Summoning America

Chapter 197: Echoes of Dissent

Author's Note:

Here's a longer chapter. Hope you guys enjoy.

I'll be taking a 2 week break after the release of Chapter 200. In the meantime, if you want some more modern military vs fantasy content, please check out Manifest Fantasy, my latest work!

Read up to three weeks ahead! Chapters up to 200 are now out for corresponding Patreon tiers!

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Haufgard, Gra Valkas Empire

"...and in a stunning victory, our brave Third Conquest Fleet has successfully repelled the American aggressors near the strategic port of Mykal. Fleet Admiral Vustok's brilliant tactics..."

Korbel Zyraxes glared at the flickering viewscreen, his spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. The newscaster's voice grated on his nerves like a dull file on rusted metal.

"Brilliant tactics, my arse," Korbel growled, letting his spoon clatter back into the bowl. Watery gruel splashed onto the table, joining the constellation of stains on the once-white cloth. "Bet that poncey admiral couldn't find his own backside with both hands and a map."

His wife, Nissa, shot him a look that could've curdled milk. "Korbel! Keep your voice down, for the love of Valhalla. You want the whole street knowing you've gone soft on the war?"

He snorted, a sound somewhere between amusement and derision. "Soft? Nissa, love, I'm about as soft on this war as a steel-capped boot to the stones. But I've got eyes, haven't I? And a brain between me ears, no matter what the bosses at the factory might think."

Nissa's face softened, worry lines etching deeper around her eyes. She reached across the table, her work-roughened hand covering his. "I know you're worried about Jorkell. Flames, I am too. But we can't... we can't let doubt take root. You know what happened to the Larsens down the street."

Korbel felt the fight drain out of him like air from a punctured tire. "Aye, I remember." The Larsens had been there one day, gone the next. Officially, they'd moved to be closer to family in the countryside. Unofficially... well, folks learned not to ask questions.

He turned back to the viewscreen, where footage of cheering crowds waving Gra Valkan flags played on loop. Something about it seemed... wrong, like the off-kilter whine of a misaligned machine. "Don't it look a bit... familiar to you?"

Nissa frowned, peering at the screen. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Korbel said, leaning in and lowering his voice, "I could swear on me mum's grave that's the same crowd from last month's 'victory' broadcast. See that fella with the crooked nose? And the lass with the green banner?"

Nissa's eyes widened. "Surely not. They wouldn't... I mean, the government wouldn't..."

"Wouldn't lie?" Korbel finished. "Like they're not lying about having heard from our boy? It's been weeks, Nissa. Weeks of nothing but static."

"In other news," the anchor continued, her smile as plastic as the fake flowers adorning their mantelpiece, "Chancellor Marix has announced new measures to support our war effort. Starting next week, fuel rations will be—"

Korbel jabbed the power button with more force than necessary. The viewscreen died with a pitiful whine. "New measures," he spat. "That's fancy talk for 'bend over and take it,' mark my words."

"Korbel!" Nissa hissed, real fear flashing in her eyes now. "You can't... what if someone hears? What if they report you?"

He deflated, suddenly feeling every one of his forty-five years and then some. The constant fear, the gnawing worry, the endless grind of factory work – it all pressed down on him like a physical weight. "I'm sorry, love. I'm just... I'm scared for Jorkell. And I'm tired. Tired of the lies, tired of pretending everything's fine when it's all going to the hells in a handbasket."