[h2]Mystras, Greece, 1943[/h2]
(Collab with [@Letter Bee])
It had been two years since the soldiers of Vafeiadis had the honor of hanging their greatest enemy from the gallows of Athens. Dionysios Hatzi had had the pleasure of being there first hand when he watched the old man die. The feeling of watching the nationalistic pig twitch and flail so pitifully in his final moments was indescribably satisfying and pleasurable to him, almost erotic in a way. He felt no shame, no guilt in his reactions. Metaxas was a chauvinistic monster, an enemy of basic decency. What kind of person...no, not a person. As far as Dionysios was concerned, men like Metaxas had lost any right to be called human. For 22 years, Dionysios had lived in squalor, huddling with his family for shelter in the gutters of Corinth. It wasn't like this was unusual, many lived like this, more than should ever have been acceptable. Yes, one family in poverty is a crime, so what of the blood of hundreds that the Kingdom had on its hands? Metaxas' stances could only mean that he supported the death and starvation of thousands. He had deserved to die like an animal on the gallows. Now, Dionysios was determined to enact justice on those who stood against the communists, against a better Greece. They were just as guilty as Metaxas in his eyes, and they too would pay the price. All of them.

The Democratic Army had entrenched themselves around Mystras, hoping to force the defenders to attack out of desperation once the siege had taken its full toll on them. 

[B][i]Within Mystras[/i][/b]

The commander of the motley coalition of conservative militias holding Mystras, one George Batazes, gave his final orders:

“Alexandros, [i]Markos[/i], and Basileos, you three stage the breakout attempts to the south of the city. Escort the women and children in three groups; escape to Gytheo. I and the remaining militias will stage a final diversionary charge to wound the foe as much as possible. Like Leonidas, we will hold back the enemy as much as possible before dying a final, glorious death. Any questions?”

There were none. And so the defenders of Mystras made their final defense of the city, the last roar of Old Greece...

Meanwhile, outside of the city, the commander of the communist forces, Orestes Panagos, began the advance into the small town. He was certain that there was only one final outcome for Mystras. Like Sparta before it, the city would fall, and with it, there was little doubt that Laconia, the final enclave of the anti-communist resistance, would fall. 

"Alright, comrades," Orestes shouted as they began the advance towards the city. "Let's end this once and for all. Do not hold back, this battle was already over before it we even got here. 


And with that, the communists began their assault. Dionysios was in the initial infantry divisions, entering into the city. The initial advance from the north, however, was met with brutal resistance. Dionysios would remark in just how brutal the incursion was, the resistance fighters attacking like wild animals, running into battle as if in a berserk frenzy, nothing left to lose. It was something intense and mystifying to the young soldier, the sheer ferocity of it all, the passion and the suffering in the fight. The North would be a bloodbath, though Orestes had already called the majority of the encircling force to begin advancing on the east and west. The order called for the soldiers stationed to the south of the city to leave and move either east or west to join the advancing parties, leaving the roads leading out of the city to the south virtually undefended.

George’s men were in close combat with the enemy, shooting until their guns overheated, then pulling out their daggers and hacking at the closely-packed ranks of the enemy. When the daggers broke on the bones and armor of the foe; they bit with teeth and clawed with lengthenef nails. They would make history.

Markos, meanwhile, was only slightly more lucky. He and his breakout group had overwhelmed the remaining besiegers to the south, but had attracted a patrol of foes that were going to head for the east. His men were now being cut to pieces, but most of the women and children had gone on under him, leaving behind their remaining menfolk. He looked back to see if his people were safe; they were. 

Except for his wife and nineteen-year old daughter. They had been left behind.

With a heavy heart, the church painter turned militia commander gave the order to move on to Gytheo...

The battle raged on for a while more, but in the end, it came to the expected end. The Eastern and Western divisions made quick advances into the city. What few defenders remained in its walls were killed. When the northern division made its way into the city, Orestes made an example of the town, and ordered it to be burned to the ground. In a few short hours, where once stood a city was only a smoldering pile of ashes and rubble. From the ruins of Mystras rose a pillar of smoke, rising like a dark tower to loom over Laconia, like an omen telling all that the battle was over, and Laconia, the final fortress of resistance, had fallen. 

[h2]Ioannina, South Epirus Department, 1960 [/h2]

Dionysios twisted neck to the side a couple times, lifting his arms up in a stretch before walking over to the burnt out pile of rubble that remained on the streets.

"I haven't seen something this badly demolished since I was in Laconia." he quipped to his partner, who simply rolled her eyes at the joke. 

Souroupo was barely recognizable, little more than a skeletal structure of a building. The nightclub had become the final sight of 22 people, with another 50 injured in the bombing. Little was known about the assailant, other than that he had allegedly pledged allegiance to the House of Zogu before he detonated his explosive. It was suggestive that he was involved with Skanderbeg's Own, and thus the case moved from the jurisdiction of the Ioannina Police to the Prefecture Level Authorities. Epirus was a busy prefecture for crime.

"You can't take a piss without getting called out to go check out another terrorist attack in Argyrokastro or Ioannina." Dionysios had said this once, and there was some truth to it. He often compared it to his time in the Civil War, when the was fighting guerillas in Laconia. He drew parallels often. 

"Back in Corinthia, you had guys hiding in the mountains with guns, blowing up buildings every night. I didn't think I'd have to deal with it again when I was 39!" 

Eleni was getting tired of hearing war stories with her coffee and casual racism every investigation. Dionysios had a habit of sneaking in a joke about her Albanian heritage every chance he got. 

"Hey, Dervishi; they say this guy was a Muslim. What're the chances he had a Catholic name?"

Eleni rolled her eyes and stood up once again. 

"As Hilarious as that'd be, turns out the guy's name is Muhammat Burim, from a little hick town called Cassiopeia. Authorities over there gave us his address, and witnesses say he met up with a family member, one Aleksander Burim, before he came to Ioannina, so we're gonna pay them a little visit."

The drive to Cassiopeia was long and arduous, navigating through the twists of mountains. Somehow Epirus never benefited from those infrastructure programs Vafeiadis was always bragging about in his speeches. The only way to access most of these little hamlets was through mountain passes half of the time, and Cassiopeia happened to be one of those. The village was certainly nothing to look at. Dionysios estimated about 500 people probably lived there, likely all Albanians. Chams to be exactly. 

"Lucky they put us on this case, huh?"

Eleni shook her head, "They won't like me. If anything they'll probably like me less than you."

Dionysios laughed heavily, "Eleni, I really couldn't give a shit if they like us, but I do give a damn that we can understand them." Eleni made a face of disgust, knowing that the aging cyclops couldn't see her from the right. If anything the eyepatch he wore probably hid her better from his one good eye. "I don't know how to say much in that language. Sounds a lot like the sounds their goats make."
He then hit her lightly on the shoulders a couple times. "Thankfully that's what I've got you for. Hell, you even speak the right dialect for this place."

Cassiopeia was far from inviting. As the agents entered into the city, what little faces they passed stared at them in judgment, in disgust at the presence of the outsiders, watching, tracking their every movement as they made their way through the quickly darkening village. Night had fallen by the time that Dionysios and Eleni reached the residence of their mark. A little house out in the boondocks of the backwoods. The sounds of sheep echoed through the night, the little white shapes of the creatures faintly visible in the misty darkness. The rotting steps creaked under the two detective's weight, as Dionysios gave a couple heavy knocks at the door.

It took a few minutes before a response was made. The door slowly prying open as a single dark eye peered out from behind the crack, a golden brass chain holding terse between the door and the frame. 

"Good evening," Eleni said firmly, clearing her throat a bit. "I am Detective Eleni Dervishi, and this is my partner, Detective Dionysios Hatzi, with the Epirus Prefecture Department of Investigations. We're investigating a suicide bombing in that took place a few days ago in Ioannina. It's become apparent that the attack was carried out by Muhammat Burim, and we know that he came here shortly before the attack." Eleni continued, speaking in Cham Albanian the entire time, "We have questions that we would like answered." 

Aleksander said nothing, only making a gesture for the agents to wait as he closed his door and opened it up once more, motioning for them to enter. 

The dwelling of Aleksander was quite empty, almost barren. The man motioned for the agents to sit as he joined them, sitting from across. Dionysios was the first to speak. 

"Let's get straight to the point. Your cousin has known connections to Skanderbeg's Own. A search of his house found copies of texts by one Gjergj Kastrioti. [i]Atdha, The Case for the Nation State, Against Communism, The Kosovo Question,[/i] you name it, he had it. And it doesn't take a genius to read through one of his books and know he's planning something against Greece."

Aleksander's expression remained blank

"I'm fairly certain that Skanderbeg didn't just rise out of the grave and start writing books in Argyrokastro in a couple years ago, so the question I have is, what do you know about Ahmet Pashaj?" 

Aleksander finally spoke up, the man's raspy voice tinged in a very thick Albanian accent. "Ahmet Pashaj is the oracle of our times, the one who will make Albania a great nation, and prove to the world the greatness of Albania and her people." 

Aleksander continued, "Ahmet Pashaj is a friend of the Burim Clan, and we are loyal to him. He is what the Albanians need. And we will do anything to aid his cause."

"So Muhammat wasn't just a lone wolf, the whole clan here is affiliated."

Then, a creak came from behind the agents, as the door opened, moonlight pouring in as several figures came into the small house, armed with various makeshift arms. A Shovel, A Cudgel with nails hammered into it, a baseball bat, knives, and one armed with a shotgun. Aleksander himself picking up a knife as he lunged at the agents. In that moment, Dionysios reverted back to the civil war days, grabbing the would-be assailant by the arm and throwing him across the room into a wall. Eleni grabbed her gun and fired a couple shots at the approaching group, hitting one in the chest while another fired the shotgun, obliterating one of the chairs. Dionysios quickly ducked under a swing by one of the clansmen, grabbing the arm of another and breaking it, causing him to drop his cudgel, which he quickly grabbed and swung at the leg of another attacker, causing the nails to stab into his knee. As the attacker fell to the ground, Dionysios delivered a blow to his head, only to be tacked by another one of the Burim clansmen. As they wrestled onto the ground, Dionysios managed to reach up, digging his hands into the attacker's face, digging his fingers into his eyes, twisting them into the sockets before taking hold and slamming his forehead into the attackers' nose, freeing himself as the assailant went unconscious. Aleksander had returned to consciousness and ran at Eleni, who grabbed the lamp next to her and swung it, hitting the man in the ribs and knocking him down. Eleni then fired her gun once more, hitting the shotgun carrier, causing him to pull his trigger inadvertently, killing the knife-wielding clansman to his left.

Aleksander was the last surviving attacker in the house, with Eleni quickly jumping on top of him, holding him down as she restrained him, cuffing the man, as Dionysios grabbed him by the back and forced him to his feet. 

"We've got a lot of questions that you're going to have to start explaining once we get to Ioannina."

As Eleni escorted the restrained man to the car, Dionysios took a look around at the carnage that had gone down here. 

He shuttered, feeling that same intensity, that same stimulation he felt in the war.

Yeah, it was just like old times.