Scout Mission
Wolves Of The Great War - Part 1 (Prologue)
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART ?
This is yet another new project. It is better developed than certain other limited serials I have, but I beg, please, your patience in completing it. As promised in the update at the beginning of July, this is what I was calling the “Alternate History/Mystery/Fantasy/Horror”. You will quickly understand why. I don’t know how many parts it will be, but I do have a complete idea for this, so something to look forward to. Without further ado, please enjoy!
Prologue - 1913
The sun was low on the horizon as the two men on horses approached the Danube from the northern bank. The one, wearing the distinctive blue and red uniform of Slavonia, bore a thick black moustache, his eyes scanning around him. “Nikolay, we are running out of daylight. We won’t be able to see much after sundown.”
Nikolay, the other man, wore the green and white uniform of the Bulghar Khanate. His skin was faintly olive, he had a black beard around his chin and stubble across the rest of his face. “Relax, Slobodan. Night is the best time to travel. Look, we are almost at Novi-Sad.” Nikolay pointed at the lights of a small town which lay ahead, overshadowed by low mountainous hills which lay on the other side of the Danube.
“Those hills look promising.” Nikolay mused aloud.
Slobodan scoffed. “Fruška Gora.”
“Excuse me?”
“Fruška Gora, those hills. They are cursed, so they say. You wouldn’t know that, Bulghar. It’s why they sent me with you.”
“Cursed? HA! You Slavonians are so superstitious.”
Slobodan bristled.
“Nikolay, you are a good scout. But I am a Slavonian. I know my own lands, I know my own people. If you don’t believe me—let’s go to Novi-Sad and see what they say about Fruška Gora.”
“Always looking for comfort. We Bulghars sleep in the open air, under the moon and stars! Go find your cozy bed, Slavonian.”
“Watch your tongue, Nikolay. King Aleksandr may have made peace with Boris Khan but many Slavonians remember. It was not that long ago your people stabbed us in the back. There are greater dangers now that could exterminate us both. So, don’t be ungracious as you travel through the lands of your host. King Aleksandr is more forgiving than many of us.”
Nikolay grunted, and kept silent. Only the rhythmic clopping of their horses stirred the night air.
As Novi-Sad crawled towards them from the horizon, the sun set and the half-moon began to rise.
Nikolay cleared his throat, “So, uh, Slobodan. Tell me—if your Generals fear war against the Ostro-Carpathian Empire in the north, why have they sent us to scout south?”
Slobodan smiled at this new conversational tone from Nikolay. “Look around you—these plains stretch for miles, they are virtually indefensible. The first natural barrier the Ostrians will encounter is the Danube. We don’t expect to stop them—the Empire has a much larger army than ours—but we can slow them down, and make a stand at the Danube.”
“Slobodan, my brother at arms, please—I do not understand. Those hills you call Fruška Gora—they are perfect artillery placements. Please, don’t let your superstition get the best of you. Let us scout those hills and we can move artillery there now. From such hills, you could threaten any army marching on these plains for dozens of kilometers, maybe even hundreds. Fruška Gora is the key to holding these plains and slowing down the imperials.”
Slobodan’s voice dropped low, his demeanor turning grave: “Friend, I would not approach those hills if I were starving and it’s trees were rich with fruit.”
“Can we not try? Must we simply write it off? Do you not see the pressing advantage you would have by placing artillery there? Surely duty to your countrymen obliges you to at least explore the hills.”
“Tell you what, Nikolay. You are right. You don’t know these lands like I do. And others will ask why we do not place artillery there. Let us cross the Danube and make tracks up the hills. On one condition.”
“What condition?”
“If we see wolves, we turn and run.”
“Wolves? Are you scared of wolves?” Nikolay looked ready to laugh, but Slobodan’s grave stare choked it in his throat.
“Promise me, Nikolay. This is the only way I will set foot on those hills with you, otherwise you are free to go alone.”
Nikolay was silent a long moment. “OK. If we see wolves, we turn and run.”
Slobodan let out a relieved sigh. “Very well. We’ll cross the Danube at Novi-Sad, and explore the hills.”
When they reached the foothills of Fruška Gora, the half-moon was high in the sky, giving an eerie and faint light to the lands which were so familiar to Slobodan. Slobodan insisted they pause for a moment to allow their horses to eat and rest before beginning to make tracks up the hills.
“Imagine, Slobodan, a good artillery placement could hold back an army three times the size of the Slavonian Army! Those plains north of Novi-Sad could become killing-fields for the Ostrians.”
“I don’t doubt it, Nikolay, if they were any other hills but these.”
“Let me go ahead of you, I’ll get us started.”
“Out of the question. I will lead you up the hills. This is my country, this is my folly to agree to come here.”
“Are you still nervous, Slobodan? They said you were the best scout in King Aleksandr’s army!”
“A good scout fears danger just like a good soldier does. But to be a good scout and soldier, one must still go!”
“Spoken like a true Slavonian,” Nikolay scoffed.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing, nothing, friend. Are you ready?” Nikolay mounted his horse with the swiftness and ease of someone who had been riding all his life.
“Fine. Let’s go.” Slobodan mounted his horse with the efficiency of a professional soldier.
The trees of Fruška Gora were immediately thick and pressing, like a wool blanket in the cold Balkan winters. There were no tracks or trails—Slobodan nudged his horse gently to pick through the gaps in the trees, through these untamed wilds, up the increasing incline of the hills.
“Slobodan!” Nikolay whispered urgently from behind him.
Slobodan turned his head briefly, as if to say, go on.
“What is the nature of the curse you say is on these hills?”
“Legends—wildmen, raised by wolves, one with the wolves. We call them čovek vuk, wolfmen. I scoffed to hear these stories as a child—as if they were designed to scare me. But the stories were told with equal gravity as I grew up, and I knew they were true. To enter here is to either be killed or become a wolfman. No one knows which, because no one has returned alive to tell.”
A cool wind blew between Nikolay and Slobodan. Nikolay was silent a long while.
Tense minutes passed. Slobodan was almost relieved to have seen nothing. Nikolay whispered to him again: “Slobodan!”
“What?”
“Is there a settlement here? Look, to the right—”
A twig snapped, and both men caught their breath.
Slobodan turned his head slowly around him, to see if he saw anything in the half-moon light.
“Slobod—” Nikolay began, but Slobodan held up his hand to silence him.
He looked left, he looked right. He saw nothing. A cloud covered over the moon, making the trees of Fruška Gora intensely dark. As the cloud passed again, two glowing eyes caught the light.
“Run!”
Daybreak in the quiet village of Novi-Sad. Kosta liked to wake up early, walk to the south bridge that crossed the Danube. The way the sun glittered on the deep blue of that great river was magical. Sure, there would be work to do—but if he could start his day with the great Danube, he could say it was a good day.
Kosta whistled a tune to himself as he walked towards the bridge. As he approached, he heard a strange noise—was it a whimpering dog? There were strays around Novi-Sad as in any town, but to come north across the bridge was a strange thing. Kosta stopped whistling, and tried looking ahead, to see where the strange whimpering sound was coming from. He saw a figure on the bridge, about halfway.
He began to run towards the figure and realized it was a man! He had a foreign look about him, wore a green and white uniform—stained red with blood. He was missing a boot, his uniform was torn. He was weeping.
“Sir, sir are you alright? Do you need help?” Kosta knelt down beside the man to speak to him, or lift him up.
The strange man grabbed Kosta by the collar, leaving a red stain of blood, his eyes streaming with tears: “Stay away from Fruška Gora! Stay away! Make no tracks there! Stay away from Fruška Gora!”
To Be Continued…
Thank you very much for reading! I am very excited about this story and am looking forward to bringing it to you in the coming weeks, other projects notwithstanding. Again—please be patient as I get my writing life figured out.
Please consider leaving a like, telling me what you thought in the comments, or sharing this story with a friend? If you would like to read more, please check out my collection of longer fiction at The Volume.
God bless!
AJPM
Niiice, very nice. That ending line is just *perfect*. I loved Slobodan's explanation of how he knew the stories were true because they were told with equal gravity when he grew up. That's brilliant, that is.
They could use the artillery on the forest?
Or lure the enemy into the forest?
I'm just trying to help our poor balkan boys out here.