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MidReal Story
The Young Countrymen
Scenario:Nalazim se u selu Podum, u blizini Otočca, u Gackoj dolini u Hrvatskoj. Godima je 1850., u selu je oficir carske Austrijske vojske koji regrutuje nove vojnike krajišnike koji će čuvati granice Carstva prema Turskoj carevini.Majke, supruge i sestre su zabrinute, gdje će mladi ljudi ići. Rat je, niko ne zna šta će biti.
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Podum
He is a young man from a small village in Croatia,living in a rural area known as Gacka Valley. He is curious,adventurous,and contemplative. Podum spends his days working on a farm and helping his family,while harboring dreams of exploring the world beyond his village. When an Austrian officer visits,Podum is among those recruited to join the Imperial and Royal AustroHungarian Army. He faces the dilemma of leaving behind family and friends.
Grgur
He is a blacksmith in the village of Otoac,known for his sturdy horseshoes and practical wisdom. He is straightforward,reliable,and pragmatic. Grgur provides horses to Podum and Krajišnik for their journey to military training and offers advice on craftsmanship and life in the city. His brotherly banter with fellow blacksmith Ivan adds humor to their daily interactions. Grgur represents the villagers' connection to traditional ways of life and practicality.
Ivan
He is a fellow villager and friend of Grgur,also working as a blacksmith in Otoac. He is playful,ambitious,and competitive. Ivan often engages in friendly bickering with Grgur and his brother Josip over matters like who can make the best horseshoe. Despite this rivalry,Ivan provides horses to Podum and Krajišnik for their journey to military training. His lively spirit contrasts with the seriousness of the times,as they all prepare for war.
The year is 1850, and I am in my village, Podum, in the Gacka Valley, in Croatia.
I am at home with my family, and it is a nice summer evening.
The sun is slowly setting behind the hills.
I have just finished working on the farm with my brother and father, and we are all sitting on the veranda of our house, resting.
We are talking and chatting about our day's work, when suddenly we hear horses approaching.
We look up and see a group of Austrian officers riding up to our house.
They are dressed in their uniforms, with sabers at their sides.
One of them gets down from his horse and walks towards us.
He is a tall, thin man with a kind face.
"Good evening," he says.
"Is this the house of the local priest?"
My father looks up at him and says, "No, this is my house. The priest lives in the next village, Oto
ac."
The officer nods and says, "I will go there then. My name is Captain Weissmann.
I am an officer of the Imperial and Royal Austro-Hungarian Army.
I have come to recruit some new soldiers for the army."
My brother and I look at each other, surprised.
I wipe my hands on my trousers and step forward from the shadow of the veranda.
The setting sun casts long shadows across our yard.
Captain Weissmann turns to face me.
My father grabs my sleeve, trying to pull me back, but I gently shake off his grip.
The officer's boots crunch on the gravel as he takes three steps closer.
His saber catches the last rays of sunlight.
I clear my throat, aware of my brother's sharp intake of breath behind me.
The words come out stronger than I expected: "Why do you need more soldiers, Captain?"
Captain Weissmann dismounts his horse and walks closer to our veranda.
His boots crunch on the gravel.
He removes his cap, revealing graying temples.
The setting sun casts long shadows across his weathered face.
He looks at me with a serious expression.
"Turkish forces are gathering at our borders," he explains.
"We need strong young men like you to protect our Empire."
His voice carries across our yard, drawing the attention of our neighbors, who peer over their fences.
I can feel my father's grip on my shoulder tighten.
My mother slips quietly into the house, while my brother steps back into the shadows.
I stand my ground, meeting the captain's gaze.
"How long do we have to serve?"
The captain's answer is vague, but it makes my stomach tighten.
I glance at my father, whose grip on my shoulder has loosened, then back to Captain Weissmann's stern face.
The evening breeze carries whispers from neighboring houses, where other families huddle on their verandas, straining to hear our conversation.
My mother reappears from inside the house, wiping her hands on her apron, and stands beside my father.
She opens her mouth to speak, but the captain raises a hand to silence her.
He reaches into his saddlebag and pulls out a scroll, unrolling it with a flourish.
Then he begins to read the names of young men from our village who have already been selected for service.
My heart pounds as I wait to hear if my name is among them.
Captain Weissmann pauses, his eyes scanning the list.
"Josip Marković," he announces, and my heart skips a beat.
My brother's voice is barely a whisper, "That's you, isn't it?"
The weight of the captain's words hangs in the evening air.
Neighbors whisper and point, their faces illuminated by the setting sun.
My legs feel heavy, but I force them to move.
I step down from our wooden veranda onto the packed dirt.
The captain's eyes follow my movement while my father's hand finally releases my shoulder.
Behind me, I hear my mother's stifled sob.
The gravel crunches under my boots as I walk the few steps toward Weissmann.
He holds out the scroll, pointing to my name with his gloved finger.
I reach for the document, my hand steady despite my racing thoughts, and take it from him.
My father clears his throat, his voice trembling slightly, "Is there no other way, Captain?"
Captain Weissmann shakes his head, his expression softening for a moment.
"I'm afraid not; every able hand is needed now more than ever."
I stare at the scroll in my hands, the weight of his words settling over our veranda.
The paper trembles slightly as I fold it with careful precision and tuck it into my shirt pocket.
My legs feel heavy as I turn toward the house, where my family still stands in the shadow of our home.
Mother's eyes glisten with tears while Father's weathered face shows defeat.
My brother steps forward first, his usual playful smile replaced by a grim understanding.
I reach out and pull him into a tight embrace, feeling his shoulders shake against mine.
Then Mother rushes forward, wrapping her arms around us both, and Father joins last, his strong arms encircling us all.
My brother's voice is muffled against my shoulder, "Will you come back to us, Josip?"
I pull back slightly to meet his eyes, trying to muster a reassuring smile.
"I promise I'll do everything I can to return," I say, though the uncertainty lingers in the air between us.
I stand in our doorway at dawn, my small travel pack ready beside me.
Mother fusses with my collar, making sure it's straight one last time, while Father checks the laces on my boots.
Through our window, I can see other boys from the village gathering in the square with their families.
The recruitment scroll still presses against my chest where I tucked it into my shirt pocket last night.
My brother helps me shoulder my pack, his eyes red from a sleepless night.
When Captain Weissmann's horn sounds from the square, signaling it's time to depart, I embrace each member of my family one last time.
Mother presses a small loaf of bread into my hands, her eyes brimming with tears.
I adjust the pack's leather straps on my shoulders, the weight unfamiliar.
The morning dew soaks through my boots as I walk down our dirt path.
Roosters crow in distant yards while the early sun casts long shadows across the landscape.
Ahead, I see Krajišnik waiting by his gate, his own pack slung across his back.
He falls in step beside me without a word, our boots crunching in unison on the gravel.
More boys emerge from their homes: Marko from the mill, Jure from the carpenter's house, Ivan from the blacksmith's yard.
Our small group grows larger as we approach the village square.
Captain Weissmann's horse stamps impatiently beside the well, its bridle jingling with each movement.
We stand in a loose circle around the horse, our breath visible in the cold morning air.
Krajišnik shifts his weight nervously beside me while Marko and Jure whisper to each other.
Ivan keeps his eyes fixed on the ground.
The captain dismounts smoothly, his boots crunching on the gravel as he walks among us.
He stops before each boy, checking our recruitment scrolls and nodding approval.
When he reaches me, I pull out the wrinkled document from my shirt pocket.
The paper trembles slightly in my hand as he examines it.
I watch his back as he moves to check Krajišnik's scroll next, my own document still trembling in my hand.
The morning dew continues to soak through my boots while roosters continue their distant calls.
Around me, the other boys shift nervously, their scrolls rustling.
I carefully fold my recruitment paper and return it to my shirt pocket, feeling its weight against my chest.
When Marko beside me sniffles quietly, I place a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
The captain finishes his checks and leads us away from the village square.
His boots crunch on the gravel path that winds toward the forest.
The morning mist still clings to the ground between the trees ahead.
Krajišnik walks beside me, our packs heavy on our shoulders, while Marko's quiet sniffling continues behind us.
The rest of our group falls into an uneven line, our footsteps creating a scattered rhythm.
When we reach the forest's edge, the captain raises his hand to pause us.
I step into the forest behind Captain Weissmann, feeling the ground change from gravel to soft pine needles under my boots.
The morning mist swirls around our legs as we move between the dark tree trunks.
Krajišnik stumbles on a root beside me, and I grab his arm to steady him.
The rest of our group follows in a straggling line, their packs rustling against branches.
Marko's quiet sobs have stopped, replaced by heavy breathing as we climb a slight incline.
The forest closes around us, swallowing the village and our past behind a veil of mist.
I hold Krajišnik's sleeve as we push through the dense undergrowth, trying to match the captain's steady stride ahead.
The morning dew makes the forest floor slippery, and Krajišnik's boots keep sliding on wet pine needles.
When he stumbles again, I pull him closer to my side.
"We can't fall behind," I whisper urgently.
Ahead of us, Captain Weissmann's saber swings rhythmically at his hip as he leads us deeper into the forest.
Behind us, I hear the other village boys' labored breathing and occasional curses as they struggle with their heavy packs.
Krajišnik glances at me, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you think he knows what he's leading us into?"
I tighten my grip on his arm, my own uncertainty gnawing at me.
"I don't know," I reply, pushing through wet branches that slap against our faces.
"But we have to keep up."
I drag Krajišnik with me, our pace increasing as we move faster through the forest.
The weight of my pack digs into my shoulders, and the sound of pine needles crunching beneath our boots fills the air.
Behind us, the other village boys begin to fall further behind, their complaints and curses fading into the mist.
Captain Weissmann's figure grows clearer ahead of us, his saber glinting between tree trunks.
When Krajišnik tries to slow down again, I yank his arm harder, ignoring his protests.
The captain's back is just a few paces away now.
Krajišnik's breath comes in ragged gasps as he struggles to keep up.
"Why are we even following him?" he mutters, frustration edging his voice.
"Because he's the only one who knows the way out of this cursed forest," I reply, glancing nervously at the captain's unwavering stride.
I stumble over a fallen branch, my boots sliding on wet pine needles, but manage to keep my eyes fixed on the captain's back.
The morning mist thickens around us as we climb higher into the forest.
Krajišnik's labored breathing beside me and the distant cursing of the other village boys makes me anxious about our path.
After helping Krajišnik over a large root, I gather my courage and raise my voice.
"Captain Weissmann," I call out, my words echoing between the trees, "how much further until we reach our destination?"
He stops abruptly, and Krajišnik bumps into me from behind.
The captain turns around, his face stern as he points uphill with his gloved hand.
Sweat trickles down my back despite the morning chill, and my legs ache from the climb.
Behind us, the other village boys finally catch up, their heavy breathing mingling with the sound of shifting packs.
I squint through the fog at the ridge ahead, trying to see what lies beyond, but the thick mist reveals nothing.
Captain Weissmann's voice cuts through the silence: "Just beyond the ridge lies our fate."
I grip my pack straps tighter and push forward, leaving Krajišnik behind.
My boots dig into the soft earth as I climb faster up the steep slope.
Sweat runs down my face while branches scratch my arms.
The other boys' heavy breathing fades behind me as I pass them one by one.
Captain Weissmann watches from above, his figure growing clearer as I approach.
My legs burn with each step, but I keep moving.
When I stumble on a root, I catch myself and continue climbing.
The ridge looms ahead, and I brace myself for whatever awaits on the other side.
I pull myself up the final stretch, my fingers digging into loose dirt and roots.
Reaching the top, I collapse beside Captain Weissmann, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath.
I wipe the sweat from my eyes with my sleeve and look out over the valley below.
Movement catches my eye through gaps in the morning mist.
Rows of white tents stretch across the landscape, and men in Turkish uniforms move between them.
Their weapons glint in the sunlight, and horses stamp and snort while soldiers gather in formation.
Behind me, Krajišnik finally reaches the ridge, his breathing heavy.
Krajišnik gasps, "Is that... the Ottoman camp?"
Captain Weissmann nods grimly, "Yes, and they march at dawn."
I turn to Krajišnik, my voice barely a whisper, "We have until sunrise to warn our village."
I grab Krajišnik's sleeve and start running downhill through the wet forest.
My boots slide on slick pine needles, and I nearly fall, but I keep going.
Behind us, Captain Weissmann shouts orders at the other village boys to follow.
My pack bounces painfully against my back as I run down the mountain.
The morning mist still clings to the ground, making it hard to see the path clearly.
I dodge between trees and pull Krajišnik along when he stumbles.
My legs burn from the steep descent, but thoughts of the Ottoman army push me forward.
We race against time, knowing that every second counts.
I burst through the forest edge, Krajišnik right behind me.
Our boots slide on loose gravel as we sprint toward the village.
My lungs burn, and sweat soaks my shirt, but I keep running.
Past Grgur's empty forge we race, then between the first houses where confused villagers peek out their windows.
Ahead of us, the church bell tower rises above the thatched roofs, its peak still shrouded in morning mist.
Without slowing, I grab the heavy rope hanging by the entrance and pull hard.
The bell's deep toll breaks the dawn silence.
I pull the heavy rope again and again, making the church bell swing wildly above.
Each pull strains my arms, but I keep ringing until the sound echoes across the valley.
Villagers emerge from their homes, confused and frightened by the urgent tolling.
Krajišnik stands beside me, still catching his breath from our run.
When Father Otoac hurries out of the church door in his nightclothes, I keep ringing despite his demands to stop.
More villagers arrive in the square, and I see my family pushing through the growing crowd.
Father Otoac raises his voice over the clamor, "What is the meaning of this, boy?"
I shout back, breathless and desperate, "The Ottomans are coming! We have to prepare!"
Gasps ripple through the crowd as Father Otoac's face pales, "Then we must gather everyone and make ready for what lies ahead."
I stand on the church steps beside Father Otoac, my voice hoarse from shouting.
The gathering crowd looks up at us, frightened and uncertain.
"Marko, take the women and children to the root cellars," I direct, pointing to my cousin.
He nods and rushes off to lead them to safety.
My father and other men run to Grgur's forge for tools and weapons.
Grgur himself appears with his hunting bows and spears, distributing them among the men who have no arms.
I send Krajišnik to gather as many horses as he can from the pastures.
We'll need them if we have to evacuate the village or send word for help.
The morning fog still clings to the valley floor as I direct groups of men to barricade the roads with wagons and fallen trees.
Ivan steps forward, questioning my authority in front of Father Otoac.
"What right do you have to give orders, boy?"
I grab Ivan's shoulder and turn him toward the forest where I saw the Ottoman camp.
"Come with me," I say, leading him back through the misty trees.
My legs still burn from our earlier run, but I keep a steady pace.
Ivan stumbles behind me on the wet pine needles, cursing under his breath.
We follow the same path where Captain Weissmann first showed us the camp.
When we reach the ridge where we first saw the valley below, I grab Ivan's shoulder and point down through the trees.
He looks at me skeptically, but as he follows my gaze, his expression changes.
Dozens of Ottoman campfires glow in the valley below, and Turkish soldiers move between white tents.
Their weapons glint in the firelight as they prepare for battle.
Without another word, Ivan turns and sprints back toward the village.
I chase after him, my boots slipping on the wet pine needles.
"Wait! Ivan, wait!"
I shout, but he keeps running.
We burst through the trees and into the village square.
Ivan immediately starts yelling about the Ottoman camp, causing panic among the gathered villagers.
I climb onto a wagon and raise my voice above the chaos.
"Men to the north barricade! Archers to the east wall!"
Some hesitate, but when I describe what I saw in detail—the rows of white tents, armed soldiers, burning fires—they move with purpose.
Father Otoac rings the church bell again, backing my authority.
I stand at the village entrance, directing men to their positions behind overturned wagons and fallen trees.
Krajišnik returns with the horses, which we tie behind the barricades so they're ready for quick movement.
My father and Grgur distribute the last of the weapons—bows, spears, and farming tools turned into makeshift weapons.
I assign groups of five men to each section of our defensive line, making sure experienced hunters cover our flanks.
When Ivan questions the formation again, I show him how to use the wagons as cover, pointing out the spots between the wheels that are perfect for shooting arrows.
Ivan nods, finally understanding the strategy.
"Alright, I see it now," he says, his voice steadying.
"But what if they come from the south, where we have no cover?"