Lojane, Serbian-Bulgarian Border
In a series of stories told from multiple perspectives from all over the world– collectively known as the Kaiserreich Files (inspired by the titular mod for Hearts of Iron IV), blogger Remy Haring explores an alternate history, one in which the Central Powers win the First World War.
January 24, 1937
“Za Kralja I Otadžbinu, Sloboda Ili Smrt! For King and Fatherland, Freedom or Death!” The entire platoon shouted as General Draža Mihailović was giving us orders for our fight against the Bulgarians. He was about fifty years old, had small, circular glasses, a big, bushy beard and the gray uniform that all Serbians had in the army. I always chuckled to myself whenever I heard that phrase: “For King and Fatherland, Freedom or Death!” Since the Great War we were technically a kingdom, but given that we do not have a monarchy in place, a military dictator by the name of Drogomir Vlasić has taken power. For the peace treaty, we lost our southern lands, the Greeks lost their northeastern land, and the Romanians lost their coast. With the founding of the Belgrade pact, all three nations vowed to fight against the Bulgarians and reclaim their lost land.
Our camp was overlooking a picturesque flatland on the foothills. There was no sign of Bulgarian troop movements, just an open grassland with snowy mountains towering over. Shame I got assigned to the artillery squad because my job will be to blow it all up. My position was up on the foothills with two other soldiers: Dejan and Nikola. We had a great view of the plains that stretched south down to Macedonia. But there was no time for sightseeing. The Bulgarian army could charge at any moment. Immediately the soldiers down in the plains began digging a trench and laying out barbed wire and landmines. It’s 1918 all over again, I thought.
January 25, 1937
I woke up to the sounds of shouting and gunfire. Nikola shook me and shouted,
“The Bulgarians are here, get to the gun!”
It was the crack of dawn, and the first thing I saw was a wave of Bulgarians charging across the field and the Serbians firing from the trenches. The next five hours were all the same: I load; Dejan aims; and Nikola fires. Load, aim, and fire; load, aim, and fire. It felt more like a factory job than anything. I didn’t even bother to look up to see the follow-through explosions because of the sheer adrenaline. By the end of the day, the formerly pristine meadows were a blasted heath. My ears were ringing from the gun, and the smell of smoke and gunpowder filled my nostrils. The first day of the Battle of Lojane was over. The Bulgarians didn’t manage to break our trenches, but this was only the beginning.
January 26, 1937
Nikola was searching for Bulgarian positions. When he slowly lowered his binoculars, he looked like he saw a ghost and all he said was “oh god…” A tank was rolling onto the battlefield like a lumbering bear. This wasn’t anything like those shipping containers with treads that the British had back in the Great War, this was a modern, German-made, tank that was approaching the trench followed by infantry. I loaded the shell; Dejan aimed; and Nikola fired. The shell whistled through the air, and for what felt like minutes, my heart skipped a beat. The blast engulfed the tank, but just as we began cheering, the tank continued its march across the field. The turret slowly turned to our position, and with a thunderous crack, fired. Debris burst into the air, and all three of us were coughing up dirt. The shell hit just below our position, and the artillery gun was now just fragmented, metal scrap that dotted the hill. A tide of men launched from the trenches–charging the Bulgarians as a last resort. The tank shot once, and again, and again. I… I don’t even want to describe what I saw on that blasted heath.
*Falcons, Grey Birds, a Serbian monarchist song