NOVPUBThe moment the King of Hungary gave the signal, he had his forced march into Croatia. Where the Royal Hungarian Army had marched into Zagreb in under twelve hours, waving the banners of Saint Stephen over its highest peak and greatest cathedral.
Such an overwhelming victory proved once again, without a shadow of a doubt, the difference between a nation that fought with armor at its forefront and those without it.
The soldiers wore a patchwork of old Austro-Hungarian uniforms and wielded rifles from every corner of the world; a sign of how the current Royal Hungarian Army was doing its best with the little it had.
Years of warfare had bled the best of their weaponry left over from the Great War, not that they inherited the pinnacle of what the Austro-Hungarian Army had been working with. No, when the Habsburgs joined with Germany, they brought their most capable gear with them.
And while Bruno's investment had flooded the country, helping Hungary jumpstart its industry. The ongoing war in the Balkans, born from the Austro-Hungarian collapse, waited for no man. Hungary had no choice but to mobilize now, not later.
Troops deployed atop domestically produced tanks and armored cars, firing as they advanced. Infantry leapt from the backs of these mechanical beasts, rifles in hand, as 5cm cannons blasted fortifications into rubble. Within hours, the Croatian resistance was surrounded, assaulted, and crushed.
Back in Budapest, the King of Hungary and his generals gathered in triumph.
"Less than twelve hours! That is all it took for those Croatian dogs to kneel and remember who their master is! Well done, all of you! We've dealt a swift and brutal blow to the savages who dared murder the Governor of Zagreb!" the king bellowed, his voice soaked in satisfaction.
"This is what they get for rigging their so-called referendum, and taking up arms when the truth came out! Outrageous!"
The generals toasted.
"Your Highness, by my count, your record rivals even the Lion of Tyrol! Truly, one of the greatest conquerors of this era!"
"Those fools. An independent Croatia? What gave them the right to even utter such drivel?"
"Shall we burn Zagreb to the ground? Let it be a warning to all who rebel against the Crown!"
Though most of these were the sycophantic ramblings of courtiers eager to bask in reflected glory, at least one man found them disturbing.
Svetozar Boroević was a Field Marshal of the old Austro-Hungarian Empire, a war hero, and a native Croatian. He sat silently among the raucous laughter. These were his people they were boasting about butchering. He had heard the reports. The massacre in Zagreb was not a battle; it was a purge.
By sheer circumstance, he had found himself in Budapest rather than Vienna after the empire fell. Now, it was clear he had overstayed his welcome.
"Your Highness," Boroević said, rising calmly, "I must beg your leave. My stomach is unsettled this evening. With your permission, I'll return to my residence to rest."
The King, too high on glory to recall the general's ethnic origin, nodded dismissively. "Of course. Rest well. You've earned it."
Hours later, Boroević sat in his home, dialing a number he hoped was still active. It rang once, then twice, then a third time. Just as hope began to fade, a voice answered.
"Hello?"
"It's good to hear your voice again," Boroević said, relief flooding his tone. "It's me, Svetozar. I must confess, I regret not being in Austria when it was annexed into the Reich. I now find my services put toward causes I no longer believe in.
If I may ask, could you ensure safe passage into the Reich? If it's not too much trouble."
Bruno, surprised to hear the man's voice, felt a pang of guilt. He had assumed Boroević had chosen Hungary of his own accord. Clearly, that wasn't the case.
"You should've called sooner," Bruno replied. "I assumed your loyalty had gone to Hungary. I didn't realize you were suffering there. Stay inside your home. My men will come to collect you within hours. They'll show proper identification. They'll bring you safely to Tyrol. Then we'll talk."
After hanging up, Bruno began organizing the extraction carefully, avoiding any diplomatic incidents. If memory served, Boroević had about a year left to live. He didn't intend to let that year end in exile.
In Bruno's past life, Boroević had been cast aside like so many others. Loyal to the empire to the bitter end, he had died rejected and denied citizenship in the Austrian Republic, while simultaneously unwelcome in the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes.
A man who had never betrayed his oath was discarded by regimes that claimed to stand for freedom and democracy. The 1919 Habsburg Law had stripped nobles, officers, and imperial loyalists of their rights, properties, and citizenship.
It was a democratic cruelty so brazen that, nearly a century later, the EU Human Rights Council pressured Austria to amend it.
To Bruno, this was proof of democracy's hypocrisy. Republics preached liberty, yet delivered vengeance. They called themselves humane and cast out the most dutiful among them.
This time, things would be different. This time, men like Boroević would not be left to rot in obscurity. 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝒑𝙪𝒃.𝒄𝒐𝙢
"In this life," Bruno muttered, "I will do right by men like him. Because loyalty should never be punished. Not by kings. Not by states. And certainly not by liars in parliament."
As Bruno promised, within the span of a night, Svetozar Boroević disappeared from the borders of Hungary, and re-emerged in Tyrol. Where he and Bruno would have a lengthy discussion about his future roles.
But not before Bruno would force the man to undergo a full medical evaluation. He wanted to make sure if there was any sign of the man's illness, or potential to die of a stroke in a year's time, that it could either be treated beforehand, or the man could live out his last year comfortable and happy.
