Chapter Twenty-One: Wish You Were Here

At first, Viktoriya's reservations urged caution but when she was met with a round of applause and ecstatic approval, they were reduced to shallow whispers in the dark recess of her mind. The sight of her father and mother at the RNOD meeting, smiling and embracing her in a joyous hug, gave her a warmth she had not felt since her conscription notice. There were no hints of bitterness nor foulness in his breath as small tears escaped his eyes in their reunion. Her mother, no longer bedridden, moved as if she were 20 years younger upon seeing Vikoriya's downcast face, before chastising her husband for being a dullard.

When her mother heard that she was thrown out of the house, that was the cure that dispelled all her ailments as she dragged her frail body out of bed to search for her only daughter. Her father was forced to eat cold sausage and wet cabbage for breakfast, lunch, and dinner daily without exception since Viktoriya was gone. Even her own brothers, Anatolii and Kolya, quickly returned to their childish antics of pranking their youngest sibling for a time.

For the first time in 12 years, the family ate as one. United and happy just as God has intended. Despite the economic hardship that befallen Germania recently, such worries did not penetrate the Serebryakov household. Not a single penny was spared in celebrating her return.

Whatever warnings Tanya had given Viktoriya, the memories of her chastisement and banishment, were absent completely. No longer did she return to bed full of torment or regret but instead, her thoughts were of Kieva, her true home. Viktoriya dreamed of a peaceful life, a good life, surrounded by an endless, infinite, field of wheat, the color of gold itself, glistening under the benevolent sun in the blue sky. She dreamed of her ideal home as a farmstead crafted in marble and limestone, as large as the Winter Palace itself, opulent and imperial; and inside, when she dared open the door, she saw…

The Major herself. Tanya von Degurechaff dressed in pure white, tending to the kitchen and children like a proper housewife. Their children. Blue-eyed, blond, and without a hint of inferior Russy blood. Viktoriya moved to embrace her savior but Tanya moved past her like a ghost, too wrapped up in housework to notice who had arrived home. Both saddened and infuriated by this disregard, Viktoriya grabbed onto her wrist to force her to stop.

Why won't you look at me?

Why can't you look at me?

Please. Look at me.

The White Russy stood in her own fantasy home like an unwanted guest, a stranger in a familiar land, as silence pervaded the room and beyond. In her heart, perhaps she had asked too much. How strange and unusual.

She got everything she could ever want yet her heart was empty and defunct. A hollow feeling that saw Viktoriya's melancholic smile distort into a bitter, scornful sneer. She shook Tanya's arms in a frenzy, knocking the folded laundry out of her hands and letting them scatter in the air like paper confetti. When that did not force her head to turn, as Viktoriya did not care if her expression was one of surprise or exasperation, the veteran moved to punch holes in the stone walls, hoping the imperfection would force her to turn.

The children made themselves scarce while she moved like a hurricane wrecking the room the pair were standing in, smashing everything of value, and ripping out portraits of blurred faces from the walls. Anything to agitate, to infuriate, her most beloved hero. To force her to at least berate the petty destructive activities that Viktoriya degenerated into.

Yet, despite the pristine and the polished reduced to rubble in a heartbeat, Tanya did not turn. She was as immovable as the Urals; her face permanently facing away from Viktoriya and glaring at the horizon.

Look at me, Major. Look at me.

Say that you love me.

Viktoriya begged. Viktoriya cried. Viktoriya threatened to force Tanya to face her with great violence. Yet her threats were perpetually empty. The Argent Silver has faced Mary Sioux in single combat and fought the entire world when it was bearing down upon her shoulders. The needs and desires of the White Russy were insignificant compared to the burdens of the Empire. Was it greed or lust that made her covet Tanya's body and soul so selfishly? To whisk her away and hide her in a mansion on a farm, detached from the politics and war of Berun?

It was only when Viktoriya reduced her farmstead to rubble did her hands fell by her side. Nothing remained of the humble glory and quiet prosperity of her life in Kieva.

I'm sorry.

I'm so very sorry.

I just want you at my side again.

I just want you to smile again.

Please. Look at me.

Tanya. Please.

Again, the Major did not turn but instead walked away, knelt near the rubble, and began picking up the broken picture frames. She threw them all in one pile before grabbing a broom to sweep up the shattered glass. While Viktoriya stood and watched, Tanya began to clean. Block by block, panel by panel, the Ace of Aces worked to restore the household to functioning order.

Discouraged and defeated, the White Russy collapsed onto the nearby corner and there, she noticed a cracked mirror made of pure silver. Her hand reached over and grabbed it at the same time as Tanya. Only then did the two women meet eye to eye.

Though her mouth was thin, Tanya's eyes were of pure contempt, regarding Viktoriya as if she were a piece of mold, infecting the walls and floors with her poison. After a moment of tense silence, Tanya finally spoke:

G E T.

O U T.

Viktoriya looked down and saw that she had no reflection in the mirror. As horrible as it was, she understood. She was not wanted. She was not enjoyed. She was not meant to be here. She was never meant to be together with her.

Slowly, she lifted herself off the ground and silently walked out the front door with tears in her eyes. Viktoriya looked at the horizon and wondered if anything was waiting beyond. Anything at all. When nothing came from the horizon except the infinite fields of wheat, forever uncaring whose hand harvested the grain.

She wanted to wake up. Viktoriya wanted to leave. To escape from this world and into the next. To go and hide away from the haunting glare of the Major.

In one desperate plea, the White Russy prayed to God for help. Help to get back to Tanya. To make things right for Tanya. She prayed for salvation and protection…

When that did not work, she prayed harder and with greater fervor. Offering anything and everything as tribute…

Only then did He answer.

His grace hit her like a mortar shell yet it was the most comforting feeling she had ever experienced. A rare encounter of pious kindness and compassion that earned Viktoriya's eternal gratitude.

On the horizon, past the boundaries of the farm, God revealed to her the future. And it was glorious.

But she must do her duty. Great or small, she must do it all.

Only then, Viktoriya could have it all…

After the high from a family reunion, the family split off for their own affairs. Anatollii and Kolya went out to work while Viktoriya led her parents to her apartment to retrieve apparel and other possessions left behind. Truth be told, Viktoriya wanted to introduce Tanya to the rest of her family, to hear their story of exile and ruination, but the nature of her work meant that such openings were scarce.

Even though the streets of Berun were cleaned up nicely thanks to the blessed diligence of the city sanitation services, there were still shops smashed and marked as Judean. Their owners are nowhere to be found; either dead, missing, or choosing to remain anonymous. Viktoriya's stomach twisted in grim satisfaction and compounding shame upon a revenant echoing Tanya's scathing rebuke, though her parents passed it off as harsh justice.

When they finally arrived, Viktoriya found herself hesitant to enter the apartment. After all, she was still roommates with Tanya and yet, it felt like an unnecessary intrusion.

How pathetic must I be to have my own parents defend me? She thought bitterly to herself when she knocked on the door absentmindedly.

After a minute of awkward standing, Viktoriya finally opened the door to reveal an empty environment. While Tanya's side of the room was touched, her side remained intact exactly as she left it back in November. A minor time capsule of a life before the November Boycott. While her parents lightly explored the apartment, the veteran moved towards her desk to pull out a small drawer. There, it contained the gifts that she had wanted to deliver to Tanya after her return from Pullska. Viktoriya fought tooth and nail to get the autograph of Tzar Nikolas III onto these books. Il'in, however, was a lot more enthusiastic to give his.

The treasures that remained hidden right underneath Tanya's nose…

The books still smelled fresh. Untouched by Tanya's hands. The holy bibles of her people's movement.

Viktoriya felt the urge to burn them. To cast these pages into the fire and let their ashes scatter in the wind. She dared not think how horrible the fallout would have been if she had tried to calm Tanya's anger that night with these texts as tribute. It's best to pretend that she had never aspired to gift these works to the Major. For everyone's sake.

She would have to lie. The Tzar would have to lie. Il'in would have to lie.

But most importantly, Elena would have to lie.

No. Now's not the time to be paranoid about Elena.

She's a good friend. Her only friend. She wouldn't do that.

Elena already got what she wanted from Viktoriya's expulsion.

Underneath those books, lay her secret diary from the Great War to the campaign trail. A wave of nostalgia fell upon her when memories of the Rhineland Front replayed in her mind. Despite the constant presence of death and carnage, Viktoriya found the experience rather pleasant. There, in the Imperial Army, at least she had a purpose. She had power. She had Tanya.

The White Russy flipped to her last entry in the diary.

November 10th, 1932.

I must confess: I really do enjoy killing people.

Viktoriya smirked to herself. She did find herself enjoying the war as the peace proved to be terrible. To think she was scared at the prospect of putting on the uniform…

Finding a pen, the brunette made another entry.

March 29th, 1933.

I still do.

Tanya taught her well - killing was easy.

Killing was good.

It was righteous even!

She should take pride in the fact that she is the Tzar's greatest killing machine - Tanya's greatest warrior. Viktoriya can kill anyone and anything, including herself if it pleases the Major.

And yet, that flicker of pride was squashed by a wave of guilt. Tanya wanted her to play a bureaucrat for the Freikorps, a role she initially took with great ethusiasm though it's glimmer quickly wore off in the face of a mountain of paperwork. Good thing Elena was happy to take over some of her duties.

"Visha, my dear." Her mother called out, pointing a delicate finger at one of Tanya's war trophies. "What kind of gun is that?"

Her father immediately tried to come up with an answer but he was not present in the trench warfare in the Rhineland or Norden. It had the bearings of the usual bolt action rifle that he once used to fight against the Bolsheviks but the shape was all wrong.

"That is an automatic rifle, a SIG I believe," Visha explains rather glumy. "A minor victory against one stubborn enemy," Tanya told her the story once, how the father of Mary Sioux used whatever weapon he had to turn her into a wet, red meteor. How the Allied Powers broke convention to develop a weapon specifically designed to kill the Argent Silver.

That provoked further awe in her parents as they moved to gently touch and pry open the drawers of Tanya's study like sneaking...rats. She would have halted their prying hands, but her mind was on a different subject. Something cold gripped Viktoriya's heart when she saw the pure adoration emitting from their eyes. Not even in their happiest moments did they look upon her as they do on the Major. The coldness enrapturing her heart set her blood aflame. People don't even have to meet Tanya; they need only to see her portrait for their minds to be swayed.

A luxury denied to Viktoriya her entire life.

To add further insult, her mother and father were taken back by another prize in the Major's possession: the Kaiser's Sword. It was a royal heirloom dating back to the Napoleonic Wars; it was the last thing Kaiser Frederich did before he left the country into exile. An act of honor denied to even the ardent supporters of the Kaiserdom yet Tanya has reserved it to live in the corner of her side of the apartment. As if the whole affair was some minor inconvenience. The Major didn't even mention it until she brought it up one afternoon…

Then there were the portraits. Portraits and landscape photos of the battlefields they had conquered together. Since when did Tanya acquire so many? Aside from a group photo with members of the 203rd, there were pictures of ministers, generals, and officers standing side-by-side with the Major. All smiling. All celebrating. Everyone uplifting the Argent Silver as the Imperial paragon. All of them contained a signature of the most important people in Germania and the Empire at large.

Why am I not there? Viktoriya thought savagely. Why can't I be there with her?

Because you're a conscript. She heard Zettour's cold voice sneering in her mind. Your effeminate loyalty is no better than a dog's. Know your place in the Empire.

By God, she wanted to tear the wrinkly leather skin out of that old, decrepit man. He never listened to any of her directives when she was the temporary leader of the Freikorps. He never considered her opinions and worked to wrestle control away during Tanya's absence. He never cared about maintaining a unanimous front in the movement; the boycott to him was just another bullet to shoot at the Socialists and Liberals. No...never again! Zettour does not own the Major! She will protect Tanya...no one else can.

Viktoriya's father couldn't help himself but investigate Tanya's desk. Each opened drawer revealed more birthday cards and letters from every person of interest in Germania and beyond. Any politician or officer worth his salt wrote to Degurechaff, hoping to garner a single grain of favor from the golden child. Job offers to become lobbyists with an exorbitant payroll that could only exist as theories to the Serebryakovs. Even as minor nobility, the Kievans could never hope to acquire that kind of income.

It's always Degurechaff. It's Always Degurechaff. It's always Degurechaff. It's always Degurechaff. It's Always Degurechaff. IT IS ALWAYS DEGURECHAFF.

On the bookshelf, Viktoriya's mother noticed the odd collection of books inhabiting Tanya's bookshelf. A disproportionate amount of them were dedicated to the oriental country of Akitsushima; topics of history, political structure, and most importantly, the cultural arts of Akitsushima. Political treatises, economic journals, and military reports took up the remaining space on the bookshelf.

The White Russite could not help but feel saddened by the sight.

She thought that there was a place for Tanya to learn Russy history. To learn White Russy culture and literature. But perhaps Zettour was right: what is there to learn from a story of how the people were too stupid and gullible to notice the evil creeping underneath their noses before it overthrew their government and state? Can they really call their society just and modern? Worthy of admiration?

Viktoriya wanted to scream. She wanted to yell. She wanted to roar at the despot that there was something precious to be gained from her nation's history. But standing here, finally seeing the contents of Tanya's interest that the Argent Silver would rather learn from the Asian nation that humiliated the Russy Empire silenced her volatile contempt.

Despite passing by this shelf countless times during her stay together with Degurechaff, Viktoriya wanted to believe, wanted to pretend, that the books were anything but. How many times did she ignore that bookshelf willingly? Life was infinitely happier if she kept her eyes on Tanya always.

"Aw, this is cute." Her father remarked, pulling out one of Tanya's journals to reveal…cartoons. Since when did she aspire to be a political cartoonist? Hell, Viktoriya had never seen Tanya draw at all! The drawings themselves were very unorthodox; unlike her contemporaries, emphasis was around the eyes. Instead of dots, the eyes of her characters were large and expressive. It somewhat reminded her of the comedy films where the actors put on silly faces.

Finally, Viktoriya walked over to one of Tanya's collector's chests. The guilt of invasion gave way to the intense fervor to discover more of the Major. She lifted one cover and found war medals that Tanya had earned during her service. Except there was one problem…

There were too many damn metals.

Each drawer opened revealed more awards from the Imperial Army, Imperial Navy, the Government, and the Throne itself. More medals than Viktoriya thought previously existed. It proved the rumors correct: that over half the medals Tanya earned were invented on the spot! Her exploits created a new selection of achievements just so the Empire could categorize them all. The White Russy wanted to feel a sense of pride in the Major's accomplishments but all that she had within her was so much

SCORN.

Weiss had 18 medals. Konig and Neumann had 15.

I only had four.

Just four.

Small enough to fit in a cigar box whereas Tanya had plenty to decorate the entire face of a wall.

There was no ceremony for Viktoriya. No round of applause. While Tanya dined with the high command, she remained in the barracks playing cards and dice with her comrades. Whatever joy the veteran had during those quiet moments tasted like ash and salt upon the revelation of how pampered the Ace of Aces was.

Seeing the glitter in that war chest filled the veteran mage with newfound revulsion; a most sinister feeling that dug underneath her skin and gnaw at her bones. Of course, Viktoriya only had four medals. East or West, no one sang any songs dedicated to her. How many of her own brethren in RNOD could comprehend the trials and tribulations that she had endured? How many newspapers spoke positively of the White Russy? The Major held the entire world at her fingertips and Viktoriya wanted to hate her for it.

Viktoriya looked back at her side of the apartment and realized how barren it was in comparison. How…underwhelming with its shelves and drawers stocked with family photos and other equally worthless bric-a-brac. What does she have to show to the world? To her parents? To Tanya?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

There is nothing present that could justify Viktoriya's existence.

But it was a small comfort, no - a great comfort, that God was watching over her. That God knows her. He sees her.

Viktoriya looked down on those two books, the texts that the exiles brought over, the works that founded the White Russy Liberation Movement, and wondered. What if…

What if Tanya doesn't know - doesn't realize - the gravity of their cause?

How important it is to stop the Red Menace from marching west…

She will understand.

When the Major sees the truth, she will understand.

She will have to understand. Just as Ludwig-Richter had said. SHE WILL UNDERSTAND.

Only then…

Together, they shall be praised till the end of time itself.

Once her parents were done gawking at another monument dedicated to her idol's achievements, Viktoriya dragged them out of the apartment so she could resume her original purpose of coming here. Once she stuffed the items and clothes into a small suitcase. With a shallow tear in her eye, she closed the door before locking it. Viktoriya gazed at that door longingly, as if it would open to reveal the Ace of Aces welcoming her, before leaving with her family.