Subject: NEW: Engineers of the Future (1/2) by Dragan Antulov Date: Mon, 28 Jun 1999 09:51:06 +0200 From: "Dragan Antulov" Organization: HiNet Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative TITLE: Engineers of the Future AUTHOR: Dragan Antulov E-MAIL: dragan.antulov@st.tel.hr CATEGORY: T RATING: PG SPOILERS: The End KEYWORDS: Pre-XF SUMMARY: Krycek, male bonding and mutual kissing... But not what you usually expect ARCHIVE: Gossamer yes; others with previous notification DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on characters created by Chris Carter, Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions. The characters named are the property of those entities and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Special thanks to Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Anna Otto for helping me to polish this story. Author's notes are available at the end. Engineers of the Future X-Files Fan Fiction Story by Dragan Antulov "They're the engineers of the future. They... they are the real revolutionaries." (Alex Krycek, "Tunguska") Somewhere on the road between Lutsk and Chortkov, Eastern Poland June 9th 1916 A huge column of men and a couple of wagons were crawling over the muddy field, with the country path almost unusable because of the mud and shell craters. The men were dressed in uniforms, but only the close observer could tell their cyan color with certainty; from the distance the uniforms looked brown, either from mud or from dried blood. The close observer could see that the men were tired, yet still determined not to stay at one place. They were still walking, slowly, mechanically, barely moving but still, walking. For them nothing else mattered but to remain on their two feet and not to stay in one place. However, their determination was beginning to be a losing battle with the laws of nature, and their pace was slower and slower. To their big surprise, something approached them from an unexpected direction - west. It was a motor car, with two officers and the driver. Curses followed gasps of surprise as soon as some of them recognized tall, gray-haired man with the black cylinder cap, worn only by the highest ranking officers. Colonel Albrecht Maximilian von Langenek-Rutowski de Trientini, the equivalent of God's Whip in 1st Austro-Hungarian Army. He gave the signal to the driver to stop the car, and stepped out, with bold, energetic moves, so in contrast with the resignation of the men in the column. "Is there any officer here?" One of the men stepped out of the column. He was young, dark-haired and with a face that hadn't seen a razor in last three days. However, his salute was perfect. "Lieutenant Mlinar, 2nd Platoon, 6th Field Company, 2nd Battalion, 26th Regiment, 83rd Brigade, 42nd Division, Royal Hungarian-Croatian Homeguards, sir." "This doesn't look like a platoon, Lieutenant. More like a company, or even battalion. Where is your commanding officer?" "I'm the highest ranking here. Most of the officers in my company are either dead, captured or ran away. The rest of my platoon was wiped out when the Russians broke through the Second Line three days ago. I took and patched up what's left of it, and picked up stragglers as we retreated. As you may see..." Mlinar pointed towards some of the men with red fezes. "Those stragglers are from all over. Bosnian Shooters, Alpine Shooters, Honved Bicycle Infantry, Carynthian Landsturm, 8th Corps, 9th Corps, 1st Army Artillery reserve... Some of them I'm not even sure where are they from... Their language might be Rumanian..." "Good work. Have you tried to get in touch with someone outranking you?" "Sir, you are the first one we encountered in last day or two. Besides, we were making our way mostly through the crops or woods. The open roads are clogged and, every once in a while, Russians are shelling them with long range artillery... As you can imagine, when it happens, the roads are unusable, and it's faster if we move around." "You mean, `safer'?" The tone in old officer's voice was slightly cynical. "I must commend you, Lieutenant. What an ingenious way to avoid someone that could give you the right orders." Mlinar was slightly surprised, but his demeanor as a professional soldier remained unchanged. "Sir, I'm awaiting yours." "All right. How many men and equipment do you have?" "Around a hundred and fifty men and four horse teams. We picked around thirty wounded. Half of them died on the way here." "Have you noticed any abandoned machineguns, mortars or artillery around the way?" "Yes, but our wagons were already packed with wounded. And, besides, we didn't have time to spend looking for proper ammunition." "Mein Gott! No support weapons. How about rifles?" "Yes. Most of the men have them. But the spare ammunition is scarce." "You have shovels?" "Yes..." Mlinar suddenly realized the real implications of the question, and his face gave away to sudden despair. "Then dig. Make a defensive line and hold it until further orders." "But, sir... My men are dead tired. They've been marching for three days... Not to mention that they haven't eaten a proper meal..." "You are to make the defensive line here!" Mlinar looked around. He saw the disappointment and despair on his men's faces. They, as he, didn't have to spend years at Theresianum Military Academy to know that this piece of flat, muddy land was anything but suitable for a defensive position. The old man gave the order only to punish them. "Sir, but... This isn't a proper defensive position... If you look at that hill a kilometer and half to the west... It's much better..." Mlinar was getting really panicky and desperate. "Yes, I know. But the Russians know it too. They would expect you to take that hill and would simply outflank you. If they come at you here, they will be surprised and you'll manage to stand your ground. And, besides, your task isn't to stop their advance elements. Only to hold them, until I get the rest of this sorry army in order... Don't worry. Falkenhayn is sending his German reserves - the real army - for a counter-attack. They know how to deal with Russians." "Sir," Mlinar slightly raised his voice, with his panic turning into determination. "My men aren't capable of holding this line. They are hungry, tired and they can hardly dig a few holes before they drop dead. We have a couple of rifles, no ammunition, no support, no supplies... One company is enough to take us out... Besides, I don't know how to give them proper orders in a firefight... Most of them can't speak German, and some can't speak anything other than Hungarian... The most we'd be able to do is get one or two Cossacks in a reconnaissance patrol before they bring in a company or two and slaughter us all in the first charge..." "Mlinar?" The tone in Colonel's voice became sarcastic again. "That's a Czech name, if I'm correct?" "No, sir. As I said, I'm from the Royal Hungarian-Croatian Homeguards. I'm Croat." "Croats... You think, just because you are Catholics, that we should forget that you speak the same language as those treacherous Serb vermin? And that you share their simple, unworthy blood? Tell me, Lieutenant, what were you as a civilian?" "Sir..." It wasn't the first time that Mlinar heard those insults, but he never got used to it. "Law clerk." "Oho, intellectual! Dear God, we have a smart one here. Look what happens when we allow common peasants to read and write. Next thing, they go to universities and start thinking they are smarter than us. They think they can make this war better than us. Or that we shouldn't make this war in the first place. You know why I asked you whether you were Czech, Lieutenant?" "No, sir..." "You think that people in Lemberg Headquarters don't have an idea what's going on the front? You think that we don't know why the Russians managed to pierce through the entire front in one charge? Because Czech regiments surrendered without a fight! Damn traitors! And you Croats aren't any better. Nor are Poles, Ukrainians, Slovaks and any other traitor who doesn't want to fight their fellow Slavs..." "But, sir, my..." "Mein Gott, you actually tried to speak to your commanding officer without authorization! What an arrogance! But, the party is over... You know why they sent me here? To get this army in order. And my men are doing it as we speak. If you reach Kovel and Lemberg, you'll see entire woods decorated with hanged Czech and Polish deserters... That scum didn't deserve death by a firing squad. That's only for true soldiers with honor, not common thieves." Then the Colonel approached Mlinar and gave him the most serious look imaginable. "Lieutenant Mlinar, are you aware what powers I have under the current regulations? We are in the middle of the war zone, and I, as the highest ranking officer, have the authority to charge, prosecute, try and execute any subordinates. You finished law school and you understand what it means." "Yes." "And do you still refuse to carry out my orders?" "Yes, sir." Mlinar was suddenly very calm. "I'm dead anyway, whether I carry out your orders or not. This way at least I won't have all these men on my conscience." "How noble of you," Colonel extended his arm, displaying his well-manicured hands. "Your pistol, please." Mlinar removed his pistol from the holster. Colonel returned to his car and left Mlinar's pistol there. "You see, I would really prefer to hang you, but it would require some walk to the woods. And I don't have that much time. So, I'll have you shot. But I still don't think that you deserve the death of an officer. But at least someone equal to you can finish this formality." Then he turned towards his driver, a young green-eyed man, and grabbed him by the shoulder. "You see, this is Corporal Krajicek. A real good Czech, one who knows his place. All the men in this army should take his example. For two years he drives my car, shines my boots, makes my bed, tends my horses and in all those two years he never complained nor did he question my authority. Is that so, Krajicek?" "Yes, sir." Young man's voice was energetic, the embodiment of a disciplined soldier. "The late Archduke Ferdinand, may God bless his soul, was kind towards Slavs. He married the petty Czech wench and even contemplated rearranging the Monarchy and giving Slavs more power. And how did that ungrateful Slav scum return the favor? By shooting him like a dog in Sarajevo! No, the Monarchy learned its lesson. After I put this army in order, and after the Germans help us in the counter-offensive, and after we knock their beloved Russia out of war, we'll make sure that all the Slavs in the Monarchy are just like Krajicek. Then we'll take care of all those pesky liberal and socialist intellectuals and never again would anybody dare to demand voting rights, an eight hour work day, minimum wage, freedom of the press and all that rubbish... But, I talked too much. Krajicek, you pick up six men from the column and form the firing squad." "Yes, sir." Krajicek saluted and stepped out of the car and approached the men. He looked into their weary eyes and he could see disbelief, shock and quiet resignation. "You, you, you, you, you and you." Six men walked slowly and formed the line, showing no enthusiasm. "All right, men, you heard the Colonel." Krajicek was holding men and arranging them into line, the same way any drill sergeant would do. "You hold your rifles steady and aim good. This treacherous scum doesn't deserve the bullet in the first place... The same bullet that might save your lives when the Russians come here in a couple of hours." Colonel was smiling devilishly. Krajicek looked really good in his short and temporary role of a leader. Krajicek stepped few paces away from the men. "Prepare!" The men took their rifles and pointed towards Mlinar, barely holding them steady, either from fatigue, or by the lack of vigor. "Aim!" For a second, men looked like they wouldn't obey the order. Then, one of the men in line, a young fellow with a yellow beard, suddenly stepped out of the line and pointed the rifle towards the car - towards the Colonel and his aide. In the next moment, another man did the same, and then the other four did too. They were now pointing their rifles, this time with the grim determination. There was the silence for a few seconds that might have lasted for eternity. The mouths of the Colonel and his aide gaped open ; the officers were completely flabbergasted by this sudden turn in events. The Colonel looked towards Krajicek in desperation. His corporal was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Fire!" And that was the way Colonel Albrecht Maximilian von Langenek-Rutowski de Trientini joined the millions of casualties in the great European conflict. Mlinar stood there in disbelief. So was the rest of the company. And then, someone from the column began to applaud. Another began cheering "Kra-ji-cek! Kra-ji-cek!" Another one threw his hat in the air. Soon, the whole company began to rejoice, singing songs in dozens of voices and languages. Even some of the wounded rose from their beds and began applauding, their joy overcoming the pain. Mlinar finally regained his composure and approached Krycek, who was barely managing to fend off soldiers who tried to hug him. When he saw him, Krajicek drew a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered him one. "Thanks, Krajicek," Mlinar said as he took the cigarette and lit it. "That's the least I could do. That swine didn't even grant you your last cigarette... You can't imagine what I had to endure with him in these last two years..." "What do we do now? The Colonel relieved me from command, and, by the way things are going, the men would obey your orders before they obey mine." "Ah, that," Krajicek was suddenly reminded that his little triumph had a rather temporary nature. "I guess those who want to go west would go west, one way or another." "And you? You are going east?" "Those who go west are idiots. When they reach our lines, the officers would put them again in the trenches... Or, most likely, have them chewed up in another counter-offensive. No, thanks, I was lucky these two years and I'm not going to push my luck any further." "You would rather take your chances in Russian POW camp?" "Did you see all those Russian prisoners we picked up last year? Some of them were grinning like crazy... Perhaps it does make sense... Life behind the wire is hard, but longer than in the trench..." "Maybe you are right. But, I think we don't have much choice anyway." "Huuuuurrraaaaah!" was heard in distance, the unmistakable sign that their pursuers were near, taking care of another ragtag column like theirs. That brought the cheering men back to reality. Krajicek saw that and decided to take matters into his own hands. "All right, men, those who want to run, better run! From now on, it is every man for himself! Those who want to stay, do as I tell you. Do you have any white sheets or anything?" One man, probably the medic, climbed down from the wagon. "Most of them are bloody, but I have one clean. I saved it just for this occasion." "Good. Now tie it to a rifle and give it to me!" The medic picked a rifle from one of the soldiers and tied the sheet around it, creating a makeshift white flag. Krycek picked it up and stepped towards the car. "Mlinar, would you please help me remove the bodies of those two?" Mlinar did what Krajicek asked him, feeling nothing when he dumped bloody and lifeless remains of Colonel and his aide from the car. Then he leaned over and looked at Krycek. "Are you absolutely sure that you are going to do it?" "Yes. Even if I end up in Siberia, I wouldn't have to stay there for very long. By the way things are going, the war should be over soon." Mlinar frowned. "I would honestly like to share your optimism, but I don't think so. The Russians pushed very hard this time, but they will stall. Same as our offensive stalled last year. They will get stuck in the mud, Germans will bring their reserves and it would be back in the trenches all over again." "Hell, if that is the case, there is another alternative... I heard that the Russians had set up an entire division of Czech volunteers in Kiev. Maybe I could pass as an officer. What do you think?" Mlinar smiled. "You have the talent for it. And people like you, both the brass and the common grunt. You'll make quite the career." "All right," Krajicek sat in the car and grabbed the steering wheel. "What about you?" "I heard the same stories about my people. Serb officers in Odessa are recruiting Croats and Slovenes for their exiled army in Northern Greece. You know, I'm not too happy going back to the trenches, but I heard that it's warmer down south. After that thing in the Carpathian Mountains in the Winter of 1915..." Krajicek smiled. "You know what, Mlinar? Have you ever been driven in a motor car?" "Never. Only the top brass has that privilege." "Now is your chance. Once you do it, you'll want to have one. Girls love it." Mlinar smiled, picked up the makeshift white flag and took passenger seat. "All right, Krajicek. Let's drive east and surrender this sorry mess of a unit." "You know what, I think this is the beginning of a great future for both of us," Krajicek said as he started the engine. "When this war is over, we'll have ranks, fame and our own motor cars." "I don't know whether the future belongs to us, but I think it is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." Mlinar lit another cigarette. "At least, we'll have some stories to tell to our grandchildren." "Yes. Us Slavs should stick together." Continued in Part 2 -- Dragan Antulov a.k.a. Drax Fido: 2:381/100 E-mail: dragan.antulov@st.tel.hr E-mail: dragan.antulov@altbbs.fido.hr E-mail: drax@purger.com Subject: NEW: Engineers of the Future (2/2) by Dragan Antulov Date: Mon, 28 Jun 1999 09:54:13 +0200 From: "Dragan Antulov" Organization: HiNet Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Disclaimers and other information in Part 1 * Somewhere on the road between Yekaterinburg and Perm Central Russia September 1918 Count Gerhard Wilhelmovich Weissenburg-Gotha of the Imperial Russian Army was adjusting his shining white service cap with his well-manicured hands. His hands were busy because he was nervous. He always liked punctuality and discipline, and these days those were rare commodities indeed. His nervousness was enhanced by the landscape that looked like a fertile ground for depression and anxiety. A pair of rails was the only sign of civilization in an endless sea of grass and forest that spread from horizon to horizon. And there he and his small unit had been waiting for hours. Finally, he was relieved when he heard the unmistakable sound of approaching train. But his relief turned to disappointment when he found that the composition of the train was smaller than he had expected or hoped for. When the train stopped, two officers and a few soldiers in beige uniforms left the first car. Their pace was resolute, but the expression on the officers' face was disappointment, almost equal to Colonel Weissenburg's. The officer saluted. "Major Hubicka, 1st Regiment, Czehoslovakian Legion. This is my aide, Lieutenant Stegall. We were expecting to see some cavalry around here." "Colonel Weissenburg-Gotha, West Siberian Front. Unfortunately, Lieutenant Colonel Maslov and his Cossacks couldn't join us. They got stuck chasing Reds on the road between Perm and Ufa. What you see here is anything General Rattenberg could spare you." Major Hubicka looked at Colonel, his car, his aide, a truck full of young men in white uniforms, probably military academy cadets, and an armored self-propelled rail wagon. It really didn't look promising. "He really couldn't spare you some more?" "Well, as you may have noticed since the beginning of the campaign, we are short in manpower." "Yes. Only Cossacks and officers... You can't trust your soldiers after all those mutinies a year ago. So, you need us." Colonel Weissenburg didn't look too impressed with expression of the Czech's frustration. "Yes. We need you, for a while. But the tide is turning. The common man is seeing those anti-Christ Bolshevik monsters as they really are. After they shot the Tsar and his family, we've been receiving new volunteers. Soon, our ranks will fill again and we will be in Moscow before Christmas." The Major sighed. "I would prefer to march on Berlin or Vienna instead of Moscow. We have volunteered to free our country from Habsburg oppression, not to kill fellow Slavs as mercenaries in a civil war." "But you know that you can't go fighting Austrians and Germans if you left this country in the hands of anti-Christs, Jews and German agents. And you did a splendid job in Samara, Omsk and Yekaterinburg. You'll work your way to Moscow, I'm certain of it. And the way to Berlin, Vienna and Budapest leads right through it." Major looked towards the west, towards endless lines of trees. His look became melancholic. "We had it easy. It wasn't hard to take care of a few street agitators. I'm worried about having to deal with the real army. Our two divisions are good, but they are simply a drop of water in a sea." "Yes, I must admit that I would like to see more of your forces," Colonel looked at the train and Czech soldiers that manned two howitzers on open wagons. "But you don't have to worry. The Reds are beaten. They are retreating on all fronts. Those street agitators and German spies are good in stirring trouble, but they know nothing about the real war." "I wish I could believe you. But I heard otherwise. Finns, Ukrainians, those Baltic peoples, Mongols, Volga Germans, Turks, every goddamn tribe all over Russia is in love with the Bolsheviks. Lenin gave them or promised them autonomy or even independence." Then Major looked Colonel in the eye. "I couldn't blame them. From a certain perspective, it doesn't look much different than my home." Colonel, either because he was unable to recognize sarcasm or unable to admit some things, didn't look particularly moved. "Those treacherous scum don't concern me. Besides, they can be dealt with after we finish the Bolsheviks. Then we'll make sure that our Rodina is rid of all non-Russians. Jews, Germans, and all those German-loving intellectuals, liberals, socialists and their funny ideas about democracy and people's rights. When we finish this war, only the true Russians would run this country. And those who are not real Russians would know their place, once and for all." The Major, tired of political tirades, tried to change the subject to more practical matters. "I would like to continue this little chit-chat, but my men and I are too tired. We need some time to rest, and I need some reconnaissance before we continue our advance. Is this really anything?" "Yes. But this self-propelled armored wagon is quite suitable for that purpose. It is even faster than cavalry. But as I said, you won't have any trouble. If you stumble on something, it would probably be some small, untrained detachment not capable of serious damage." "Some news I have received by telegraph contradicts this. According to them, Trotsky managed to put his Red Army in order and that five new fresh armies are massing west of Urals for a counter-offensive. I even heard that some of top officers had joined his General Staff in Moscow. Even Brusilev." "Bozhe moy! Don't tell me that you take that filthy Bolshevik propaganda seriously..." Colonel was angered. "I sincerely hope that it's mere propaganda. Two years ago I was at the receiving end of Brusilev. I really wouldn't like to experience that again." "You won't experience that again. Once you send that wagon and see all those reports..." "Us?! You mean that wagon is..." "We have an engineer. But we would really appreciate if you borrowed a man trained with a machinegun." Colonel's voice was suddenly apologetic. Major Hubicka looked at the soldiers in truck. Their age told him everything he needed to know - young, inexperienced cadets, who could hardly reconnoiter the backyard of their own barracks. He turned towards one of his soldiers, young blackhaired man with green eyes. "Krajicek, you are to man the machinegun in that vehicle." "Yes, sir." Krajicek saluted and stepped into the armored wagon. Inside he met an engineer. The dirt on man's face failed to hide his old age. He looked fifty. But the looks could deceive. Krajicek had seen men who had aged like that after a single artillery barrage. The man started the engine without a word. Krajicek wasn't talking either. At least for the first few hours, as their vehicle swept through the endless forests and empty plains. The only sound was caused by rail tracks and the diesel engine. Finally, Krajicek got thirsty. "Do you have some water to spare?" he asked the engineer. "If you are thirsty, I could offer you some vodka." The man reached for his flask. Krajicek took some. It felt really good. He reached in his pocket and offered him a few cigarettes. "No, thanks. Not a very good idea to smoke while we are in the wagon." "I guess I'll have to wait. You could have one when we return." "If we return..." The engineer's voice was full of quiet resignation. "Who knows how many of them are in these woods? And that little machinegun of yours won't be enough to stop them." "We are faster." Krajicek tried, less to counter the man and more to encourage himself. "If we notice them, we could outrun them." "Yes. But what if they noticed us and made sure the tracks aren't there while we rush back?" "You don't like this detail, do you?" Krajicek faced him. "How did you join that White Colonel in the first place?" "How did you end up such a long way from your home, Czech?" "Call me Krajicek. Everybody calls me Krajicek." "Everybody calls me Yusupov. But only the closest friends call me Yusa." "So, Yusa, what do we do? Should we continue going west or should we go back to report that nothing is in front of us?" "If you come back and tell them that, your friends will all die in couple of days or weeks. Believe me, I know that something big is coming from the west. New transports... And don't think that these woods don't hide Red partisans." "How many of them?" "I don't know. Could be a score or two, or could be hundreds or thousands. Anyway, it doesn't matter. One of them and a stick of dynamite is enough to cut us off. Or your comrades, if they are foolish enough to advance." "You sure know the way to make me feel safe," Krajicek looked like he enjoyed this man's brutal sincerity. "Besides, you don't seem to care about who's winning this war..." "Why should I?" The engineer grinned. "Like it matters who is going to win? Reds or Whites? Because, I know who is going to lose." "Who?" "The same side that loses every war. Common folks. Those who are always first to charge and catch a bullet, and last when it comes to getting the spoils. Guys like you and me." Krycek was silent, but his face gave the impression of approval. "You see, I just drive locomotives and try to survive. You should, too. Looks like you know your way with machines." "I was a driver, too." Krajicek laughed, remembering things that looked like an impossible dream after all those years. "Once, years ago. Man, I do miss motor cars." "We miss a lot of things." The engineer tried to bring him to reality. "Just don't let us miss our skin. Speaking of that, do you see what I see? At the front." Krajicek looked through the embrasure at the front. To his utmost horror, some hundred meters or so in front of them, there were dark horsemen, suddenly popping out of woods and blocking their way. Krajicek couldn't make their numbers with certainty, but they were in the scores, if not hundreds. "Pull back! Pull back, now!" Engineer stopped the engine instead. "No, I've got a better idea. Do as I say if you want to live." Krajicek was baffled by the engineer's composure. The man had surely witnessed some bad things happening before. "See the box with my signal equipment? Open it and take the red flag. The one used for stopping trains." Krajicek obeyed him, gradually realizing what the engineer's idea was. "Now open the hatch and start waving." Krajicek opened the hatch, then, as carefully as possible, he started waving, expecting bullets to take away his hand. He had remembered what had happened to some people who were stupid enough to raise their heads above the trenches. The engineer opened the door at the left side and shouted. "Boys, don't shoot! We are coming out! We are yours! Don't shoot!" Then he whispered to Krajicek. "Come out with me." Krajicek did what the man said. They both left the wagon and began approaching the horsemen. Krajicek could see their faces for the first time. Grim, determined faces under visor caps and bodies dressed in black leather jackets. "Brothers, don't shoot! We are yours! I'm Yusupov! Yusa! >From the Ostanskovo Station! Remember?" Two horsemen approached them. They were both young, but one was stocky and other taller and with glasses. "Comrade Commissar, I know Yusupov." The stocky one was speaking to the man in glasses. "I can vouch for him. He's all right. He was with us when we were on strike three years ago." The Commissar dismounted and studied Krajicek. His gaze made Krajicek nervous. "I don't care about your boy. What about this young fellow? His uniform is too good. Is he a Czech by any chance?" Yusupov put his hand on Krajicek's shoulder. "Yes. And it was all his idea. You know, that coward Weissenburg wants to send someone to reconnoiter, but he doesn't have enough men to risk. So he grabs first Czech he could find. And he sends him to the west. But, you know what? He sends the wrong Czech. We drive for a while, and than, suddenly this Czech says: `I don't want to fight my brothers, railroad workers. You know what, Yusa, I've had enough. Weissenburg, Hubicka, Kolchak and all those rich officer bastards can kiss my working class ass. I'll deliver this wagon to the people who really fight for me and for my folks on the railroads and in the mines and factories of Bohemia. I'll deliver this wagon for the Red Army and World Revolution!' And there we drive west until we reached you..." Commissar didn't look impressed. "Is this how it happened?" Krajicek just nodded. Then, out of the blue, the Commissar hugged Krajicek and kissed him in the cheek. "Man, that armored wagon of yours is something we needed! Welcome! Welcome, comrade! Whatever you need... Food, clothes, vodka... Roof over your head... Pass to Moscow... Just ask me... It's yours! By the way, what is your name?" "Karel Krajicek." Than commissars turned towards his men. "Boys, you heard it all! Let's hear three hurrahs for Comrade Krycek!" Hundreds of voices began yelling "Hurrah!" When they silenced, Commissar turned towards Krajicek, who was hardly believing what was happening to him. "I guess you'll have some story to tell your grandchildren." "I guess." "You know what, I think I know what's best for you. I should send you in the rear and assign you to the Agitprop Section. You'll give lectures, work with German or Entente interventionist prisoners, turning them to our side... You have the talent for it." "Can we talk about it later? I think I need some rest." "No problem. Take your time. Besides, you have the future. It belongs to people like us." Krycek smiled. "Yes. It belongs to people us. I don't know why I didn't get this idea before. Us world proletarians should stick together." AUTHOR'S NOTES: In order to make this story more comprehensible to those with little or no knowledge of European history, this is a brief timeline of important events referenced in it: June 28th 1914 - Sarajevo assassination. July 28th 1914 - Austria-Hungary declares war on Serbia, triggering partial mobilisation of Russian forces. Early August 1914 - Series of declarations of war, and German invasion of Belgium and Luxembourg without formal declaration of war divide Europe into two warring blocs - Entente (Great Britain, France, Russia plus Belgium, Serbia, Montenegro) vs. Central Powers (Germany and Austria-Hungary). Beginning of the global conflict later called World War One. January-February 1915 - Conrad von Hoetzendorf, Austro-Hungarian Chief of Staff, conducts another in the long series of his great and ambitious offensives with the aim to outflank Russian forces on Eastern Front. This time his idea was to send his armies right through Carpatian Mountains in the dead of winter. Russians didn't expect this, and with good reason. This was the baptism by fire for my grandfather who served under his command, or to be more precise, baptism by ice. Entire battalions perished before they could even reach the enemy. May - September 1915 - Short of artillery ammunition, and following the German breakthrough at Gorlice, the Russian army is forced to abandon all of Poland in order to avoid being encircled. December 1915 - Tsarist government allows Czechs and Slovaks among captured Austro-Hungarian soldiers to join Russian army as volunteers. Their unit - Czechoslovakian Brigade - would later become the basis for Czechoslovakian Legion. June 4th-18th 1916 - Brusilev Push. The swan song of the Tsarist Russian military. March 7th 1917 - February Revolution in Russia. Tsar Nicholas II forced to abdicate. The new government, led by liberal Kerenski, promises democracy and other reforms but still keeps Russia in an exhausting and unpopular war with Germany. His government struggles to maintain authority with the growing power of radical revolutionary committees - Soviets. April 1917 - German government allows Vladimir Ilich Ulyanov a.k.a. Lenin, leader of the Bolshevik faction of Russian Social Democratic Party, to return to Russia from his Swiss exile, travelling in the sealed train through German territory. November 8th 1917 - October revolution. Bolshevik-dominated Soviets and their militia known as Red Guard overthrow Kerenski government in St. Petersburg and, nominally, at least, seize all power in Russia. The new government, led by Lenin, promises self-determination for many ethnic minorities of former Russian Empire, distribution of land to peasants, nationalisation of industry, and also offers separate peace to Central Powers. (Note: the February and October Revolution were called that way because of the difference between Julian and Gregorian calendar.) Late 1917- Early 1918 - Cossacks, former Tsarist officers, Russian nationalists and other anti-Bolshevik elements organise rebellions against Soviet authorities in various parts of the country. Those mostly uncoordinated efforts are the beginning of Russian Civil War. The counterrevolutionary forces were later commonly called the White Guard or simply the "Whites". February 11th 1918 - Red Army founded. March 2nd 1918 - Brest-Litovsk peace treaty signed between Soviet Russia and Central Powers. Finland, Baltic states, Ukraine and Poland granted independence under German protection. Spring 1918 -British and French forces land in Northern Russia, and Japanese and American forces land in Russian Far East, in order to provide support for the White Guard. In Far East and Siberia the Whites are led by former Tsarist admiral Kolchak. Summer 1918 - Kolchak's forces, with the Czehoslovakian Legion as the bulk of its forces, drive Reds from most of Siberia and begin their advance towards Moscow. Tsar Nicholas II and his family shot in Yekaterinburg by local Bolsheviks in order to prevent their eventual liberation by Kolchak. September 1918 - Red Army, reorganised, resupplied and retrained under the leadership of Leon Trotsky, begins counter-offensive against Kolchak in Western Siberia. November 1918 - The end of World War One. Break-up of Austria-Hungary and revolution in Germany. Soviet government declares Brest-Litovsk Treaty invalid and begins drive to turn new independent states into Soviet republics. Spring 1919 - After suffering defeat in his final attempt to push towards Moscow Admiral Kolchak forced to retreat to Siberia. Summer 1919 -General Denykin leads the greatest White offensive towards Moscow. After initial success, his forces stall. Autumn 1919 - Denykin defeated by Red army south of Moscow and forced to retreat towards Black Sea and Caucasus. The turning point of Russian Civil War. Reds are advancing and Whites are retreating on all fronts. Western governments begin pulling out their troops from Russia. January 1920 - 1922 - Admiral Kolchak captured by Red Partisans. Czehoslovakian Legion signs separate armistice with Red Army and is allowed to retreat from Russia peacefully. Ukraine, Belarus, Caucasus and Central Asia under tight Bolshevik control. Crimean Peninsula, the last White stronghold in Europe, overrun in November of the same year. Two years later, retreat of the Japanese forces from Russian Far East would mark the official end of the Russian Civil War. Additional notes about same historical persons mentioned in this story: "Falkenheyn" is Erich von Falkenheyn, Chief of Kaiser's General Staff 1914-16, whose reserves saved the Austro-Hungarian military from the total collapse after the Brusilev Push. Unfortunately for Falkenheyn, that meant that he had to abandoned his pet project later known as Battle of Verdun. He was immediately sacked by Kaiser because of that. "Brusilev" is Alexei Alexeievich Brusilev, Commander-in-Chief of Russian Southwestern Front who led Russian forces in the great offensive of June 1916, later named after him. The Brusilev Push, originally intended as a mere diversion in order to relieve French forces at Verdun from German pressure, proved to be smashing success. By the time offensive ended, around a third of the entire Austro-Hungarian forces on the East Front was in Russian POW camps. That same offensive was also remembered as the swan song of Tsarist Russian military, whose soldiers a year later mutinied against the Tsar and government in St. Petersburg instead of continuing to fight against Germans and Austro-Hungarians. During the post-revolutionary civil war, Brusilev joined Reds and helped Trotsky to turn his rag-tag Red Army into professional and efficient military force. "Czech wench" referred in the story is Sophie von Chontek, Czech baroness that captured the heart of young Archduke and Austro-Hungarian Crown Prince Franz Ferdinand. Archduke's family didn't approve the marriage, considering the petty Slav baroness unworthy of the royal blood. Archduke lived with her anyway in a so-called "Morganatic marriage", but due to the scandal he was snubbed by the Court and the Austro-Hungarian political establishment (children of Sophie and Ferdinand were also considered bastards and not allowed into Austro-Hungarian line of royal succession). The only refuge for the Archduke was the military, so he adopted their jingoistic policy of preserving the Monarchy through war with neighbouring Serbia. The military manoeuvres and parades were also the only opportunity to appear with his beloved wife in public. One of those manoeuvres was staged in Eastern Bosnia in June 1914... From certain perspective, romantics among historians might argue that the World War 1 erupted because of a woman. During the assassination, Sophie was killed with the bullet intended for Austro-Hungarian military governor of Bosnia. For those who would like an alternative to long and boring timelines, I would suggest to go to the nearest video store and rent the tape of "Doctor Zhivago". This film, although long, would serve as an excellent illustration for the story. Unfortunately, Hollywood didn't seem very interested in the depiction of Austria-Hungary, its military and ethnic problems. Better equipped video stores should have "Colonel Redl", a European film by Oscar-winning director Istvan Szabo starring Klaus Maria Brandauer. Whether Serbs and Croats speak the same language or not is a subject of decade-long and passionate debate between various linguists and politicians. I have an opinion of the matter, but, for the purposes of this story, we might assume that Langenek-Rutowski was too engrossed in his chauvinistic diatribe to care about such minor details. Finally, a note for WW1 buffs and other nitpickers: 42nd Royal Hungarian-Croatian Homeguards Division, mentioned in this story, actually wasn't at the Lutsk area in June 1916. It was stationed in Galicia, some 100 km to the south. It was also heavily mauled during the Brusilev Push, but it was walk in the park compared to the disaster Austro-Hungarian forces suffered in the northern sector. I decided to have that unit in the north for a sentimental reason - my grandfather served in 26th Regiment and he took part in the incident similar to the one depicted in this story (however, this time it was in 1918, at the very end of war). Call it poetic license - if Spielberg in his "Saving Private Ryan" can have 2nd Ranger Battalion at Omaha Beach, I can have elements of my grandfather's unit in my fan fiction story. Comments are welcome at dragan.antulov@st.tel.hr You can also read my other XF fanfic stories on http://www.purger.com/drax/draxsfan.htm -- Dragan Antulov a.k.a. Drax Fido: 2:381/100 E-mail: dragan.antulov@st.tel.hr E-mail: dragan.antulov@altbbs.fido.hr E-mail: drax@purger.com