as Muscovia to survive. From across the continent they came. Opposing forces: cultural, political, spiritual, military – that fate had decreed be resolved, here, through bloodshed. And through this war, we came to know who we were. Here, at the final act, only the true remained. Those who savoured wealth, safety, comfort, conformity – they had all made their excuses somewhere along the way. Here on this battlefield, only my spirit-brothers were left. The ones who remembered what was good about life. The ones who remembered what was worth living for, and weren't afraid to die for it. The ones who dared to believe that the creator had endowed them with a greater destiny than a slave or a serf. The ones who dared to believe...
Outnumbered two to one. Our giant war banners flying high, backed by the bleeding infernal sunset of smoke and fire. A thousand war-pipes roared to life, an indescribable sound, as if the wolf-mother of the earth was howling in definance and mourning. Thousands of feet marching, weapons drumming on shields, a growing battle-chant rising to the heavens. Outnumbered, and marching forward. Marching on through the rising torrent of missiles. Here and there, one of us fell – the cry for a medic, the slight shuffling of ranks, the majestically calm face of a captain reassuring his comrades without words. And we marched on. Here, at the end of my life, there was nothing that could make me feel more alive.
As the front lines were drawn magnetically towards each other, cavalry began to make their move on the flanks – the enemy horsemen charging eagerly to envelop us. Our cavalry made their move in turn – the fire lancers. My God... Angels straight out of hell. Winged cavalrymen, dazzling white and blue armour, the ends of their great lances lowered menacingly at the enemy, sparkling and aflame with burning ropes of gunpowder, the rear ranks firing missiles and blowing screeching battle-horns that seemed to pierce the sky. Like blazing comets, flying headlong into the enemy. In those final moments, I -
*dong*
I was interrupted. By the doorbell. My fascinating book and its wars of centuries past would have to wait, laid to rest in the conservatory amongst a dozen other books and maps and drawings; my world of refuge. The mailman, cheerful and to the point as always, handed me a telegram and then dashed away, leaving me standing in an open doorway to contemplate my sudden change of fate. A cold winter breeze invaded my dressing-gown. The telegram was from the High Council of Chaisadov Militia. Two words – ACTIVATION:EMERGANCY. No other words were needed. I knew exactly what was expected of me. In the middle of the working day, there was no time for much of any goodbyes. I was soon on my way.
The whole time packing and the walk to the station, my mind was filled with questions. I didn't bother with smalltalk, I didn't spare a cent for the newspapers, as I knew I would find out soon enough. I knew that our country had involved itself in the overthrow of the Volochnaya warlords, with some heavy casualties on our part. And now, some of the Zhenkov militia had become involved in a counter-revolution in the People's Empire. It seemed the whole continent was taking up arms. But I couldn't stop wondering – just what was next? 'EMERGANCY'... 'EMERGANCY'...
It was some time into my train journey before I actually heard the news. My God. Lijian had declared war. Lijian. War. Could it be true? Will they attack? No, surely not – what about all the tension over the independence of Zhalik? Had it all been a ruse? Lijian was not some disparate band of warlords, nor was it a failed state on a distant western border. This was it. A war worthy of my history books. I had been so eager for my father to induct me into the militia... Some feelings of regret now arose.
The train slowed to enter one of the major suburbs of the capitol, the sprawling conglomerate of parklands and great stone buildings that was Nakusev. I tried to compose my inner self as I gazed out of the window. Skeletal winter trees had been decorated with electric lights. Children skated on an ice rink as their parents watched with cheerful faces. An automobile-truck, loaded with exotic fruit from Gallee Kor, made its way through streets choked with horses and carriages. If there was much of any panic here, it wasn't evident yet. Something my father had said about war – its not until the shells start bursting around you...
The train whistled and rattled forward, heading to my final stop. I found a comforting thought: Muscovia never had been rebuilt. As a city, it remained a ruin. Nothing more than farmer's fields, a war memorial and a shrine. But in the death of a city, a new people had been born – Muscovians. And if all that we had built should suffer a similar fate, it will surely give rise to something even greater. Somehow, on some terrestrial plane. If we are removed from this one...
My militia had a motto, as most did. I found mine to be particularly inspiring at this point.
WE STAND TOGETHER: IN THIS LIFE AND THE NEXT.