A Cold Homeland
The ground was cold, Imrich stood patiently as his father checked his map during the cold autumn night. Imrich, looking down at his boots and the new jacket his father got him about a week ago. The coat was just a little too big for his frame yet the straps, pulled tightly, made a warm and water protective jacket perfect for the forests of his homeland. As he was inspecting his jacket his father swore, “Kурва! This damn celebration always changes location, it pisses me off…” The man stood looking slightly puzzled at his map, his face showing slight wrinkles and grit in the man's past. Despite being no younger than forty he wore the wisdom of a man far surpassing his own age. He smiles as he points to his map, gesturing to his son as if to share the small victory with him. “See kluk (Son), they have moved it here” He taps the map, his gloved hands creasing the paper slightly, “Ah Opa! Here it is, I'm glad you're coming along finally kluk, everyone has been asking where my young man has been.” Imrich nods, gesturing for his father to continue the journey. His father gladly beginning to walk towards the ‘gathering’ he always complains about. Imrich never understood why he always figured his father loved the military meetings just as his grandfather did. Maybe it was all the walking, or the need to pack some equipment for the group, or maybe it was the fact he always needed to wear his uniform. Imrich always liked the uniform his father wore, the Rastr Summer jacket with an accompanying Rastr Winter pants along with a tight fitting leather holster always made his father seem a little foolish to not wear matching colors. When he asked about it his father simply replied, “Such colors are useful in war, the chance to break up body and not stand out perfectly in any location made it perfect for us.” Thus is why Imrich enjoyed the look, the utility of the equipment made the outfit appealing if not distinguishable. However, his father's most important part of his uniform would be his beret he cherished this item the most, kept it clean and the metal shiny for whenever he needed to wear it. The beret was simple however, as Imrich learned they should be, a sleek black base made of cotton along with a pin at the center. The pin was a simple raised Red Star outlined by a golden line, a beautiful pin made for this beret.
Imrich walked further into the woods, his bag seeming heavy, he never liked carrying them but his father stressed the importance of it, said it was an important package for his bratrs. Imrich while being focused on his bag lost sight of his father, unlike most western nations, losing track of your guide in the local forest could spell death for most unworthy travelers. Imrich enjoyed the woods, found comfort in its peace and balance, however in late Autumn he would surely starve or freeze without a weapon or matches. As soon as Imrich passed through a patch of pine trees however, he saw his father, he had stopped. His head looking down at his hands, inspecting something, Imrich could see his scratched leather holster was empty and open. As Imrich approached his father turns to him, his face with slight sorrow and a little of something else, as if he was proud of this moment. He began to come to his son, his Tokarev TT held gently in his hand, his father would look at his son with a warm face, one of clear relief. “Můj kluk, I believe it is time for you to have this…” His father would hand him the handgun, Imrich would hold the pistol in his hands, almost taken aback by its weight. “I know you are ready for this, you should have it for a time when a rifle is not enough kluk.” Imrich would inspect the handgun as his father was talking. It was a clear polished metal, with it being a simple Tokarev TT early soviet handgun. The gun was beautifully maintained, however simple and classical. The only refined detail the gun would be the Bright Red Star in the center of the grip. “It is my father's TT, issued to him during the soviet era of this land. He kept it well despite its old age and great use. Its design is classic and simple, a true peoples pistol. Just like our old soviet state your handgun is sleek and clean, with clear function and directive, Serve the user without fault. The star keeps the independence of the people close to the users shooting hand, keeping his head clear and his heart true.” His father spoke as if reading off a script, “My father passed this handgun on to me on my Eighteenth winter, and now I pass it down to you on your Seventeenth Autumn. He gave me the same speech…”
Imrich and his father would finally make it to the meeting spot, a clearing in the middle of the western South Zagoria mountains. Imrich was amazed by the amount of people who had arrived, and how well armed they truly were. He noticed plenty of different uniforms, however they all treated and welcomed each other like family. The smell of cooked food was traveling in the air and men shared handshakes and even traded soviet rifles. This group was nearly 100 strong and they all seemed to be family. Despite the clearly different regional accents every man seemed to understand and know the next. Imrich spotted only a few men wearing such well kept uniforms as his father, and even fewer with as similar beret as his. His father directed his kluk to go and enjoy the people, stating the hearing was about to begin as he walked off to meet his bratrs. Imrich began to mingle, the people seemingly welcoming him with such open arms he was taken aback on the hospitality. He guessed they all knew his father. Imrich walked down the sea of people to what looks like an elevated platform made of logs and planks, fresh planks by the looks. Stands atop is a man in similar uniform to his father, however this one with more folds and a sleek black jacket. His black beret adjusted perfectly on top of the man's head. He stands tall, his arms behind his back with Imrichs father to his side along with what looks like other officers. The man silences everyone and speaks, his voice a deep and commanding tone, “Bratrs! Today is the day we have all been waiting for, this meeting is not one of few, but one of hundreds scattered across our lands! Our forces have grown stronger in these past years as people begin to understand the hardship and oppression our faulty government has left us for!” The man speaks to all of the people below who watch and listen in deep understanding. “Today, one of our glorious leaders will make a public announcement! After the rigged elections it is clear our government cannot be reasoned with, the corruption in our homeland burrows itself to the core like a mole in the earth! This speech will prove to not old the region, or the country, but the world that we will not tolerate such atrocities! We will have our voices heard! Freedom and independence is what our homeland will provide for our children, but we must give our people to power to raise such children!” With this he presents a large radio one of the officers had been holding as they place it on the ground. The speakers on the device are large, enough to broadcast the speech to the entire crowd. With one swift motion he flicks the switch on the device and it springs to life giving static at first, but then silence. The crowd waits in anticipation as the silence is cut through by a voice. A voice of a man who speaks on all channels, all televisions, and for the people's heart!
As the music and voices blast though the radio some men seem slightly confused at the sounds, unaware that the transmission was designed for television rather than radio. However, the men all seem to rally to the transmission, their voices murmur then turn to unified chimes. All screaming for the bringing to power of the Red Star to South Zagoria! The men all chant and agree in the message being broadcasted to them. Imrichs father stands tall over the men as he looks towards his son, warmth in his eyes as he sees the looks of brotherhood around him. His face warm in the sunlight. A large crack rings out, perching the chants of the men. Imrichs father looking into the crowd with worried eyes as his face is sprayed with blood covering his jacket and glasses. He quickly drops down looking to his right as he watches one of his Comrades fall hard on the fresh lumber, his blood dripping of his body in between the cracks of the cracks of the boards. Gunfire erupts the forest, with screams of both the crowd and the woods and the men around Imrich begin to fire back. Cries of death and hatred are exchanged as a man close to Imrich screams “НАПА!!”