The colonel listened somberly to it all, apparently still analyzing events to educate himself even in such low spirits—a habit from his days in headquarters. He couldn’t play an active role in the plans any longer, though, which must frustrate him.
“I intend to fight to the very end,” the colonel repeated. “Whether that’s this trial, or whether I have to go to appeal directly to Alexander. There’s no truth or evidence that we tried to overthrow the current government. This trial will expose their lies.”
The colonel was far too optimistic. The government could have bought the judge, but he seemed to not have even considered the possibility. He believed that acting righteously as a human being and a citizen would always win out. However, the world wasn’t like that now. Not in their homeland or anywhere else in Europe.
Colonel Dimitrijević might be putting too much of his hope in help coming from France or Great Britain. He was good with languages, could speak a handful of them, and had connections with people in other countries. He might be hoping for a final opportunity for the Allies to right the errors of the exiled government.
Magic wouldn’t work on people whose beliefs bordered on faith.
Milos decided not to press it for the time being. “I should be going now. I’ll come again later with information.”
The colonel nodded magnanimously. “The Greek spring does feel wonderful,” he said, before adding wistfully, “…I wonder if I’ll live long enough to see the orange petals fall.”
Milos left the question unanswered and exited the room. On his way out, he searched through the desks in the office. As predicted, he found a bundle of letters addressed to the colonel, so he returned to the cell and pushed them through the food slot.
“Thank you,” a warm voice called through the gap.
Milos saluted in front of the door and left.
The trial held by the exiled Serbian government ended in a ruling to execute the seven officers, including Colonel Dimitrijević. The ruling commuted the sentences of four of the men, so in actuality, only the colonel and two other men would face execution. A car took the three men from Salonika to Mikra, where they were tied to stakes in graves that had been dug for them in the valley. They were executed as day broke on June 27.
In the moments leading up to his death, Colonel Dimitrijević faced his executioners and yelled, “If I am to die by Serbian guns for Greater Serbia, then I do not regret it, because I pray for the revitalization of Greater Serbia in the near future. Tell my friends.”
Following the assassination of the archduke of Austria and his wife, Gavrilo Princip, the murderer, had been imprisoned in Theresienstadt, a prison for dissidents in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He died from a worsening case of tuberculosis while in prison on April 28, 1918, the year after Colonel Dimitrijević’s execution.
The rays of the morning sun began to shine from the eastern corner of the valley. Milos stood motionless, looking down on the basin. He’d been too late to save the colonel and had heard the distant gunfire just as he’d reached the spot where he now stood.
Count Silvestri walked up behind him, but he didn’t turn around. Milos crouched in the frigid air for long time, then finally said, “A new Serbia will emerge. I will help them win on the Macedonian front, retake Belgrade, and return my motherland to its rightful standing. The exiled government will become a ‘clean government’ and return to the homeland. Not one of those generals who dragged us into the Great War will serve in the cabinet. Neither will any of those who opposed the establishment. The colonel, his friends—none of them remain in any important positions. The Serbian government will eliminate anyone they deem inconvenient, sidle up to the victorious nations with innocent smiles on their faces, and create a country that forbids any and all opposition.”
“There’s one thing I’d like to ask,” the Count said. “Seeing what happened here, do you still want to be human? Do you still believe that humans are more wonderful than monsters?”
“I can’t accept that this is how humans truly are!” Milos cried out.
The tears he’d been holding back poured forth, running down his cheeks to fall from his chin. “I didn’t fight all those horrible battles to become like this lot! Don’t you dare call them human!”
The Count didn’t respond. He waited until Milos had wiped his tears with a sleeve, calmed his trembling body, and could talk normally again.
The Count chose his timing carefully, then said, “If you aren’t doing anything after taking back Belgrade, there’s something I’d like to ask of you.”
“…What?”
“Do you remember that German man you helped in Paris? Jörg Huber.”
“What about him?”
“Nil captured him early last winter, and he’s been missing ever since. I finally discovered his whereabouts. But Nil has cast a powerful spell over him, and I can’t get him back on my own. Would you help me rescue him?”
“Do it yourself. He’s your servant.”
“Once you got your country back, your life lost its purpose. The colonel you planned to rebuild your country with has been killed, and the men who helped him will still be in jail for decades. Those freed by the regency government won’t ever have another chance to enter the political arena again. There’s nothing left for you to do. That life is empty for you.”
“Don’t waste your breath.”
“The truth is, Jörg has changed himself into a real monster.”
“What?”
“He inherited my blood, just like Xandra. When he asked me to make him a monster, he said something interesting. He said he would give up his life as a human to save humans. He has a soft spot for children because of his work as a barber and couldn’t bear to see them starve to death, swept up in the winds of war.”
Milos didn’t reply as he weighed the Count’s words.
“I’ve come to view Jörg—the man who became a monster to save humans—as more human than real ones,” the Count continued. “What situations reveal the true meaning of humanity? Are you trying to become like the men who killed your enemies, killed your fellow countrymen, and feign ignorance as they forge a new era? Or are you like Jörg, who will abandon even himself to save other people?”
“Don’t confuse things. Jörg’s situation has nothing to do with me.”
“I wonder about that. I think it’s extremely relevant. Of course, I don’t expect you to agree to help for free. I’ll offer you half off Xandra’s medicine for a limited time. The Macedonian front is still active. You could use all the medicine you can get.”
“It’s still too expensive at half price. Make it ninety percent off.”
“How greedy. You’ll make Xandra cry.”
“Then no deal.”
“How about seventy?”
“Eighty. I won’t take any less.”
“If you insist. Well then, it seems we have a deal.”
The early morning sun brightened the world around them, and the wind brought with it the scent of orange blossoms—the final fragrance they made just before falling.
“What a lovely smell,” the Count said calmly. “I hope this era puts an end to the ethnic pride that caused all this conflict. Which people are greater, which are lesser, who has control over whom. It’s all so senseless.”