Brąz Krzyže (Bronze Crosses)

[Beautancus]

Biąly Palace, Old City
Hrodino, Greater Sarmatia

It had been many decades since the enormous bulk of the Biąly Palace had borne witness to movements of such historical significance. The great cyclopean stones of the massive edifice formed one of the architectural marvels of the High Imperial Era in the history of the Sarmatian Steppes, when the Kings of Międzymorze had debauched themselves here, in the "White, or Summer" Palace. Not quite Germanic, and not quite Slavian, and not quite Turkic in style, the towering monolith of the Royal Era had stood through the horrors of the Great War and the Civil War, and had found itself in a state of semi-benign neglect, with only a nominal staff assigned to maintain the expansive grounds of the Palace.

Mniszech had begun some secretive "public works project" around the place, supposedly to restore a once proud symbol of Sarmatian ingenuity, and after his...unfortunately convenient demise, Jozef Kościałkowsky had seized upon a brilliant opportunity- with the backing of his newly re-christened Narodowy Bezoieczeństwo Dyrektoriat (National Security Directorate, formerly the PKB) and had made the Biąly Palace his headquarters.

It had been from there, from those stone halls, restored to their original Imperial grandeur, that he had affected his complete takeover of the remnants of the Sarmatian government, and far more importantly- the Sarmatian National Defense Forces. There had, as an unfortunate necessity, been a great many deaths attached to Kościałkowsky's ascension to the newly created position of "Supreme Leader," but such facts were more than acceptable in the greater movement of human history.

The massive complex, originally constructed in the first decade of the Eighteenth Century, and then vastly expanded in the 1860's, was more than large enough to provide him with suitable living, and working space- with ample housing for his ever-expanding staff and security detachment. There was even a suitable chapel, which Kościałkowsky had taken a personal interest in restoring, and had gone so far as to entice the recently retired rector of the National Cathedral to serve as the chaplain.

It was there, in the upper-floor office of the chapel that the new Supreme Leader of the Most Serene Commonwealth of Greater Sarmatia had made most of his most pressing policy decisions in the bare days since he'd attained undisputed rule. It was there that he sat now, with the rector- and newly "elected" Arch-Deacon of Hrodino, Kajetan Sołtyk; the Commissar-Commandant of the NBD, Walerian Protasewicz; Pułkownik Samuel Łaszcz, acting Secretary of State and "acting" Chief of Staff to the Supreme Leader; Marszałek Konstanty Rola- apparent Secretary of Defense and rabid adherent to the same "reactionary" school that had produced Kościałkowsky.

There was one other man, who would have seemed entirely out of place here, in this palace even a week before. He was cut a more regal figure than any of the admittedly aristocratic and militaristic men in the chapel, having been bred to exude just such an aura. His features recalled a time nearly forgotten, when the gray-eyed horse-lords of the Eastern Steppes had ridden out and forged an Empire incomparable in scope and majesty. His hawk-nosed face was sharp, perhaps even harsh, his eyes taking in far, far more than they gave away. His great, blue-black beard hung half the way down his chest, and hung in tight curls. Similarly, a single, tight curl hung down from underneath his tallit, nearly to his shoulder. Absalom Nakh, claimant to the title of Khagan of Khazaria sat with his legs crossed, rolling the whiskey in the tumbler he had been given around- inwardly as nervous as he had ever been.

Nakh had been skeptical when he'd received the invitation to meet with Kościałkowsky, but the hints that had been offered to him in the limited discussion Nakh had had with Łaszcz had been irresistibly enticing. Nakh, like so many Monarchist Émigrés had watched mostly in horror as Mniszech and his band of radical "Prometheists" had taken control of the already horridly corrupt Sarmatian government. They had watched with some sense of hope when the man had been lain low by a stroke, and had silently rejoiced when the news of his death had finally been leaked.

And then the news that Kościałkowsky had purged the "Christian Democrats" of Mniszech's Cabinet had arrived, quickly followed by news of his ascension to the role of Supreme Leader. The single most reactionary man that had served the Sarmatian nation in the past fifty years had deftly maneuvered his way into the seat of ultimate power- and was offering to have one of the living symbols of the Monarchist Era to the Biąly Palace for a drink- and to discuss "the good old days."

"So, Absalom, now that we have you here, I suppose you would like to know what all this fuss has been about, no?" Kościałkowsky leaned forward in his chair at the great, antique table they surrounded. He tapped the ashes off the end of his cigarette, and took a long drag, his eyes drifting to Rola- who was himself half-Khazar, and had known the Khagan-in-Exile for both of their entire lives. Rola nodded, and met Nakh's eyes.

"We propose to return our society, the joint society that Sarmatians and Khazars worked for so many centuries to create, to the days of order and growth that we knew before the Crown was sabotaged by radical Republicans and Crypto-Communists. We feel that the Khazar people lack their proper spiritual heart without you in the nation. It has been one of the greatest shames of this horrid succession of national governments that such an unfortunate injustice has been done to your family. We would right this situation- have you and your family back to the nation, with all your financial supplements restored, and more importantly, your voice in Khazar affairs restored. We would only ask that you give us your friendship, in the manner that your father did the former King." Kościałkowsky quirked his head slightly, with an odd look in one of his ancient old eyes- as full of cruel cunning this day as they had ever been.

Kościałkowsky even allowed himself a slight smile at the silent interplay between Nakh and Rola. Rola knew that Kościałkowsky was entirely serious about the fullness of this plan- and would have, and would continue to tell Nakh that much. It was quite likely that all his titles and lands would be restored to him, and that he would dwell in glory in Itil once more. There would, of course, be a price. He would have to kiss the hand of this coiling serpent, acknowledging him as his liege and sovereign- support his murderous policies. It was yet unclear if the man was actually entertaining thoughts of installing himself as the King of the Sarmatians- or if he would place that burden upon his son- or perhaps even the Crown Prince in Exile? It was becoming very clear that he intended to restore the monarchy- in some degree...and very soon.

Nakh had surmised as much before he'd arrived here, but had remained undecided. The course that this man would steer the nation down would either be calamitous, or magnificent. The state of regional affairs made the latter seem the far more likely- and the stone masks of resolve on the faces of each of the men in this office impressed a certain confidence upon Nakh.

"Good sir, I will conditionally accept your offer...but only after I have seen the situation in my beloved homeland for myself. You understand that I would not force myself upon a people who have been without sure leadership for far too long. Industrialists and zealots abound in my patrimony friends- and this is something that will take time to alter. The Godly ways have been pushed aside, all in favor of worship of Baal and Mammon." Nakh lit a cigarette of his own, blowing the smoke high above his head. His free hand ran through his beard. There were possibilities here. Indeed, if things were played carefully, there were possibilities for all here.

 

[Beautancus]

Wiśniowiecki Cytadela
Wrocław, Greater Sarmatia

Wiśniowiecki Cytadela had long been one of the linchpins of national defense in the southern portions of the Most Serene Commonwealth, with elements from three of the branches of the National Defense Forces stationed in and around the impressive, and ancient Old Kingdom Citadel. Occupying a sprawling 251 square miles, and boasting a population of active-duty personnel larger than eighty percent of towns in the nation, "The Citadel," as it was universally recognized was undergoing changes every bit as radical as those culminating in every other corner of the nation.

The Commandant of "The Citadel," a veteran Air Defense Force Generał, Wincenty Korwin Gosiewski- was an anachronism from the old Kingdom that had somehow survived the Civil War and various purges of revolutions failed and briefly successful. His family descended from retainers to Krzysztof I Wielki, and had been known for their martial service since. Gosiewski had chosen service over his noble titles- in exile- and had worked his way through the savagely self-promoting ranks of the National Air Defense Force. He was, above all things, an insanely gifted administrator, with a genuine feel for the morale of all the men under his command, from basic enlisted on up.

He was a colleague of Kościałkowsky of old, and though he was far from in agreement with the man on most of his policies, he was oath-bound to serve the leader of the Sarmatian people- and had no intention of further eviscerating his once proud nation by throwing his weight behind some hopeless rebellious faction or another.

In the tense days after Mniszech's death was announced, he'd had to fend off an attempted mutiny by elements Ground Defense Forces loyal to Nowina. There had been limited bloodshed, and at the end of the day, he'd been firmly in control of "The Citadel," and of Wrocław as a whole. He'd remained carefully noncommittal in all the various maneuverings that had come after that, until it became plainly clear that Kościałkowsky was in control of Hrodino. It had proven to be a move made at the most prudent of times, and the "Supreme Leader" of the Most Serene Commonwealth had, quite generously, bestowed command of all National Defense Forces "in the south" upon Gosiewski. As such, he had been blessed with the opportunity to entertain the Supreme Leader on three occasions since he'd attained his current position.

Today would be the fourth then. It was also of note that Kajetan Sołtyk; the Commissar-Commandant of the NBD would be accompanying the Supreme Leader...which bode of darker matters to be on hand than was normally the case. The NDB was already surpassing the ferocious reputation of its predecessor, and was bare weeks old, and showed few signs of slowing in the expansion of its influence. Gosiewski would just as soon have ignored them altogether, with the hopes that they would return the favor.

The mid-morning summer sun baked the southwestern tarmac of The Citadel's outlying fields mercilessly, swarms of mosquitoes rising up from the endless marshland surrounding the entirety of the base. Gosiewski was in fine shape, especially for a man in his sixties, but he was growing steadily more and more uncomfortable on the asphalt. The GROM-troopers flanking him on either side showed absolutely no signs of discomfort, even in full-kit. That was comforting, if nothing else.

At last, the Supreme Leader's aircraft radioed its final descent in, and Gosiewski spotted it hanging on the horizon. The wait while the hulking craft taxied down the runway and finally ground to a halt before the Dowódca-Generał.

For a man of such advanced age, Kościałkowsky was quite spry. He bounded down the stairs, and grasped Gosiewski's hand in the same firm embrace that he offered every time, and swept his hand out to introduce Sołtyk. That man had an almost spectral quality, with eyes that could have been called haunted, had they held any recognizable human emotion at all. He was remarkably tall as well, though his frame was robust enough to keep him from appearing gaunt. He did not offer to exchange hand-shakes, but instead nodded his head...much as a leopard would acknowledge a badger.

"I'm sorry to say Wincenty, I think I might have even more work to pile onto your desk...You understand that we find ourselves with a number of opportunities to solidify our lofty place in the scheme of the region- and the world." Kościałkowsky leaned in close, his tone positively conspiratorial.

"It is my place to serve the Most Serene Commonwealth to the best of my ability Most-High. Whatever you require of my men and I shall be done." Gosiewski was careful to keep his features impassive. He was very aware of the promises of "support" that the Supreme Leader had made to the Blue Union in the struggle against Barazi, and the hints of intervention in the Far East...the former being a matter of some regard logistically, and the latter looming as a grueling nightmare on all fronts.

"Indeed, indeed. Rola said that you would say as much- and highly suggested that I make another visit down to see you. We will be seeing action, in some form or another- in the near future. It might be on in just one, or both of the theaters that you will have immediately thought of...but there are matters of some minor detail that will need to be attended to first." Kościałkowsky paused for a moment, leaning heavily on his cane.

"We, the men of our generation, and our unique class did this nation a grand disservice all those years ago Wincenty...we let slip the greatest and truest of our traditions, and threw a festering edifice up in its place. I would see some of those wrongs overturned. We allowed the bankers and the shop-clerks to give away so much our birthright- and for what?"

Again, Gosiewski did his best to keep his features impassive, but he found himself agreeing with nearly all of what the Supreme Leader had said. He'd simply put such concerns out of his mind decades ago. What was this little man getting at here, after he'd already admitted to having resolved to commit the National Defense Forces to combat.

"We're going to be undergoing a just a bit more restructuring before I'm comfortable with spreading our forces even thinner. Just think of it as a way to prepare for upcoming deployments a bit further."

 

[Beautancus]

Narodowy Prawda Telewizja Headquarters
Downtown "Old" Hrodino
Most Serene Commonwealth of Greater Sarmatia


The history of the National Truth was a short, but varied and victorious one- spanning just more than half a year, though to be sure, there had been another media corporation there before the State had taken it and refashioned in...But short, indeed. The history of National Truth Television, the Supreme Leader's primary "state-sponsored" news agencies. More often than not, that had meant that the National Truth was little more than an organ of the Ministry of Information and Technology.

It was a wildly profitable, if entirely demanding, venture- all things considered. Magazines, news papers, online blogs, television- a near complete monopoly on media within the borders of Greater Sarmatia. The President of Narodowy Prawda, Seweryn Leon Sanguszko was quickly becoming one of the most influential (despite his status as a puppet of other men), fabulously wealthy, most widely recognized men in the nation. He was also very well liked by the All-Highest, who felt that Sanguszko could be counted upon to toe the "party line" no matter what. He could also be counted upon to spin every angle in just the manner that spoke to the most basic- and powerful- emotions and instincts within the Sarmatian and Khazar peoples.

Sanguszko had known the war was coming three or four days before any rumblings had reached the general populace- and he'd been making every possibly provision to have as many people on the ground in the south as possible. This would be a media gold-mine, both domestically and internationally. The very first granules of footage and after-action reports were already starting to trickle in, alongside widespread reports of civil unrest throughout Barazi.

That would certainly complicate things, as it was also quite clear to Sanguszko that the Supreme Leader had absolutely no intention of allowing some rabble to sweep in and stall the process of total justification. It would just start to become infinitely more difficult to adequately spin stories of Sarmatian soldiers "being forced" to fire upon masses of poorly armed Baraturk protesters with automatic weapon. God only knew what he would do if some video of the aftermath of a thermobaric bomb detonation on a building that had been full of people...

That almost seemed a benign consideration when compared to the almost incomprehensible information that had just been slipped to him by the NBD man sitting across the desk from him. Beads of cold sweat immediately began to prickle up on Sanguszko's neck and at his hairline. The wildest of all possible rumors, those that cropped up in the semi-legal tabloids that sold on the corner newsstands, that was what this most feared of government killers had just presented him with.

"I am sorry Podpułkownik (Lieutenant Colonel) Wasiliwych, but this is just an enormous piece of information to process, even for me. Will you excuse me while I have a drink? Would you care for one? A cigar perhaps? I have quite a selection of both." Sanguszko leaned against the bar, hard.

He'd come into this game with Mniszech. Sanguszko had even been something of a renewed idealist, a true believer in the "Promethean" ideal. He'd seen Kościałkowsky as something of a liability in his last days at the Council of Nations- but had come to appreciate the harshly militaristic style that he impressed upon everything around him when he was serving as Secretary of State.

Sanguszko had assumed that the old bastard would die in that office, and that Mniszech would still be sitting in his now entirely sealed-off office in the Ivory Towers...He'd known from the start that Kościałkowsky was ultimately behind Mniszech's death- if not for the stroke that had put him in the hospital in the first place. But Sanguszko had one of the keenest survival instincts in the whole of the Commonwealth.

He'd known that the "storm troopers," the PKB cum NBD were with the Secretary of State, as were almost all the "old-school hardliners" in the National Defense Forces...and with that, Nowina hadn't had a chance. Similarly, there had been no chance that Sanguszko would make any negative statements against "the All-Highest."

The National Truth's President smiled and nodded as the Rus' "storm-trooper" accepted a cigar from the heavy ivory cigar box that he produced from within his desk. He took the time to light the man's cigar- which struck him as ridiculously submissive, but with the NBD, few people could afford to assume anything. The butcher's dark blue-gray eyes flashed excitedly with the first pull from the cigar. It was doubtlessly the best one he'd ever had, and likely cost more than any meal the man had ever eaten.

A puppet Sanguszko might have been, but alive and filthy rich he was as well, and obviously with reason.

"An Empire. A semi-autonomous Khazar "Khaganate," basically the same relationship that we have now- only with a surprising deal of temporal authority granted to Nakh...he'll probably delegate it to his Khans, because I'm sure they'll be back in the door just as soon as that Peacock Crown is on his handsome head...A "Southern Khazar Semi-Autonomous Protectorate" in the South, on the coast...that will give us a southern deep water port, and allow us to effectively project our will over fully half the globe- with ease. And it will initially be governed by a Commissioner drawn from qualified Admirals of the...Imperial Navy." Sanguszko looked up, his eyes carefully sizing up the expression on Wasiliwych's bronze-mask of a face.

"With partial authority to be turned over to "Barakhazars," both nomadic and sedentary, in the formation of a semi-permanent provisional government...perhaps under the leadership of one of the more prominent and respected Rabbis of the community." It was a sure bet that religion would be the biggest stepping stone to meeting the "Barakhazars" and "Baraturkmen" in the middle. Staunch support of Judaism had saved the succession of Sarmatian states from the same grief that had gripped the Rus' lands, and Barazi for so many centuries. It would do the same here, with no doubt.

But an Imperial Navy. The Imperial Army. The Imperial Naval Infantry Corps. The Imperial Airborne Infantry Corps. The Khaganate. The Empire. The wording was the same throughout the document. Cesarz. Emperor. Cesarz Jozef III Kościałkowsky, progenitor of a new Sarmatian Imperial Dynasty with all the wonders of the modern world to rest upon, to build upon, to conquer with. All three of his children displayed the same wicked intelligence that their father possessed.

The oldest child, oldest son, Tadeusz was a wildly talented Corps Commander in the Naval Infantry- having been a part of that service branch's first generation of tankers. He was beloved by his men and senior officers alike. He was a natural politician, having adored his father from infancy- and having already mastered most of the more powerful tactics in the elder Kościałkowsky's repertoire, and was moving on- into previously uncharted territory.

Crown Prince Tadeusz. He would be yanked out of active duty so fast his head would spin, and he would be on the streets of Old Hrodino every day, kissing babies and attending church services...opening museums, christening warships, addressing the nation...It would be infinitely preferable if the elder Kościałkowsky passed on soon. He couldn't have that many years left in him. And Tadeusz, already in his late 40's, had proven to be growing ever milder in his old age. If there had to be an Empire, the prospect of him at the helm didn't seem entirely sour. He seemed to be genuinely devoted to his wife and children- who looked to be growing up just as finely as their father had. If that was any indication, perhaps he would be gentle with his people.

But the people. Some of them would roar- in fact, nearly all the Khazars would be dancing in the streets- but some of them would be quietly outraged. The Union bosses, what few of them were still walking around without a neat 7.62mm knick at the base of their skull, would be furious for example. They'd been amongst the biggest supporters of Mniszech's Promethean Revolution, and had found themselves out in the cold the fastest with "the All-Highest." But the very real threat of a complete purge of their numbers was keeping them in line, and probably would in this case as well.

The few remaining "Christian Democrats" would close their ranks even further, clinging to what anonymity the seminaries and aid-stations and "agricultural collectives" offered to them. Likewise, the Socialists, those without a death wish, would be making their way to Kryobaijan as quickly as possible. And that was a sad fact to consider- that anyone would flee Greater Sarmatia for the perpetual sick-man of Centrjziema (Central Europe/Middle Earth in Živ and Sarmatian).

The announcement would not be made, and would not be hinted at (and the threat of death was quite plain if Sanguszko even so much as whispered a single line of it to his children) until after victory had been secured in Barazi. At least one of the major territorial "readjustments" that had been outlined above was contingent upon a favorable outcome in that conflict. Which was absolutely certain, given the weight of Sarmatian steel that was descending upon the heathen "Baraturks."

With the Himyarite Mountain-Apes, from...Akhaltsikhe pulling out from the war just as soon as word of the first Sarmatian ballistic missiles flying, victory was a foregone conclusion. It was now all just a matter of convincing the Turks of the harsh new reality that would be their existence forever more.

The reasoning behind the timing of the announcements was very simple. An Emperor had to conquer an Empire before he could honestly claim the title. And it was a fine time for Jozef Kościałkowsky to decide to do things the honest way.

"Alright Podpułkownik Wasiliwych, I will do all that I can, within the constraints that you have given me, to prepare for this penultimate event in the history of our nation."

Wasiliwych smiled and stood, extended his black-gloved hand. "Very good Mr. President. The All-Highest, our Most Beloved Supreme Leader will be most pleased. Now, if you will excuse me, I am due to report back to the Palace within the hour, and the drive will take quite some time given traffic at this time of day...even with Perun-Runed license-plates." The smile the NBD man had offered him turned positively ghoulish, chilling Sanguszko's blood.

"It has been mine pleasure to play the role of host for you today Podpułkownik. Please, feel free to drop by when you have more leisure time and I will see to it that you are given an all-access tour...maybe even meet one of your favorite starlets." Sanguszko continued to smile broadly until the would-be inquisitor stalked through the doors- whereupon the television executive collapsed into his chair, chest heaving.

 

[Beautancus]

Biąly Pałac (the White Palace), Korona Dzielnica (Crown District)
Stary Hrodino (Old Hrodino), Województwo Dolnosarmatskie (Lower-Sarmatian State)
Wielkosarmatska (Greater Sarmatia)

The finishing touches had finally been put on the chapel yesterday, with great statues of the two "most influential Christians in Sarmatian history." A massive, and highly detailed marble and gold statue of Saint Ignatius, the Dominican Warrior-Priest, and shield-brother of the first King of Sarmatia, Krzysztof stood atop a great granite pillar a few feet before, and flanking the great oaken-doors of the chapel on the left-side of the chapel.

Looking rather formidable in his full suite of plate-mail, great spangenhelm raised above his brow- with a great long crucifix-staff raised above his head triumphantly in one hand, and a mighty warhammer hung over his shoulder in the other mailed fist.

Atop the pillar to the right, Jan Husz, the founder and first primate of the Sarmatian Episcopal Reformed Church, and most gifted general of Waldemar II, Międzymorze's first Reformed Monarch. Though a slightly less armored Christian soldier and king-maker, with his only armor a breastplate ornately carved and plated with bits of silver and bronze, he seemed to cut a more imposing figure than Saint Ignatius. A wide-brimmed Pasterz hat sat above his thin, grim-featured face- partially concealing the intensity of his visage, which spoke even through the centuries and stone. His famous beard, likened to that of John the Baptist, hung down to his chest, where one of his powerful hands clenched a Bible- symbolizing the Bible that he'd translated into the Sarmatian tongue- to his heart.

Arching above his head, was perhaps the finest single piece of either statue, a great bronze-plated steel Khazar-style saber- a Khazar-inspired jatagan (yatagan)- longer even curved, than a grown man was tall.

The two men had been carefully chosen for their particular niches in the history of Sarmatian Christianity- in truth, the two great patriarchs of that faith in Greater Sarmatia, but also the most obvious examples of mighty Sarmatian-Christian warlords. Both of them had written volumes upon volumes of theological treatises, and both of them had waged unending war against the enemies of the Sarmatian peoples as relentlessly as any men had ever set themselves to war. These were the pillars of Jozef Kościałkowsky's faith, and soon enough, they would be the pillars of every Reformed Sarmatians, and central symbols of National Pride.

They represented everything that Kościałkowsky wanted to inspire in the hearts of the men of the nation: martial prowess, piety, self-sacrifice...and loyalty to their monarch. Both men had been the right- sword- arms of the progenitors of the greatest royal houses in Sarmatian history, and had come to represent the glory that would follow in the wake of the completion of Kościałkowsky's Grand Design.

The Supreme Leader of the Most Serene Commonwealth stopped at the feet of the statue of Jan Husz, who- aside from his father and grandfather- had been the greatest boyhood hero of the All-Highest. The All-Highest ran his ancient, and arthritis-gnarled hand over the polished stone of the great Sarmatian Titan's boots, sighing at the weight of history that seemed to surround all three of the men.

Kościałkowsky had been raised to be a God-fearing man who heeded the Word of God, to be loyal to the King, to remain true to his wife and children, and to resist the basically sinful nature of the world. It had been with a truly heavy heart that he'd been forced to forsake that second of his father's teachings, and that fact would haunt him in the quiet hours of the night for most of his life. He'd been forced to forsake not only his obligation to the throne, but had been forced to endure the derision of his ultra-traditionalist father.

In the years and months recently passed, and in days to come, he'd worked to ensure that the he saw the second most important of his father's teaching upheld again. And in what better fashion than to make his father's name an Imperial Dynasty.

Kościałkowsky was sure that he would have statues carved in his honor in the years, decades- and perhaps even centuries to come. Despite what momentary divisions his reign might bring about, the cosmic momentum that had gathered behind him was too great for his enemies, both domestic and abroad, to resist by this point in the game. Every piece had been lovingly place on the great world-board with such care as to be nearer to paranoia than anything- and it would only be a matter of days before the final phase of the Supreme Leader's vision for the Greater Sarmatian began.

A smiled creased his aged face, as he thought of old Kajetan Sołtyk- now Kajetan III, Primate of the Reformed Church of Greater Sarmatia and Arch-Deacon of Old Hrodino having statues of his own. Though certainly not a warrior, nor even a true leader- and truly not on the scale of St. Ignatius and Husz, he would be remembered in connection with his monarch nonetheless. More than likely he would even be seen as a third-party of the great "founding triumvirate" of the coming Empire, along with Kościałkowsky himself, and the protégé of the All-Highest, Generał-Dywizji Samuel Łaszcz.

The All-Highest would have liked to talk with Kajetan, if for no other reason than that the mild-mannered old cleric soothed his nerves, but with the "election" that he'd ensured his old friend received, came enormous responsibilities- in today's case, morning and evening sermons at the National Cathedral, and an "Ecumenical National Council" meeting with the leaders of every other "major" Christian denomination in Sarmatia.

They would all have to tow the line, whereupon they would be rewarded with official tolerance and some financial support; or they could ignore politics altogether, with the understanding that the state would ignore them...or they would imprudently express their displeasure with the All-Highest, and would not be leaving Old Hrodino in the evening.

The world around Kościałkowsky was slowly conforming to his will, and it was proving to be the most exhilarating experience of his life. Despite being nearer to 70 than not, he perhaps felt "more alive" than ever before, even at the births of his children. He had an entire office dedicated to keeping constant updates either on hand, or streaming to him- oftentimes with gun and missile-cam footage not even an hour old ready to be viewed by him.

He'd seen war. He knew war, he'd been made a man in war. The war he'd waged, now more than two decades ago had been startling, in particular in regards to the inexplicable horrors that such rapidly advancing technology unleashed upon the fighting men of that conflict. The literal holocaust of fire that he saw unleashed upon the Baraturks was infinitely greater than all but the most savage actions of the Civil War.

It should all be over soon enough. There was only so much that any nation- no matter how large their army was- could take before it folded. The writing was on the wall for "the Rehber," and a new age, "of freedom," where Ziv and Sarmatian interests were sound- and the world fully realized the willingness and power of the Huszar/Kościałkowsky Partnership was more than adequate to affect changes in governments around the world- at will.

There was no sounder expression of imperial might than that, the All-Highest reckoned.