Why we fight?

[aimway921]

Artim was working hard. Another pallet of 500 7,7 mm rounds came to his station. His job was the final one in the manufacturing process for the ammo the Ashinaran Royal Army uses for their rifles and machine guns, before they are inspected, packed and shipped to wherever they were needed - at this time, it was the battle-scarred fields of Ferville. The fields that Artim has never seen, and probably never will see. Neither did Artim really care about those fields either. He didn't really think about why the government cared about those fields, or the Army, for that matter. "After all, it's the Hetman's will," Artim thought, as he slid the pallet under the press and pulled down the lever. With a buzz of the electrical motors pushing the solenoids down, the press came down and pushed the bullets into the casings. Pulling the lever up, the press came up again. Now for the most hazardous part of the job which he has repeated hundreds of times during each of his 12 hour shifts. With his hand stretched under the press, he pushed the pallet out the other side and onto the conveyor that sent the now completed rounds to the assembly section. Next pallet of 500 rounds was already in front of him.

30 minutes later, the steam whistle blew, announcing the end of his shift was just mere minutes away. Just got to wait for whoever it was that was coming to replace him at his station. Just a couple minutes later, someone tapped him on the shoulder. A young fox, no more than 16 years old, perhaps, was standing next to him, bending down to put his metal lunch box by the chair of the station. Artim smiled at the boy, as he stood up. The kid then took his seat, and pushed the next pallet under the press.

It was raining again as Artim exited the factory. The autumn rains were a little cooler than the summer ones, but still warmer than the winter rains. Walking under the overhangs of buildings to keep himself as dry as possible, Artim made his way towards the grocery store. Again a line out the door... Artim had to wait almost 15 minutes to get to the counter. Pulling out his ration book, he presented it to the clerk, who, with two quick snips of his scissors, cut out a coupon for this week. The second clerk brought the package to the counter. It was a little smaller and lighter than last week, which Artim has pointed out.

"Sorry sir, new ruling came down from above this Monday. We're packing less meat now, but replacing it with tofu, albeit also in a smaller amount." Turning his book to another page, Artim pointed to the chart for dairy. He still had two squares this week that were not crossed out. "Very well," the clerk said. Picking up his pen, he crossed out one of those squares in Artim's book, while calling out to the other clerk to bring a can of condensed milk. Of course, the ration book was there only to limit the amount he could buy this week. He still had to pay. Leaving 450 Hryvnias with the clerk, Artim headed home with the groceries.

Grumbling, he entered his apartment on the second floor of the building. His little 7 year old daughter was the first person to greet him as the father walked in. Helping him unpack the groceries, she asked if he seen any candy in the store. His wife then also came in from the balcony, where she was hanging laundry to dry.

"Have you seen it?" she exclaimed, as she picked up this morning's newspaper from a shelf and threw in on the table in front of tired fox that just came back from the night shift. The large print on the front page read: BREAKTHROUGH ON THE FRONTLINES: BATTLE OF FERVILLE DRAWING TO A CLOSE, AND JUAZ CAPTURED WITHOUT A SINGLE SHOT FIRED

"That's... good, isn't it?" Artim looked puzzled at his wife. Her face looked like she was about to burst into tears. "Keep reading!" she said.

"Battle of Ferville... drawing to a close... Union army began to retreat... 40,000 of brave Ashinaran souls have departed with the Spirits..."

Artim looked up at his wife, tears already running down her face. Clutching in her hands was a tattered envelope, with "2nd Division, 12th Regiment, Private Kyryllo Nevarenko, Ferville" written as the departure address. The letter arrived last week.

"What if our boy is one of them," she said, now audibly sobbing as she fell into her husbands arms, who comforted her as he could. In the corner of his eye he saw his 7 year old daughter standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the hallway. From the tear running down her cheek as well, he knew - she fully understood what was going on as well.

[aimway921]

Artim was pacing back and forth at the trolley station after exiting the public transport wonder. It was his day off, and while he was unsure of how good an idea it was, de decided to take up the offer a neighbor made him a while ago.

They were supposed to meet in the bar on the street corner. There it was, just a few yards away, but Artim hesitated. Was this illegal? Was this... Treason?

Finally he gathered his courage and crossed the street. Entering the bar, he ordered a glass of coffee with Gaelian gin with a Franerri croissant. An unusual combination, but it was a code. The barman gave him his order - not before crossing out a square on the smallest page of Artim's ration book, titled "Restaurant visits" - and pointed him in the direction of a table in the corner of the hall.

Waiting for him there were two men. One was Artim's neighbor who invited him to this place, and the other was unfamiliar to Artim.

Artim sat down in silence, as his neighbor introduced him. "So," he asked, "what finally convinced you to join us?"

"Yesterday's news..." Artim replied meekly, "my wife can't take it anymore... She thinks our son is among those 40,000-

"50,000, or more," the stranger cut him off.

"I'm sorry?"

"You really believe the numbers the Ministry of War releases? They are lowering in to make the war seem not as bad as it really is, I'm telling you."

"Yes... Well, my wife is afraid our son may be one of them... And, to be honest, I'm fearing that too, that we'll never see our boy again."

"It's entirely possible," the neighbors said, as he pulled an envelope out of his jacket. It was a purple envelope - same color as the Royal Army uniforms - with the Army crest stamped on it. Every Ashinaran who had a relative on the frontlines dreaded this envelope. This was a "death notice", informing the soldier's relatives that he has died in the line of duty.

"My son was at Le Troi in the first weeks of this mess," the neighbor continued. We received this only three months after he left."

The three men discussed and deliberated. How to cope with the loss of their children, what to do next, how was it fair for them and why did Ashinara even need this war? Not long before 3 other men joined them at the table, as they talked through the afternoon. No doubt there were many other groups just like this one throughout the city, maybe even the whole nation.

[aimway921]

On the other side of the city, Gdynia was finishing off yet another coat. At the beginning of summer, the Royal Army put in a ginormous order to the tailoring factory she worked at. Last winter the Royal Army suffered from the lack of winter clothes due to being unaware of how cold in could get in Central Touli. They would not make that mistake again, and thus requested all tailoring factories in the nation to produce warm wool coats for the Army. They needed at least a million of them, and only a couple months of fall was remaining before they would be needed. Gdynia worked hard, knowing that one of the coats she makes might go to her son, who was currently fighting at Ferville. Or if, Spirits forbid, he has laid down his head, her hard work would at least help save the lives of her son's friends. Unlike Artim and his new friends, the devastating news of massive losses at Ferville inspired her to work harder to ensure as many of Ashinaran boys would survive to see the end of the war as possible.

[aimway921]

The new acquaintances Artim has made were... strange. After the first meeting in the bar, they met a couple days later in one of their storage sheds, which was furnished as a covert meeting spot. Some boxes for sitting, a table that looked like it was recovered from a scrap pile. At least they had some beer. While not the most popular drink among Ashinarans, it was a bit easier to procure than mead or horilka during the rationing. But what they were saying had Artim's ear even more than anything else there.

"I'm telling you," Georg, a worker from a factory that made rifles piped up again. "the lords masters gracious Nobles" - he said with a sarcastic tone - "have strongarmed the Hetman. He's too old to resist them, and they're taking advantage of him!"

"But the war was announced by the Princess, wasn't it?" Artim protested.

"If they were brazen enough to strongarm the old and frail Hetman, you think they wouldn't think twice before doing the same to the young and inexperienced Princess? With all due respect to them both."

Maksim took another swig from his bottle before joining in the debate. "I bet it's those leeches Tagomych and Khemelnytski. I bet they just needed an excuse to expand the Army, and got us involved in that war to do it."

The men argued for several hours about semantics and fine details, but they agreed on one thing - something had to be done about the nobles, who, as they believed, were responsible both for Ashinara getting involved in the war and manipulating the Hetman.

[aimway921]

Monday has come around as any other day. It wouldn't continue as any other day, however. Entering the factory, Artim saw the workers gathered around the foreman's station, where some unfamiliar fox was standing, agitating the crowd.

"We are forced to make weapons for the army, who gives those weapons to our children and forces them to die for some foreign land! How long is this going to continue?! How long would the nobles exploit us to further their own ambitions that the common Ashinaran cares not for?!"

Many of the people cheered him on. As he kept speaking, more and more joined in the cheering. It was not long before Artim found himself cheering as well.

"Let's send the message loud and clear, my friends! We are are sick and tired of this war, and we demand it end! Strike! Force them to send our boys home!"

[aimway921]

Young Prince Aleksanteri of the Nazarjev noble house was pacing back and forth in the small room where he managed to get a private meeting with the Princess Yuzura. He was due to inherit a massive industrial empire within Ashinara from his father. Something he didn't want neither because of the responsibility that came along with it, nor because he was sick of autocratic rule in the country like many others were, and didn't want to play part in perpetuating it any further. Now that workers across the nation were striking, he knew it was time to do something.

"Surely you of all people can understand, Your Highness," he continued his deliberation to the Princess. "We cannot continue living in the past. Your father began the process, he opened up the country for foreign trade and relations, but that's nowhere nearly enough. If we want to survive in this rapidly evolving world, we must evolve with it."

The Princess sat in her chair, listening closely to what Aleksanteri had to say. She was known by those who have met her personally that she had a habit of letting others speak their mind while she listened silently, formulating her response, while allowing others to verbalize their train of thought. Sometimes her silence intimidated. Sometimes, as the other person ranted on, they'd eventually manage to come to a correct conclusion themselves. This time, however, it seemed to be the former. Aleksanteri knew what he wanted to say, but he didn't have the courage to say that to the Crown Princess. Yuzuru, however, saw where he was going with his speech.

"What do you think we should do then, Aleksanteri?" she finally broke her silence, stopping the young man in his tracks. "I do believe that doubling down and starting to oppress our fair subjects would not be the best plan of action, especially when we just fought a war against a regime that oppressed it's own subjects, don't you think? I believe we have only one other option. That is what you came to offer, isn't it?"

Aleksanteri's throat became dry. Was the Princess signaling that the words that could be considered treasonous to say to a Monarch, the words that he wanted to say so much but was afraid to... Was she signaling that she had the same thoughts? Well, he was here now. He figured, he walked over the point of no return when he requested this meeting in the first place.

"We need to democratize, Your Highness. Like so many nations that we work with already have. Because after all... Wouldn't it be ironic if we would be one of the only nations with the same system of government as the one we consider our direct adversary and existential threat?"