Now we all know that there are a million different ways for a Kaiserreich game to go. So now I thought it would be a cool idea for people to create a pov of a Kaiserreich TL. You know, like a vignette of the world that your Kaiserreich game resulted in. It can be as long or as short, complex or simple, just have fun with it.
Stories of the Kaiserreich
- Thread starter MarchingThroughGeorgia
- Start date
Story 1
Berlin was lost. By now it was clear to everyone that no help was coming. Savinkov's hordes had smashed through every defense between the Oder and the city. The Syndicalists had crossed the Rhine. The Kaiserreich was lost. For Helmut Rothman, the fall of Berlin meant that he wasn't going to live much longer. The Russians were pacifying the last pockets of resistance. Rothman had come to terms with his death. He wasn't going to die in a Siberian work camp, and now all he cared about was dealing as much damage to the Russians as possible. Helmut peered through his Mauser scope, finger on the trigger. He saw what had to be a colonel step out of a truck that rolled up to the front. Breathe, squeeze. The Mauser bucked against his shoulder. The colonel took a step and fell, dead before he hit the ground. He worked the bolt and fired, again and again, spreading chaos through the Russian lines. As far they were convinced, May 1945 was too late to die. He watched men scatter as they looked for where the gunshots were coming from. Rothman put in a new clip, and then machine guns started chattering along the German lines. A counterattack was out of the question, now they were just trying to maximize Russian casualties. The Slavs didn't take being shot at kindly. Their own guns started firing, and bullets cracked past Helmut. He ducked, worked the bolt, and popped up again. He saw a Russian speaking into a radio, and he took him out too. It was late then since artillery started hammering the Germans. Helmut ran out of the second-story building he was in, diving into a foxhole. Shells and rockets pounded the Germans. He must've really pissed off the Russians. After a while, the shelling stopped, and he heard the rumble of tanks. Nothing came easy for the Russians though. A panzerfaust took out two tanks, and the machine guns only focused on the infantry, but bit by bit each strongpoint was crushed. Helmut fired until he ran out of bullets. From the corner of his eye, he saw a man slump over his machine gun, and he rushed out of the foxhole. He was crouched and zigzagging, but it didn't matter. He got shot through the thigh and felling screaming. As he tried to push himself back up, he saw a bow machine gun turn to face him. The muzzle flashed and everything went black.
Sure. But I was hoping that this would be a community thing where anyone could write their own stories
@MarchingThroughGeorgia - an intriguing idea to be sure...might have to think of something 
Story 2
Something I wrote for the subreddit last year, the writing isn’t that good but I enjoyed making it:
”Sir, we are out of ammunition.”
His Britannic Majesty Edward VIII, King of the British Empire, sighed resignedly. He gulped down the remainder of his whiskey and set the glass firmly down on his desk. The sound of battle echoed in the distance; it’s sharp cracks and fierce booms coming closer by the minute.
“Order the men to fix bayonets.”
Edward stood up and dusted himself off. By God, he was going to look good when he showed up at St. Peter’s gates. The King found himself strangely numb to the prospect of death. In fact, ever since the Syndicalists streamed over the Canadian border he had just felt empty, devoid of any emotion. Everything was just robotic instinct. He knew he was going to die; he was not going to run away like his father. He was going to go out like a soldier.
The sun was setting just over the gentle hills of Ottawa, and Edward could just make out the dark silhouettes of the Syndicalist legions on the horizon. He gripped the hilt of his sword, and drew it from its ornate scabbard in one swift motion.
“Men of the Empire, you have fought valiantly for King and Country, you have given your lives in every corner of the globe, and struggled against these godless radicals that you now see before you. Despite our best efforts, they have manipulated the masses and invaded our homes. Now, we stand here ready to meet our fates and that is all we can do. I am giving the order to charge... we will likely die but it is surely better than living for what comes next. Canada will be a noble monument for us.”
A fierce cheer went up throughout the ranks, and they surged forward against their foe.
———
Corporal Joseph Raymond McCarthy grunted as kicked over another bloodied loyalist corpse.
“We sure did a number on ‘em, didn’t we Higgins?”
“Shut up, Joe.” Sergeant Higgins snarled. It had been a long day of fighting through the ruined streets of Ottawa, and just when they thought it was over, 5,000 damned royalists came pouring over the hill.
“Whaddaya think happened to ol’ King Ed? Tucked tail and ran like his daddy ‘s my guess.” Joe trampled over another corpse riddled with bullet holes.
“Probably dead... can’t see him livin’ another exile...” Higgins trailed off. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to a lowly corporal about such things but McCarthy was always was running his mouth. Some of the older men said that out in Arkansas an AUS man jammed a machine gun down his throat and that’s why he kept jabbering on. The notion made Higgins chuckle silently to himself, McCarthy didn’t notice.
Joe McCarthy trudged on, until something caught his eye. The moonlight reflected off of something on the ground. He figured it was a bayonet until he spied the curvature of it. Bending down, he picked up a blood stained sabre. Even through the wear and grime he could see it was beautiful and jeweled. Curious as to the poor bastard who owned it, Joe kicked over the corpse.
“Sarge, think ya better come over here and see this...”
“Think ya know someone??” The sergeant ridiculed.
“Why, I think it’s King Edward hisself.”
The last King of the British Empire lay in an unnamed and unmarked field in eastern Canada, bleeding from 20 different wounds. He had given his life for his country, but in the end it made no difference. It was surely an ignominious end to the greatest empire the world had ever seen.
”Sir, we are out of ammunition.”
His Britannic Majesty Edward VIII, King of the British Empire, sighed resignedly. He gulped down the remainder of his whiskey and set the glass firmly down on his desk. The sound of battle echoed in the distance; it’s sharp cracks and fierce booms coming closer by the minute.
“Order the men to fix bayonets.”
Edward stood up and dusted himself off. By God, he was going to look good when he showed up at St. Peter’s gates. The King found himself strangely numb to the prospect of death. In fact, ever since the Syndicalists streamed over the Canadian border he had just felt empty, devoid of any emotion. Everything was just robotic instinct. He knew he was going to die; he was not going to run away like his father. He was going to go out like a soldier.
The sun was setting just over the gentle hills of Ottawa, and Edward could just make out the dark silhouettes of the Syndicalist legions on the horizon. He gripped the hilt of his sword, and drew it from its ornate scabbard in one swift motion.
“Men of the Empire, you have fought valiantly for King and Country, you have given your lives in every corner of the globe, and struggled against these godless radicals that you now see before you. Despite our best efforts, they have manipulated the masses and invaded our homes. Now, we stand here ready to meet our fates and that is all we can do. I am giving the order to charge... we will likely die but it is surely better than living for what comes next. Canada will be a noble monument for us.”
A fierce cheer went up throughout the ranks, and they surged forward against their foe.
———
Corporal Joseph Raymond McCarthy grunted as kicked over another bloodied loyalist corpse.
“We sure did a number on ‘em, didn’t we Higgins?”
“Shut up, Joe.” Sergeant Higgins snarled. It had been a long day of fighting through the ruined streets of Ottawa, and just when they thought it was over, 5,000 damned royalists came pouring over the hill.
“Whaddaya think happened to ol’ King Ed? Tucked tail and ran like his daddy ‘s my guess.” Joe trampled over another corpse riddled with bullet holes.
“Probably dead... can’t see him livin’ another exile...” Higgins trailed off. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to a lowly corporal about such things but McCarthy was always was running his mouth. Some of the older men said that out in Arkansas an AUS man jammed a machine gun down his throat and that’s why he kept jabbering on. The notion made Higgins chuckle silently to himself, McCarthy didn’t notice.
Joe McCarthy trudged on, until something caught his eye. The moonlight reflected off of something on the ground. He figured it was a bayonet until he spied the curvature of it. Bending down, he picked up a blood stained sabre. Even through the wear and grime he could see it was beautiful and jeweled. Curious as to the poor bastard who owned it, Joe kicked over the corpse.
“Sarge, think ya better come over here and see this...”
“Think ya know someone??” The sergeant ridiculed.
“Why, I think it’s King Edward hisself.”
The last King of the British Empire lay in an unnamed and unmarked field in eastern Canada, bleeding from 20 different wounds. He had given his life for his country, but in the end it made no difference. It was surely an ignominious end to the greatest empire the world had ever seen.
Story 3
A New World
Chicago, Commonwealth of America, 15 November 1941, 19:00
Carmen’s glasses fogged up the moment she walked into the small apartment, the deep cold that she’d been feeling on the walk home evaporating instantly.
Katie was right beside her in a second, wheeling her wheelchair over to the door and trying to take Carmen’s coat. “You’re just in time! She’ll be on the air in seconds!”
Carmen laughed. “Still trying to do stuff for me. But you really don’t have to.” She hung her coat up and sniffed the air appreciatively. “Like you don’t have to cook...Dios mio, I said I’d cook tonight!”
Katie wheeled back from the door, still grinning. “Eh, no big deal. It’s just stew - I kept it on a low heat all day while I was at the library.”
Carmen felt guilt and relief war inside her. Guilt at having Katie do that after a day’s work, and relief that she wouldn’t have to. The idea of cooking after a hard day at the factory had been a terrifying one.
As though sensing her thoughts, Katie took her hand. “Besides, I like doing it. I never got to before the war, not in my house...”
Carmen crouched next to her, cutting her off with a kiss. “Thanks,” she said, cupping Katie’s face gently. “For...everything.”
Katie blushed prettily, her normally-pale skin turning a lovely shade of red. “C’mon. I got a couple of beers out, Mr Cho gave me a discount...”
Carmen followed her over to the couch. The apartment was definitely small - one of the new ones that had been run up quickly after the war ended - but it was dry, clean, and most importantly it was free. The only costs were electricity and water, both of which were cheaper than before the war.
Of course, not all the country was so lucky. They were still rebuilding in so many places - a lot of Carmen and Katie’s militia buddies were working Reconstruction and Reclamation across the continent - but here in Chicago was good.
Carmen sat down, then reached forward and carefully lifted Katie out of her chair, positioning the smaller woman on her lap and putting an arm around her waist. Grinning, Katie picked up a couple of bottles of homebrew from the table and handed one to Carmen. Carmen hid a grin - this definitely wasn’t the kind of thing Katie would have drunk when she was younger. She kept that thought to herself, though - Katie had never liked to be reminded of her rich family, or how they’d cut her off when she went to join the militia.
Carmen bit her lip as memory flooded back. It had literally just been a week from the war ending when an AUS bullet had hit Katie, robbing her of the ability to walk... She felt her eyes sting.
Katie squeezed her hand. “It’s OK. I’m OK.”
Carmen hugged her. “How’d your day go?”
“OK. Quiet - most of us were listening to the news. Don’t think I really relaxed until we heard that it had finally been signed into law.” She frowned a little. “Not everyone was happy - I wasn’t surprised when Mrs Armbruster turned her nose up but a couple of other, younger folks who I hadn’t expected...”
Carmen nodded. “Yeah...figured that. Same deal in the factory.” She drank thoughtfully. “Figure it’ll take a while for folks to get used to the idea.”
“I hope they do.” Katie laid her head on Carmen’s shoulder. “Still glad about it, whatever happens.”
“Yeah. Me too.” Carmen knew she’d remember today for the rest of her life, no matter what.
Katie drank. “News from the rest of the world was mixed. The British won another big sea battle against the Germans, but didn’t sound like much had changed on the ground.”
“Yeah. Lot of people at the factory think we’re gonna have to get involved.” Carmen sighed. "I mean, don't get me wrong, we need to support other Syndicalist countries, but...it's so soon, we're still patching ourselves up."
"Oh, for sure! But if Canada joins in on Germany's side..."
Carmen nodded. If that happened, the Commonwealth of America would have to drive North, and commit fully to helping the other Internationale nations rather than just shipping aid across. "Or if Canada just decides to go against the Internationale. Word is that the King and that lunatic in Russia are getting mighty close." And if she was honest, war with Canada was pretty much inevitable as long as they didn't hand back
"True." Katie sighed. "And in Asia, Japan defeated the Dutch-Australasian fleet that was defending the East Indies. I mean, it's good that the war there's hurting Germany, but there's fighting everywhere..."
Carmen was about to say something when a familiar voice came floating out of the wireless. A voice that by now, everyone in the Commonwealth of America recognised.
"My friends." Comrade Flynn's tones were gentle, but with a definite firmness of purpose underpinning them. "I want to talk with the people of the Commonwealth of America for a few minutes about the legislation that was signed into law today." She paused, Carmen and Katie hanging on every word she said. "Since the Family Code was first proposed, and since debate began in the People's Congress, it has stirred debate like little else. Debate, and opposition from many, in particular from religious groups."
"And from Southerners who didn't like miscegenation being legally protected," Carmen muttered.
"However, with the Code's passing by Congress, and its signing into law, I felt it important to discuss the importance of the Code's provisions with the American people. In particular, its permission and protection of inter-racial marriages, and its legalisation of homosexuality."
Carmen and Katie squeezed one another's hands, Katie squeezing so hard that it nearly hurt.
"There is a lot I could say on this subject, but at heart, it is fundamentally intertwined with the very reason for the election of President Reed, the rise of Syndicalism and the formation of the Commonwealth." Comrade Flynn paused. "Syndicalism, at its heart, is about unity. About we, the people, coming together to make a new future for ourselves. All of the people. And this law is an attempt to, in this part of life at least, correct a historical injustice and give all of our people - whether white, black, Asiatic, Hispanic, heterosexual or homosexual - certain rights that everyone should be given in a truly equal nation, but that have been denied for them."
Carmen saw tears running from Katie's green eyes, and felt her own eyes burn. The law wasn't everything - it didn't give people like them the right to be married - but as well as making it explicitly legal for consenting adults of both genders, the Code had also recognised cohabitation as legally equivalent to marriage, provided the couple could prove that they had been cohabiting for a year or more.
We've been living together ever since the war ended. We can easily qualify for recognition. Which would make a lot of things easier, so much easier... And if either of them fell ill, the other could visit them in hospital and be involved in their care.
"...because, at the end of the day," she heard Comrade Flynn saying, "if we can't all come together, if we can't recognise our common comradeship, then what was the war for? What was the creation of our new nation for?"
"I..." Katie sniffed. "I never thought she'd go that far..."
Carmen nodded. "Me neither."
No. She truly would remember this day forever.
* * *
A/N: This is based on an event that can happen in a Syndicalist America: a piece of legislation called the Family Code gets enacted in 1941, which among other things does the following:
- Recognises cohabitation and marriage as being equal;
- Abolishes anti-miscegenation laws;
- Establishes no-grounds divorce;
- Abolishes the idea of illegitimacy - all children are entitled to parental support and equal rights; and
- Legalises homosexuality.
since its a commonwealth, I can see America giving autonomy to the pacific states, new England and other states that want more autonomy. also, it looks like Canada is going to invade Britain and it's not going to go well. also, will you do a story on Ireland, as I feel they are not spotlight enough in these stories.
Hey man, this is a community thing. If you want, you could write a story about Ireland
Story 4
So here is a teaser for my AAR. Part of the introduction chapter to Jayajala Muten feel free to provide feedback and thoughts.
The Vow
Several weeks had passed since Muten had become an officer and he was attending a family gathering. Muten knew it was a somber occasion but it should be a happy occasion. Every few years all the family members would gather together to honor their ancestors. In the past this would be a far more happy occasion. However, because the events were now in Beijing, it was always a reminder that the Qing had lost Manchuria, something that Muten despised with a passion.
“Mutengge, why is everyone sad? Family gatherings should be happy.” His little niece said.
“Because we are not allowed to go to Jilin and visit our ancestors.” Muten said.
“And why not? We have the money, and our family are nobles.” She asked innocently. She did not grasp the politics of things. Jilin was deep within Fengtian territory, the Japanese lap dogs.
“Because of Zhang Zhoulin who rules the warlord Fengtian.” He said.
“Well he is a big Meanie. If he ever came here, I would go right up to him and tell him that we should be able to visit our ancestral shrine. Hrmph.” She said. Now that would be a sight Muten would have loved to see even if he knew it was impossible. The vicious warlord Zhang Zhoulin of the Fengtian being yelled at to his face by a six year old girl. It was a silly image but one that brought a smile to his face.
The Jayajala clan made their way to the shrine in Beijing. It was located within the Dongcheng district of the city. The shrine included not just the building that housed the shrine but the courtyard as well where most of the rituals would be done. In addition to the Chinese characters in the shrine there was the Jayajala's clan name written out in Manchu.
As the day progressed, prayers and hymns to the ancestors were sung. Muten watched men and women kneel and kowtow to their ancestors, each saying their own private prayer. Each person placed the candles on the shrine or burned incenses. Everyone though was wearing their most elaborate clothes, most of which would not look out of place in court a few centuries ago.
When it came time for Muten to approach the ancestral shrine, he followed protocol like everyone before and after him did. As he kowtowed to the ancestors he spoke his prayer softly but with conviction. "Ancestors, watch over us. The homeland I vow will be reclaimed. If I have to suffer pain and misery a thousandfold, than so be it. I shall not rest till we can perform this ceremony in Jilin where it should be done. This I vow to you.”
Later during the celebratory feast that followed the ceremony, Muten ran into his niece.
"Mutengge, you seemed rather tensed during the ceremony. I hope nothing is bothering you." She asked innocently.
"Conviction, not tense. Make the prayers strong and firm and whom you are praying to are bound to listen".
"Well I hope the ancestors hear. We did all that for them." She responded.
"As do I. Lets rejoin the festivities. I do believe they are going to bring out the Nian Go." He said to which his niece smiled at the mention of nian go.
The Vow
Several weeks had passed since Muten had become an officer and he was attending a family gathering. Muten knew it was a somber occasion but it should be a happy occasion. Every few years all the family members would gather together to honor their ancestors. In the past this would be a far more happy occasion. However, because the events were now in Beijing, it was always a reminder that the Qing had lost Manchuria, something that Muten despised with a passion.
“Mutengge, why is everyone sad? Family gatherings should be happy.” His little niece said.
“Because we are not allowed to go to Jilin and visit our ancestors.” Muten said.
“And why not? We have the money, and our family are nobles.” She asked innocently. She did not grasp the politics of things. Jilin was deep within Fengtian territory, the Japanese lap dogs.
“Because of Zhang Zhoulin who rules the warlord Fengtian.” He said.
“Well he is a big Meanie. If he ever came here, I would go right up to him and tell him that we should be able to visit our ancestral shrine. Hrmph.” She said. Now that would be a sight Muten would have loved to see even if he knew it was impossible. The vicious warlord Zhang Zhoulin of the Fengtian being yelled at to his face by a six year old girl. It was a silly image but one that brought a smile to his face.
The Jayajala clan made their way to the shrine in Beijing. It was located within the Dongcheng district of the city. The shrine included not just the building that housed the shrine but the courtyard as well where most of the rituals would be done. In addition to the Chinese characters in the shrine there was the Jayajala's clan name written out in Manchu.
As the day progressed, prayers and hymns to the ancestors were sung. Muten watched men and women kneel and kowtow to their ancestors, each saying their own private prayer. Each person placed the candles on the shrine or burned incenses. Everyone though was wearing their most elaborate clothes, most of which would not look out of place in court a few centuries ago.
When it came time for Muten to approach the ancestral shrine, he followed protocol like everyone before and after him did. As he kowtowed to the ancestors he spoke his prayer softly but with conviction. "Ancestors, watch over us. The homeland I vow will be reclaimed. If I have to suffer pain and misery a thousandfold, than so be it. I shall not rest till we can perform this ceremony in Jilin where it should be done. This I vow to you.”
Later during the celebratory feast that followed the ceremony, Muten ran into his niece.
"Mutengge, you seemed rather tensed during the ceremony. I hope nothing is bothering you." She asked innocently.
"Conviction, not tense. Make the prayers strong and firm and whom you are praying to are bound to listen".
"Well I hope the ancestors hear. We did all that for them." She responded.
"As do I. Lets rejoin the festivities. I do believe they are going to bring out the Nian Go." He said to which his niece smiled at the mention of nian go.
Research this? most of it was made up as a way to introduce the character for the AAR.
Deleted member 107125
Oh. Never have I felt so betrayedResearch this? most of it was made up as a way to introduce the character for the AAR.
Deleted member 82792
Will we see more of this character?Research this? most of it was made up as a way to introduce the character for the AAR.
Yes, Muten is one of the main characters for my AAR.
Also thoughts and feedback for that little section?
Story 5
Oh this looks fun, let me just repurpose something else I wrote real quick:
Excerpt from the journal of Sgt. Thomas McClellan, 1st Pacific "Grizzley" Mountain Infantry.
"June 16th, 1938.
Idaho Springs, Colorado.
Well we've done it. We made it through the old pass by the blown out rail-line, McArthurites probably had a good laugh when they took it out, but they hadn't cottoned to who the hell was coming this way, and after the Rockies, this was almost a pleasant walk. Minus the couple of militia types who tried to make a stand with their grandfather's old rifles, bunch of children filed with tales about how we were nothing but servants of the Yellow Devils of Japan, or the great unwashed Mexican hoards, or the collective second coming of Benedict Arnold. Would have liked to have taken them without incident, but Fernandez took a round to the shin that shattered, but they surrendered not too long after, thank God for Japan handing out knee mortars like candy, damn kids nearly shat themselves into surrender at that particular surprise. Had to order Wójcik back after they were captured, he would have opened up on the lot of them, prisoners or not, for shooting one of the originals like Fernandez, not for the last time I am grateful that Freeman could out wrestle one of our namesake, never mind a 5 foot nothing Polish-American. We couldn't send them back down the pass we were clearing, not unless they wanted to run into the entire Army of the Mississippi, and even then the first unit they would have met would likely have confirmed their fears about the Japanese, and I'd probably have Lt Tanaka up here confused to hell as to what was going on. So instead I had them with us, when I took the rest of the platoon into town. Probably helped honestly, though the boys mothers were probably almost as much a threat to their lives as Wójcik was. After that, it was a matter of talking to the mayor, convincing him that we were not there to rape, pillage and burn, in that order, but were just here to do what we had been doing the whole way on the road from Salt Lake City.
By the time the Mississippi moved up, myself and the rest of the troops were sat around the town taking a breather. Baker and Barnes had drawn a crowd, as usual, and as always I could see that some of the women talking to our two women sniper team were a mix of outrage, intrigue and down right jealousy. Reed and the Syndies may have been the first to let women serve in front line roles, but we hadn't been far behind and it appears that the wannabe Caesar still hasn't given up his bullshit views on the place of women. Freeman had a crowd as well, though thankfully it was mainly other African-Americans and not like the situation back in Salt Lake with the angry Mormons. I was sat watching as Cpt Jones caught up with the rest of the 1st to do the official flag transfer, and I couldn't help but approve as he gave up his Nissan to get Fernandez back to a field hospital, the towns doctor, bless his soul, had been working with Pavlov's field aid to keep it from being infected or totally fucked up.
He didn't say a word to me before he started talking to the mayor and organised the correct procedure, company fall in, parade formation. It was something I had seen dozens of times now, even before I volunteered, but still it cut to my very heart. The single white bear of California beneath the white star of the Pacific on a field of red, coupled with the red and white stripes of the 13 colonies, acting as a promise for where this whole thing would end. Flying above it on the pole though, remained the Stars and Stripes of the US of A, President Merriam had been insistent that we were not going to conquer our fellow Americans, but to restore to them what a King, a Caesar and a Tyrant had taken from them. I don't care, I simply view it the same as I have every other time, an affirmation that my platoon survived, that the dream of America survives, and so long as that holds true, I will not care if I die in this year or the next.
Excerpt from the journal of Sgt. Thomas McClellan, 1st Pacific "Grizzley" Mountain Infantry.
"June 16th, 1938.
Idaho Springs, Colorado.
Well we've done it. We made it through the old pass by the blown out rail-line, McArthurites probably had a good laugh when they took it out, but they hadn't cottoned to who the hell was coming this way, and after the Rockies, this was almost a pleasant walk. Minus the couple of militia types who tried to make a stand with their grandfather's old rifles, bunch of children filed with tales about how we were nothing but servants of the Yellow Devils of Japan, or the great unwashed Mexican hoards, or the collective second coming of Benedict Arnold. Would have liked to have taken them without incident, but Fernandez took a round to the shin that shattered, but they surrendered not too long after, thank God for Japan handing out knee mortars like candy, damn kids nearly shat themselves into surrender at that particular surprise. Had to order Wójcik back after they were captured, he would have opened up on the lot of them, prisoners or not, for shooting one of the originals like Fernandez, not for the last time I am grateful that Freeman could out wrestle one of our namesake, never mind a 5 foot nothing Polish-American. We couldn't send them back down the pass we were clearing, not unless they wanted to run into the entire Army of the Mississippi, and even then the first unit they would have met would likely have confirmed their fears about the Japanese, and I'd probably have Lt Tanaka up here confused to hell as to what was going on. So instead I had them with us, when I took the rest of the platoon into town. Probably helped honestly, though the boys mothers were probably almost as much a threat to their lives as Wójcik was. After that, it was a matter of talking to the mayor, convincing him that we were not there to rape, pillage and burn, in that order, but were just here to do what we had been doing the whole way on the road from Salt Lake City.
By the time the Mississippi moved up, myself and the rest of the troops were sat around the town taking a breather. Baker and Barnes had drawn a crowd, as usual, and as always I could see that some of the women talking to our two women sniper team were a mix of outrage, intrigue and down right jealousy. Reed and the Syndies may have been the first to let women serve in front line roles, but we hadn't been far behind and it appears that the wannabe Caesar still hasn't given up his bullshit views on the place of women. Freeman had a crowd as well, though thankfully it was mainly other African-Americans and not like the situation back in Salt Lake with the angry Mormons. I was sat watching as Cpt Jones caught up with the rest of the 1st to do the official flag transfer, and I couldn't help but approve as he gave up his Nissan to get Fernandez back to a field hospital, the towns doctor, bless his soul, had been working with Pavlov's field aid to keep it from being infected or totally fucked up.
He didn't say a word to me before he started talking to the mayor and organised the correct procedure, company fall in, parade formation. It was something I had seen dozens of times now, even before I volunteered, but still it cut to my very heart. The single white bear of California beneath the white star of the Pacific on a field of red, coupled with the red and white stripes of the 13 colonies, acting as a promise for where this whole thing would end. Flying above it on the pole though, remained the Stars and Stripes of the US of A, President Merriam had been insistent that we were not going to conquer our fellow Americans, but to restore to them what a King, a Caesar and a Tyrant had taken from them. I don't care, I simply view it the same as I have every other time, an affirmation that my platoon survived, that the dream of America survives, and so long as that holds true, I will not care if I die in this year or the next.