“MY STRUGGLE” 

- The Life and Times of the ‘Mad Baron’ -

by Henry Jonathan James VanAnkat, The 22nd Baron VanAnkat
 
 

 I was born on a warm day in June, 12679.  I was the eldest son of the eldest son of the eldest son, well, you get the idea.  I did not know it at the time, but my parents were so very proud when I was born.  Celebrations were held throughout the county.  An heir had been produced, and all was well with the world. 

 Of course, had we lived in the city, things would have been different.  Although the government had dissolved the monarchy twenty years earlier, the nobility still held some sway in the countryside.  Things were changing, but at a slower pace than in the cities.  And my parents owned nearly the entire county.  It had been passed down in the family from generation to generation for more years than anyone could remember.

 The tenants were happy, as my parents and grandparents did not exploit them, but took care of them relatively well. They knew that if they worked hard and respected the family, they would have a lifelong home and people to watch over them.  The peasantry had been abolished over one hundred years ago, but some traditions were so hard to break. 

 The furthest my memory goes back is to about age three.  I don’t remember everything, but certain events and circumstances just stick with me for some strange reason.  I remember some of my favorite toys and clothing.  I remember the fun that was to be had playing on and around the estate.  Horse drawn cart rides during the summer and sleigh rides in the winter.  A child could not ask for anything more idyllic.

 I did not have any idea at this time in my life how drastically things were going to change.  When I was about 6 years of age, the war started.  I don’t remember much of it at that time.  I do remember listening to all the adults talk about it though.  I heard over and over about that “Mad Dog” that was “foaming at the mouth” over there.  I had no idea where over there was, but I could sense not only the adults hatred, but their fear as well.

 I recall how so many of the tenants would stop by the estate to say their good-byes to my family as they went off to join the armed forces.  The mood was always bittersweet, but as a child, I found it hard to understand at that time what it all meant, but I would soon learn.  We were more concerned with mother, as she gave birth to my sister that fall. 

 Although the war started when I was but 6 years of age, it didn’t really start to become noticeable for another year or two.  By the summer of 12687, things had become much worse.  My 8th birthday was memorable, not for the usual joy that accompanied such events, but because it was the last time our family was together for such an event.  My parents tried to make it as enjoyable as possible, even though rationing had begun to severely effect the running of the household.  As I recall, my siblings and myself did enjoy ourselves, in spite of the dour faces the adults displayed.

 By this time there were very few men left in the county.  My father had been deferred as he had 3 children under the age of ten, but the “Damn Puppies” as my father called the enemy were starting to get more bold and daring in their attacks.  Exceptions were revoked and ALL men between 16 and 50 in the Old Country were drafted into military service.  My father accepted a commission into the army.  He was a Captain in the Home Guard division of the army.  He reassured my mother that this would be a very safe place for him, as the “Sates” would never be stupid enough to invade the country.  Everyone felt that the sea-crossing alone would deter them.

 As he was stationed near the capitol, he made it home to visit the family every 2-3 months or so.  I always eagerly awaited his visits, as he would always bring some kind of presents home for the children.  Mother and grandmother would sit on the porch and cry for what seemed like hours every time he had to return to base.  I asked her one time why she was crying.  She simply said “Because I miss your father so much it hurts!”

 I learned later that father was aware that things were going poorly with the war.  In the spring of 12688 he had a lengthy discussion on one of his leaves (which were becoming much more infrequent) with my Grandfather, the Baron, that an invasion was immanent.  They transferred as much of the families liquid assets as possible to banks in the far reaches of Truenorth and the Midlands, just as a precautionary measure.  My grandparents, who were in their 60’s at that time, thought that my father was overreacting somewhat, but went ahead with his plans.

 By this time the realities of a country on a severe war economy had set in.  My 9th birthday was a relatively somber affair.  We still celebrated it, more just to try and maintain some semblance of normality than anything else.  My mother scrounged up some flour and made some small cakes for the family.  My presents consisted of handmade items from my grandparents.  I tried to be as happy as I could, but life was changing, and I did not like the direction it was taking.

 At this point living at home were my father’s parents, the Baron Edward Gregory George VanAnkat, who we all called Grandpa Ed, and the Baroness Antionette Maybelle VanAnkat, who we called Grandma “Netty”.  My mother, who was from another noble family to the north, the Countessa Josette Marie, and my three younger siblings.  There was Frederick Andrew Richard, 3 years younger, Renee Ellen, 5 Years younger, and the baby, Paul Edward Heathcliff, 9 years younger than myself, having been born in November of 12688.  We also had an elderly woman, of mixed parentage, Anna Page, who served as a nanny.  Once we had 9 people working as house staff.  By this time there was 3 left - the nanny, an older woman by the name of Jessica who acted as maid and cook, and Hobbes, an old man who used to be the butler, but was now a jack of all trades.

 That winter of ‘88 was one I will always remember.  It was the calm before the storm.  It was a long and snowy winter, as are many in the Old Country.  A blanket of white covered the land from November through late March.  Father made it home for the New Years celebrations, and once more in March, but he was too busy to get away like he used to.  There were many long nights that winter.  We amused ourselves as much as possible, but the news from the front was not good.  We spent much time gathered around the radio, listening to the broadcasts as quietly as possible.  It was our link to the “real” world.

 In the spring of 12689 the country of Alsate launched its invasion against us, after a massive bombardment.  The army battled them on the beaches for nearly a month, but in the end, they had established a small foothold.  The motherland had been invaded by those dirty mongrels!  My grandfather was livid!  He seemed to fume with hatred continuously.

 My father was assigned to the defense of the capitol, and had not seen much action as yet, but my mother knew it was only a matter of time.  The “Damn Puppies” were pouring men and equipment onto their beachhead.  The fighting was terrible.  Lists of the dead and wounded were posted in the nearby town’s markets every day.  And every day the funerals were held at the local church.  Many were just  memorial services, as the bodies were not recovered.

 The Alsation leaders had been using aerial bombardment against mainly military and strategic targets, but after the invasion, they began to bomb civilian targets, especially the heavily populated cities as well.  The capitol burned for days on end after one particular heavy sortie.  It was shortly after this, sometime in August I believe, that my father made it home for what would be his last visit.  It was only a day, and he told my mother and his parents that they had to leave.  Although we were some ways from the capitol, he knew that there was no stopping them if they broke through the defense of the capitol. 

 It took some convincing, but my father, now a major in the army, finally got them to compromise.  He told them that if they waited too long, that they would be caught up in a swarm of refugees, and would never escape to safety.  They had to think of the children.  Since the family vehicles had long since been stored in the barn, as fuel was impossible to obtain, we would have to travel by horse and cart.  The plan was to keep the cart loaded with what we would need to take.  If the enemy crossed the river Bordeaux, which was the last real defense line before the capitol itself, we were to evacuate to the north, and eventually make our way to Truenorth.  The northern route was very harsh, but it would be the safest and furthest from enemy bombers.  Leaving early was important as the ferry’s to Derria were few and would be overwhelmed rapidly.

 Late that evening my father took me for a walk after dinner.  We went out into the front yard and took down the flags that had flown on the pole there.  The first one was the flag of the Old Country, and the other was our family flag.  The family flag consisted of  a “rampant” tiger with a red rose in it’s mouth on a tri-color field of black, orange, and white.  I helped him carefully fold them, and as we finished, he began to speak to me in an earnest tone I had never seen him use with me before.

 “Son, we need to talk.  The defense of the country is not going well at all.  I know that you and the rest of the family will be leaving our home within two weeks.  Things are really that bad.  I know that you are only nine years old, but I also know that you are an intelligent individual.  I hate to have to tell you this, but you are going to have to grow up really fast.  With me gone you are going to become the “man” of the house.”

 “But dad”, I pleaded, “what about Grandpa?”

 “Well, son, Grandpa is getting very old.  He can’t do everything he used too.  That is why the family is going to need you.  You are going to have to become the man of the house.  You are the oldest male.  One day, after grandpa and I are gone, YOU will be the Baron.  All of this will be yours.  I would usually have this discussion with you when you are much older, bit I may not get a chance to later, and there is so much I have to tell you.”

 He held my hand and we walked to the steps of the front porch and sat down on them.  “I know that much of what I have to tell you, you may not understand at this time, but even if you don’t, just promise me that you will remember what I tell you, as some day it will be very important to you.”

 “All right father, I promise” I told him.

 “First of all, I want you to take these flags.  I am entrusting their care to you.  One day, when all this fighting is over, and you come home again, I want you to raise them back onto the pole.  These flags have been in our family for over a hundred years.  The flag of the Old Country was given to us by King George VII, for service to the country.  So it is very important that you protect these flags, and always show them the respect that they deserve.”  I nodded in assent as he gingerly handed me the folded cloth.

 “Second, you have to promise me that as soon as you can, you will marry another tiger and have children, to carry on the VanAnkat family line.  I know that at your age this seems crazy, but I know you will remember these words later on.  The VanAnkat family have only married other tigers for all our recorded history.  This is the way of the nobles, and my son, you are noble by birth.  I know that in these “modern” times this tradition is being done away with, but you must promise me that you will only marry another tiger, all right?”

 Meekly, I nodded and said “I promise, father”.

 “As the oldest male, you are my heir.  When I die, you will inherit my title and lands, as I will when my father dies.  I would not mention this until you were  much older, but with the battle growing so close and so fierce, the chance that I could die in battle grows greater every day.  You must not speak of this with your mother or the other children, as it would greatly upset them.  As the man of the house, this is a burden you must bear, no matter how painful it is, or how sad it makes you.  Do you understand?”

 I looked into my father’ eyes, and a tear began to roll down my cheek.  I quickly wiped it away and said “Yes, father, I understand.  I will not let you down, you can count on me”

 “I know that I can.  You do know that I love you and your brothers and sister with all my heart don’t you?”

 I nodded weakly, knowing that my voice would betray my welling emotion.

 “And it is all your safety that I am fighting for.  We cannot let these “damn puppies” take over our country.  It is bad enough that the king gave up the throne, and the parliament is giving up all the colonies.  We can never let those stinking “sates” take over the Old Country.”

 “You have heard and understood the plan for your escape, correct?”

 I nodded in assent.

 “Good.  It will be a long, hard, and treacherous journey.  But it will not be safe here much longer.  The further away you are from the fighting the better.  I know you will do your duty to your family and your country as I have.”  With that my father bent over and kissed the top of my head.  He put his large paws on my shoulders and looked at me, then quickly hugged me into his massive chest.  “I love you boy!  Always remember that and me!”

 That was all I could take.  I broke down and started to cry like the child I was into his chest as he rocked me back and forth.  I mainly cried for him, because from the way he talked, it sounded as though he may never come back.  But I suppose I was also weeping for my lost childhood.  The innocence of youth ended for me that day.  I was now the “man’ of the house.
 

 Sylvia looked up at this point, tears filling her eyes.  James was also crying softly as he said to her “You know, my father never got a chance to have that talk with me.  He died before he could...”

 Sniffling slightly, Sylvia asked, “Do you want me to stop for a moment?”

 “No, no, I am fine, please continue”.

 Taking a deep breath, and pausing for a moment to gather her thoughts and wipe her eyes, Sylvia continued reading aloud...
 

 As my father made his way back to the front the next day, we began our preparations. Nanny packed the children’s essentials, and mother prepared the rest. We had two wagons, and by the end of the week they were prepared to go.  The adults got together and asked the staff if they wanted to stay or come with the family.  They all agreed to go if the family did.  They had been working for the family nearly all their lives, and were really more family then employees.

 By the end of the following week the news had come over the radio - the enemy was approaching the river.  The following morning we took all the food we could and loaded it into the wagons.  The men boarded up the windows and doors to the house, locked up the outbuildings, and piled us all into the wagons.  We were northbound by noon.

 It was cool out, as fall was definitely in the air.  The going was slow, and we were surprised by the number of others on the road north, both horse-drawn and walking.  There were people pushing carts with their belongings in them even.  We felt that it would take at least a week to make it to the north coast.

 I felt as though it was a great adventure.  Camping out under the stars at night, riding the roads to the unknown during the day.  Oh the innocence and enthusiasm of youth!  It was not as easy on the adults though.  It was not too bad for mother, as she was still quite young, but the others were in their 60 and 70’s.  By the end of the first week on the road, you could see their attitudes start to change.

 As the older people started to tire, our pace began to slow.  And after we went through our first bombed out village, things became very somber.  None of us had ever seen the effects of the war first hand, and here it was, brutally on display in front of our very eyes.  It took over three weeks to make the ferry crossing site.  By then it was packed with people desperate to escape the fighting.  We had to wait another week at that point just to get the boat across the channel.

 Derria in October.  When it wasn’t raining, it was cold and windy.  We stayed in the coastal city for a few days to send some letters out to father, and check on other relatives.  Not only that, but there had been a bombing raid one night.  Nothing large, just enough to make everyone rather nervous.  Even our legendary “Old Country” resolve was starting to wear thin.  It had destroyed the road leading out of town that we had planned on using, and we were forced to wait for repairs. 

 Mother was particularly upset and frequently in tears.  I thought that the bombing had upset her. Only  much later did I find out that while in town she heard that most of her family had died in a bombing raid.  Of course she did not want to let the children know of this at that point, and kept it to herself and my grandparents.

 As we waited for the road to open, we tried to find some accommodations, but there was nothing available.  We were forced to stay in a “refugee” camp that had been hurriedly set up on the parade grounds of the local school.  Everyone was as kind as could be under the circumstances.  Looking back on it, I am sure that even though we were in horse drawn carts, that people could tell by the way we were dressed and spoke that we were from the nobility, and treated us differently.  The adults were very upset about this turn of events.  There were some tents erected, and we all stayed in one of the larger ones.  At least it was dry and kept the wind out.

 After two days in the camp, everyone was starting to get anxious.  The adults tried to talk to as many people as they could.  It seemed that we were not the only ones trying to escape the war using this route.  And the camp was swelling to bursting.  It seemed that the amount of people in it doubled every day.  From what grandfather and mother found out, it appeared that half the people were going to stay with friends or relatives in northern Derria, and the rest were going to take the northern trail to True North.

 On the fourth day the word spread through the camp that the road was finally repaired.  But at the same time came the news that the capitol had been surrounded and was on fire.  The remainder of the army that had not been encircled had escaped northward, but this news was not known to us.  The entire countryside was under the impression that the army was on the verge of being overrun, and that the “puppies” would soon control the entire country. 

 This news caused an almost palpable wave of fear to spread through the land.  There were rumors of ferries being swamped at their berths by those poor souls running for their lives from the Alsations.  It had the effect of changing many people’s minds, as they no longer felt safe even in Derria.  The road north was quickly packed with those in a hurry to get underway.  Thousands of people jammed onto the small road north that was never meant to carry such traffic.  And we were in the middle of this sea of souls.  It took forever to get going, and progress was very slow.  The adults slept in shifts, so that we could make better time, trying to stay on the move whenever we could. 

 And both my grandparents and my mother knew that father was in the middle of the raging battle around the capitol.  Not only did they have to worry about us and our survival, but what of their son and husband?  The lists of the dead and wounded had slowed to a trickle as the capitol was surrounded.  Basic services that everyone took for granted had ceased to operate.  Of course this had the effect of amplifying the fear and the rumors that pervaded what had become our life.

 But by far the worst were the periodic  air raids by those damn puppies!  For the sheer sport of it, their fighters would attack the long lines of refugees, strafing and dropping small anti-personnel bombs at leisure.  It was in nearly November that this first occurred near us.  By this time we were still quite a ways from “our” western  border with Borealia East, our progress was very slow, and it was getting so cold! 

 It was around noon when we heard them.  The terrible noise from their engines was heard before we saw them.  They came at the column so low that you could look up and see the laughing faces of the dogs in the cockpits of the planes!  As they began to fire into the churning masses chaos ensued.  People ran from the road looking for any bit of shelter that they could.

 And then it was over, nearly as fast as it had descended upon us.  It became very quiet, and then the sounds began to assail my young ears that I will never forget as long as I live!  It started with some moaning, then came the screams of the adults, and the crying of the women and children.  Soon it became a crescendo of agony and misery.  And everywhere I looked was blood.  Dying and dead people littered the landscape.  Pieces of people, and the parts of their insides were scattered here and there.  And the pungent smell of death hung in the air.  It sickened us all.  It is a horror that burned itself into my tender mind.  I think that a part of me died that day along with all those other individuals.
 

 Sylvia once again stopped at this point, just staring down into the book in her hands, sobbing softly, tears streaming down her cheeks.  She said nothing for a few minutes, too overcome with emotion.  Normally, something like this would not effect her this much.  But it was if she knew the participants, and the fact that the author’s son sat next to her, made it so much more powerful.

 James reached over and placed his large paw under Sylvia’s chin, slowly raising it until her tear-filled eyes met his.  “Would you like me to continue?” he asked.

 She looked at the tiger’s face.  His facial fur lay matted down from his own tears, but he seemed somehow calm.  He no longer radiated the fear and pain that he had earlier, or so it seemed to her.  His bright blue eyes, though filled with tears of his own, seemed as strong and defiant as the day they had met.  Somehow, Sylvia knew at that moment that the man would come out of this just fine.

 “I will be all right, just give me a minute to get myself under control.”  She paused for a moment, then said “I never really realized what your father, and all those that lived through the war for that matter, had to endure.  I mean we were all taught about it in school, and learned of your father’s exploits, but to read about it like this, it is like being slapped in the face, so to speak.  One just doesn’t realize the extent of the individual horrors that people endured.” 

 “I know exactly what you mean,” James responded, “Father never really talked much about his war days.  I overheard many bits and pieces as people would visit and discuss certain events.  I pieced a few things together, and was taught a lot by my tutor, but it was always generalities - names, places, dates - that sort of thing.  Never this inside personal view.  In fact, I more than once asked my father about his experiences during the war.  All he ever told me was that one day he would tell me all about it.  I guess that this is that day.....”

 Sylvia nodded in approval as the man trailed off into his own thoughts.  She brought the book back from her lap into place, and began to read once again.
 

 As the ground was frozen, we were unable to bury the dead.  Some were left where they had died, but most tried to cover them with something.  There where many stones that littered the area, and so they were piled over the dead to form crude graves. 

 On we went.  We began to pray for snow and wind, for at least when the weather was bad, the planes could not attack.  The second week of November was peaceful, as it was cold and snowing nearly every day.  It slowed our progress, but at least we were safe from the air attacks. 

 The cold and snow held its own menace though.  Many of the sick and weak, the injured and the very young began to die from exposure.  The heavier furred among us did better than most.  As tigers, we had a fairly substantial layer of fur.  And those of us who had lived in the northern climates for years developed a slightly thicker coat in the winter as well.  Still, it was bitterly cold, and many succumbed to the effects of the climate.

 But on the morning of the 14th of November, 12689, I awoke in the back of the cart to the sun shining down on my face.  As I looked back, the line of refugees stretched for nearly as far as I could see.  We were still in our wagon, near the head of the column.  Those that had horses or pack animals tended to move forward, as they made better time than those on foot.

 The amount of time there was sunlight was rapidly shrinking, and now the day was down to only about 5-6 hours.  My siblings had awoke shortly after I had.  We had learned to get up with the light, to make the most of what little there was.  By this time though we were not our usual child-like selves.  We had all become very quite and withdrawn.  We spent most of our time sitting in the back of the cart staring out at what was becoming an increasingly white world as we drove by.

 The rolling of the cart had almost lulled me back to sleep when I heard a commotion from the rear of the column.  Turning around, I saw and heard them.  Alsation fighters, at least ten of them!  My grandfather who was currently at the reigns of the cart pulled it off to the side of the road.  We all knew the “routine”, and quickly jumped out of the cart.  There was a small outcropping of large rocks a short distance away.  He urged us all to run for the cover of them.  Mother was in the lead with the three younger children, then the staff, with my grandparents and myself trailing behind.

 Just as my mother made it to the rocks, the fighters were on us.  The snow covered ground exploded in a hail of death and destruction all around as we ran.  I heard my grandmother moan and saw her fall to ground just ahead of us.  Grandfather was next to here in seconds as the first of the planes screamed deafeningly overhead.  He tried to get her to stand, but she was not moving.  I quickly came next to them, and looked down to see my grandfather holding here lifeless body next to his, tears starting to stream from his eyes, falling into the large red hole that was once her chest.

 I barely heard the voice of my mother over the planes as she screamed at us from the rocky area just ahead, pleading for us to get to cover.  I was pulling at my grandfather’s coat, trying to get him to leave, but he just sat there with my grandmother’s head in his arms, rocking back and forth.  I was screaming at him that there were more planes coming, and we had to move.  He finally looked up at me, then back at the planes.  He gently laid down my grandmothers head, then in a move that surprised me, quickly rose to his feet and picked my up, holding me tight against his chest.

 As we started to run towards the rocks, the planes started their bombing runs.  They had added what we called “dive screamers” to the planes, so that as they dove in a bombing run, the planes emitted this horrendous and fear-inducing scream that grew louder the closer they came.  As we ran I heard those screams get closer and closer.  As the bombs started to fall, and the explosions started to near, grandfather threw us to the ground, covering my small body with his much larger one.

 I remember the explosions getting closer and closer.  Then they passed, as did the planes.  I began to hear the familiar sounds that came after one of these raids.  I told my grandfather that it was all right to get up.  He just whispered hoarsely in my ear, “I can’t move, son...”

 I summoned all my childhood strength and gently pushed him over from on top of me.  He was breathing very shallowly as I screamed at him “Grandpa!!  What’s wrong??”

 He tried to say something, but started to cough, and began to spit up blood in large amounts.  I gasped as I noticed much more of his blood that was nearly covering me from what seemed like head to toe.  After a moment he asked me to come closer to him.  I bent near him, wiping the blood away from his face with the sleeve of my coat.  He said “I am going to go to be with your grandmother now.  You must now take care of the family.  You have to tell your father that he is now the Baron VanAnkat.  Tell him I....we loved him very much....”

 As he finished this my mother arrived from where she was.  I felt Grandfather’s head go limp in my arms.  I shook him, as if trying to wake him, screaming “Grandpa!!  Don’t leave us now!!  Don’t leave us!!”

 I felt my mother reach over and wrap her arms around me.  Her voice began to join in the with the other thousands of wailing men and woman who had just lost their loved ones that terrible morning.  I looked to the heavens and saw the line of retreating planes making their way back home.  At that moment I swore to all that I knew holy that I would spend the rest of my life exacting my revenge upon those who had made my family suffer like this!
 

 At this point Sylvia had to stop reading for two reasons.  The first was that James was sobbing so loud that he could not hear any further words, and the other was that her eyes were so filled with tears that she could not read any more.  She gently laid the book on her chair as she rose and went next to James, wrapping her arms around his large neck and setting on his lap.  She buried her face into his neck and joined him in his sorrow for the family that he never got a chance to know.  As she did this, he wrapped his powerful arms around her and held her tight to him.  The two of them stayed like this for quite some time, as they let the emotions flow from themselves.

 Some time later James slowly released Sylvia from his grip, and looked at her tear streaked face.  He took her small hand in his much larger one and kissed it ever so softly, and whispered to her “Thank you so much, my dear, dear woman.  You have now idea how much this means to me that you are willing to go through this with me...”

 As she looked into his large moist blue eyes, she responded, “There is no need to thank me.  I just had no idea how strong the emotions are that could be evoked by the written word...”

 “Yes, my father did have a “gift” for speaking and writing.  He never used them much, but when he did, it was something to behold!  What say we “freshen up” a little before we continue on, all right?  That is, if you want to continue...”

 “Oh, definitely!” Sylvia responded.  The two took a few minutes to do just that, and then resumed their positions as before.   Sylvia took a deep breath, and began to read once again.
 

 That afternoon, with the help of some others, we laid my grandparents to rest at the foot of that rock outcropping.  It took a lot of work, but we totally covered them with stone, and I used my pocket knife to “engrave” their names and the date on a relatively large and flat piece of stone.  After we were finished, we gathered together at the site.  Hobbes said a rather brief eulogy, and detailed the events that had made up my grandparent’s life, as he had served them most of his own.  By the time he was finished, we were all in tears, especially him. 

 Darkness was descending on the area, and much of the remaining column of travelers had moved on, leaving behind the dead and the dying.  There were those like us that had stayed behind to bury family, and others that were taking care of those too injured to move.  We decided to stay there until morning, at which time we left, along with a few others, trying to rejoin the column ahead.  We stared at the graves as we drove away, until they were finally no longer visible.  At that point I hid my head under the blankets and cried myself to sleep.

  When I awoke later on the rear of the column was in site far in the distance ahead.  Mother felt that we might actually be safer staying in site of it, but at some distance from the main body of refugees, so as to make a much less tempting target for the fighters that way.

 But as the days wore on, the fighters were seen less and less.  We were getting out of their fuel range.  An occasional bomber would drone by, but as these were much to valuable to risk on civilians, we rarely saw them, and when we did they were usually going to or returning from a mission.

 But two other enemies soon replaced them.  Hunger and the weather.  By now it was December, and winter had arrived in force.  There was very little to no food, excepting what people had brought with them.  Many were forced to slaughter there pack animals or horses just to avoid starving to death.  The sound of a horse being shot became all too familiar to us.  It was usually immediately followed by a short scream from the animal, and then a horrendous “thud”, as its lifeless body crashed to the ground.  Sometimes the people were so hungry that they began to immediately devour the animal, even as it still twitched in death.  It reminded me of packs of wild animals, as they would look up at us as we passed, their mouths covered in the fresh red blood of the animal.

 We were doing fairly well, as we had brought as much food as we could, and were “rationing” it out sparingly.  Not that any of us had much of an appetite though.  The adults, whether on purpose or not, seemed to be eating very little and trying to get the children to eat more.  We, the children, had become so appalled by the sights and sounds around us, and the monotony of the situation,  that we were never were really that hungry.

 And then there was the cold.  It was always cold, even huddled together under the blankets, we never seemed to be able to warm ourselves.  It seemed to always be snowing as well.  And by now, it never really was “light” out.  At around 11 am it got a little brighter, to what was almost a “dusk-like” state, and then by 3 PM it was dark again.  Day and night soon lost their significance under these circumstances.

 We still were trying to drive day and night, the adults taking shifts.  But the horse was getting weaker.  There was very little for it to eat along the way.  We would try and uncover the grasses under the snow, but they were usually dried out or dead, and provided very little nourishment.  We had brought along some hay bales, but they had run out in early December.  We soon were making very little progress, as the horse was starting to tire rapidly.

 With only about a week before the end of the year, the horse died.  We were moving slowly along the road, and it stopped, stood still for a moment, and then just collapsed in a heap.  Hobbes quickly untied the wagon, as he was afraid the animal could turn it over.  By the time he bent down to examine it, it was no more.  I looked at my siblings, and they returned the frightened look.  We knew what was going to happen next.  Our food stores were starting to run low, and as soon as Hobbes returned from the wagon with a knife, we knew he was going to butcher the animal.

 Mother told us to get in the wagon and cover up, and we did as she told.  They worked on it until the carcass grew frozen solid.  The women prepared and stored the meat as best they could, and we ate some as well.  I tried not to think about it, but the taste of raw horse flesh was not very appetizing.  We all forced ourselves to eat though.

 Hobbes had brought along a small toolkit, and with some help from myself, we disassembled the wagon.  We fashioned a large pullcart out of it, and although awkward  and bulky, it held nearly all our supplies.  We burned most of the rest of the wagon for warmth, and after sleeping for a while, resumed our trek.

 The number of people on the road had thinned out quite a bit.  The huge column of souls had spread out to span over a vast area of space.  We began to see many more abandoned items as we continued on.  That and more bodies as well.

 We rang in the New Year by stopping and hugging one another.  The adults where taking turns pulling the cart, two at a time.  Hobbes had done a fairly decent job, and it was not too difficult to pull, but he snowy road made it very rough going.  We were not making anywhere near the amount of progress that we had been.  The weather and exertion where starting to show on us all as well.

 By the end of the first week of January, 12690, the older adults, and my sister where noticeable weakened.  The pads on our paws were all cracked and bleeding.  And even with our clothing, and our winter “coats” of fur, we still were chilled to the bone.  All but mother and myself had toes or fingers that had started to blacken from frostbite.  I felt as though I was beginning to loose sensation in most of my extremities.  And still we all walked on, hour after hour, day after day.  We would collapse together into a heap under the blankets, our bodies as close together for warmth as possible.

 For some unexplained reason, at about this time I started to cry one day.  I sobbed as I walked on, not knowing why.  Nanny tired to comfort me, but still the tears flowed.  Finally, mother came to me, and took my face in her cold paws, lifting it up, the tears having frozen into ice on my facial fur.  Still I sobbed.  She inquired what the matter was, and I told her that I didn’t know.  I said that something doesn’t feel right, not with me though.  I just felt “sad” I told her, like when my grandparents died.  She looked at me, and asked me in detail about how I felt, some rather strange questions I thought at the time. 

 She then took me aside, away from the others, out of earshot.  She proceeded to tell me that there was a family trait, a “gift” she called it, that was passed down along the male lines, and usually only appeared in the firstborn son.  She swore me to secrecy, and proceeded to tell me about it.  She told me how it varied slightly from person to person, but usually involved some form of enhanced senses or abilities.  These attributes usually started to show up around puberty, and the men of the family would discuss them with one another, but my father had asked her to do so when the time was right. She told me that no one must ever know about them, and I must never discuss them except with my son or my father.  I promised her that I would so.

 Suddenly she looked up towards the heavens, lost in thought for a moment.  She then collapsed into the snow in front of me, and looked at me very concerned.  She asked me to close my eyes and concentrate, looking deep into my heart, and slowly tell me what I felt.  As I did what she asked, I was  once more overwhelmed by such sorrow, that I began to weep again.  I told her that I felt very sad, as though someone that I loved very much had died.  She gripped me tightly as I said this, and as I finished, started to cry as I had never seen her do before.  I looked into her eyes, and suddenly it all became clear to me.  Though we were thousands of miles apart, what I had felt  was my fathers death.  It was obvious that my mother knew this as well.  We held each other tight, the tears coming in torrents as the understanding of the situation hit us both.

 After what seemed like forever, we stood up and looked at one another.  Still sniffling, my mother dropped to her knees in front of me, and bowed to me saying “I pledge my life and allegiance to you, my liege-lord Henry Jonathan James VanAnkat, the 22nd Baron VanAnkat.”

 I looked down at the still prostate form of my mother in the swirling snow and ice.  My mind raced, wondering what to do next.  I had now, with the death of my grandfather and father, become the next Baron VanAnkat.  As I looked at my mother, I remembered similar scenes that had occurred with my grandfather.  Hoping that what he said then would be correct in this situation  as well, I laid my right paw upon my mothers bowed head and said “Rise and be recognized, faithful servant.  I, your Baron, accept you into our clan and family.  Welcome!”

 My mother slowly rose and looked at me.  We then embraced tightly, and she whispered into my ear, “Remember always, that with your great power comes great responsibility.  You must always remember those that have gone before you, and honor their lives.”

 Hugging her even tighter to myself, I responded “I will do my best!”  We slowly walked back to the others.  They had watched and were concerned, but we just told them that it was “family business”.  Mother and I felt that it was best not to burden them with what we knew to be true.  They would only think us crazy, or wonder how we came into such knowledge, and we did not wish to share that with them at this time.

 “Needless to say”, James said in a low, almost whispering tone, “I can rest assured that this part of the story will NOT leave this room...”

 Sylvia looked at the tiger, wondering what he meant, when she suddenly realized what he was referring to.  “You mean”, she said to him slowly, “the rumors I have heard about you, they are true??  You have some strange ‘power’ or something?”

 James chuckled at her comment and responded  “Hardly!!  As my father wrote in the book, we call it a “gift”, and it varies from generation to generation.  Many would not believe it, or understand it, so it is NEVER mentioned outside the family.  You are the first person outside of family or family staff to even hear of its existence.”

 “Would that “gift” have something to do with your father’s war record?” she asked.

 “Yes, my father’s gift”, James explained, “had to do with his reflexes.  They were phenomenal!  That is why no one could match him as a fighter pilot!”

 “And your ‘gift’ would be...”

 “Mine involves my physical senses.  They are rather, how should I say, acute...”

 “You know, there are rumors about your reputed “gourmet palate”, but I never thought that it could be due to that...”

 “And,” James said, “I definitely want to keep it that way.  Will you promise me, on your honor, that you will speak of this to NO one?”

 “You have my word!” she said to him with a small smile, as she looked down to continue reading.

 During the second week of January, we awoke to a blizzard.  Hobbes advised that we stay huddled together, and wait out the storm.  There was no argument, as we were all so tired.  But after a couple of days, we knew that we had to continue on.  Our food supply was diminishing rapidly, and we could not stay in that spot any longer.

 My mother and the other adults tried to shield our eyes from the horrors that we saw along the way, but they couldn’t protect us from all of it.  The dead and dying littered the side of the road.  With the ground so frozen, and everyone so weak, it was all people could do to drag the corpses of relatives and loved ones off the road.  The grisly positions that they had frozen into filled me with horror that lingers to this day!

 The worst was one day when we came upon two small weak souls who were hovering over a corpse, pulling off bits of it to eat.  We hurried past as fast as possible, but as we continued there was other evidence of cannibalization as well.  We felt sorry for these individuals, but knew that if we were not lucky, we might end up in a similar situation.

 The storm finally cleared up, but its end brought on the cold wave.  None of us had ever before experienced such mind-numbing and bone chilling cold.  Jessica, the aged domestic that had come with us, died early in the third week of January.  She was always a frail woman, and in retrospect, I was surprised she endured as much as she did before succumbing.  Thankfully, she passed away in her sleep.  We made sure no one was around, and buried her body in a snow drift off the road a ways, so as to discourage “scavengers”.

 The cold continued.  The road, which had been trod before us by many, and was therefore easy to follow, had become more difficult to use.  Many of those ahead of us had died, some actually becoming frozen into the landscape of the very road itself.  As the numbers declined, the road became less “packed down”, and harder to navigate.  The cart was becoming more and more difficult to pull due to this.

 It was decided that Hobbes would disassemble the cart, and create two sleds to pull items over the frozen landscape.  It took him some time, but with our help, we were ready to proceed in two days.  The sleds proved much easier to use than the carts, which in everyone’s weakened states, was a decided relief.

 We did not have many items left by this point, and what little was left was on one cart, while the children and “nanny” were on the other.  I walked along with the adults, and sometimes my brother Frederick did as well. 

 My two youngest siblings were getting weaker everyday.  We all were, but they seemed to be doing so at a more rapid pace.  Nanny wasn’t much better either.  So it was no surprise when we awoke on the morning of January 28th, 12690 to find Nanny and my sister Renee dead, frozen in each others arms.

 Mother cried for hours.  Hobbes tried his best to console her, as did I.  We told her she had to remain strong, as she had to care for my baby brother, Heathcliff.  I to this day can still hear her wails lamenting the loss of her baby girl.  As she rocked my baby brother, Hobbes and I dragged the bodies off the road, and covered them in snow.

 Hobbes took me aside as we finished, panting heavily, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the moisture condensing onto his face and freezing into ice.  After a moment he caught his breath, and said, “Young Master, as you probably already can tell, I will soon be joining your family and my friends in the great beyond.”

 I looked intently into the tired eyes of the man in front of me.  I knew him to be correct, but for his sake, and my own, I did not want to acknowledge the fact.  “I hope that will not happen for a long time!” I responded.

 “I wish it were so”, he said, “But we both know different.  I only mention this because I have a request...”

 “What is it?” I asked him.

 “I know that you will be the new Baron.  And that that day may arrive very soon.  When this is over, and you have returned to your home, I ask that you give this to my family, hoping that there are some left alive after...all of this...”  Hobbes produced from his trousers a gold pocket watch, one that my Grandfather had bestowed upon him for his many years of service to the family.  He firmly placed it in my small paw and said “When you give them this, tell them that I served the family bravely until my last breath!”

 I looked at the watch in my paw.  I felt the cold metal as it lay there.  I looked at it, then up into his tired eyes.  I so wanted to give it back to him and tell him  “NO, I will not do this, because you are going to live through this!”  But we both had been through far too much to know that that was only wishful thinking.  I thought once again of my father, and grandfather, and what they had said and done in their lives.  I kind of knew what this small gesture meant to this man, this man who had spent his entire life devoted to our family.

 I took the watch and held it to my chest with one hand, and reaching out with the other grasped his and said as solemnly as I could  “I, Henry Jonathon James VanAnkat, the 22 Baron VanAnkat, do gladly grant your request.  You have served our family well, and I thank you for it, and would be honored to tell your family of your bravery, and pass this watch on to them.”

 His face broke into a small smile as I said this.  I could tell how relieved he was that I would do this for him.  We made our way back to what was left of our group - My mother and my two brothers.  They were huddled under the blankets on the one sled.  Hobbes took the rope attached to it and began to pull them down the road.  I took the rope attached to other sled and joined up along side them.

 We walked on and on.  It seemed as though the road would never end.  True to his word, Hobbes died about a week later, on the 8th of February.  My Brother Frederick and I, with mother’s help, buried him under some snow.  I felt compelled to say some words over his grave, as he had done the same on all the previous occasions.  I copied his words, and added my own about his devotion and service to our family.  I think my brother and mother were suitably impressed, having not expected that out of me.

 As we got ready to leave, mother put the baby in Frederick’s arms, and started to pull the sled.  I got the other sled and walked along with her.  We would walk slowly, and do so until we were too cold to go any further.  We would all huddle under the covers for warmth then, and sleep for some time.  Upon waking, we would repeat this process.

 As tired as I was, mother began to get even more so.  The strain of the entire ordeal was taking its toll on her.  The proud, healthy, and vibrant woman I knew was but a shell of her former self.  I finally told her to join my siblings on the sled.  I piled what essentials I could from the other, and leaving it at the side of the road, took up the rope and continued on my way.

 Sometime during the day on February 14th, 12690, my brother Frederick called to me as I was pulling the sled.  He said something was wrong with Heathcliff.  I stopped and went back to check.  My mother was slowly rocking back and forth, holding my obviously dead baby brother in her arms, singing an old lullaby.  I told mother it would be all right, and to give me the body.  She refused, saying that Heathcliff was just asleep, and resumed her singing and rocking.  I knew that she must have finally reached her breaking point when her youngest child died in her arms  I told my brother to come help me and we pulled the sled as my mother sang softly.

 At this point I began to feel as though we were never going to make it to Truenorth.  We had been on this journey for over 4 months.  I followed what little trail there was, but it had been over 3 weeks since we had last seen any living soul.  We passed the occasional corpse, so I assumed us to be on the correct path.  My mother was still delusional, and refused to release the body of my long dead sibling.  Frederick was no longer able to walk as well, as his feet had started to get frostbitten. 

 I was nearly about to collapse myself when around the first of March, I saw a large dark object in the distance.  It seemed to be getting closer, and was joined by other forms as well.  Thinking it may be our destination at last, I began to pull on the sled with renewed effort.  I soon realized that it was track driven trucks, the kind they use in the north to move goods through the snow.

 The trucks saw us and stopped a ways in front of us.  From the back people poured out of them, and I was suddenly blinded by flashing lights.  It was cameras.  Many of them.  And they were all taking photographs of US!  Then some motion picture cameras were brought out and they started to take pictures of us as well.  I stopped pulling the sled, dumbfounded by what was occurring. 

 I went to the sled, and helped my brother up, who helped me get my mother up in turn.  Arm in arm, Frederick on one side and I on the other, we walked towards the truck with the large red marking that I knew meant help.  And as we walked, no, staggered to this truck, none of those taking our pictures would help - the cameras whirred and clicked as we strode by.  Finally, two strong men emerged from the back of the truck and ran to us, taking mother from us, and helping my brother and myself inside the truck.

 I asked them to get the items off the sled, and they said they would.  The back of the truck was a makeshift infirmary, and it was warm.  Warmer than I had been in months!  They gave us hot tea to drink, and asked us if there were any more refugees.  I told them that we had seen no one for some time, and there were many thousands in front of us, and some further behind as well.

 Our truck, along with one of the others turned around and headed back the way we were going, while the others continued on the way we had come from.  My mother, evidently sensing we were safe, finally allowed the body of my brother to be taken from her.  She then collapsed into unconsciousness.  The medical personal asked me how long she had carried the dead baby, and looked shocked when I informed her that it was well over two weeks time.  She was just as surprised when I told them of the entire length of our journey.

 After driving for what must have been an hour or two, we stopped and they took us off the truck.  As we exited, we were once again “bombarded” with flashes and cameras taking our picture.  Once inside the building, I asked one of our rescuers why they were taking so many pictures.

 The reply horrified me.  As we were put into hospital beds the nurse spoke.  “The first of the refugees arrived at this army base almost a week ago.  At first , we were surprised that they could have survived such an arduous trek.  But soon, word spread that there were others out there behind them trying to make it here as well.  We sent out rescue parties, and started to find people, just like we found you today.  A few days ago we were able to send out a plane, and we realized that there are many more still out there.  From what we have been able to tell, almost half a million people fled the old country at the peak of the invasion and took the “northern route” to get to Truenorth.  It looks as though maybe 40-50 thousand will have survived.”

 Even though I was young and weak and tired, I was still able to comprehend the magnitude of this.  “Are you saying then”, I asked weakly, “That nearly half a million people have died?!?”

 “The actual number may never be known, but that is about correct.  THAT is why all the news people and reporters are here.  They have come from all over the world to help get the message out.  Once word got out about this “Trail of Sorrow” as it has come to be known, and the atrocities that the Alsations have heaped onto the Old Country, the other nations banded together and came into the war on the side of the Old Country.” 

 “How goes the war?” I asked. “The last news we heard was in November of last year.”

 “Well”, she said, “It is a stalemate right now.  After the Capitol fell, the remaining forces banded together.  There was a decisive battle north of the Capitol in January called the “Battle of the Winter Bridge”, were the remaining forces of the Old Country fought a delaying battle to allow as many forces to escape north of the Sagin River as possible, and then destroyed all the bridges.  Since the river divided the country, the Alsations couldn’t get across without taking massive casualties.  The war has been a stalemate ever since, especially now that both sides are pouring manpower and material onto both edges of the river along the entire length.  It has come to be known as the Georgian line.”

 I thought I might as well ask the question that I already knew the answer to.  “Do you know of, or might you have heard of a Major VanAnkat that served in the Home Guards?”

 “We have ALL heard of a Colonel  VanAnkat.  He was in charge of holding off the ‘Sates until the last of the army remnants got across the last bridge over the Sagin River.  As the enemy tanks advanced, he and ten other soldiers held the bridge, exploding it with themselves still on it so that it would not fall into enemy hands.  Do you know him?” asked the Truenorth soldier.

 I looked into the eyes of that soldier, and said as tears silently streamed down my face, “That was my father, George Frederick Henry VanAnkat, the 21st Baron VanAnkat.  Thank you for letting me know the manner of his death..”

 The soldier, looking very embarrassed, responded “I am SO sorry.  I..., I didn’t know.  But I never heard mention that he was a Baron...”

 I responded “No, as they did not know.  In fact, he died not knowing he was the Baron.  My Grandparents died on the trip here in November.  From that point until he died, he was the 22 Baron VanAnkat, but no one ever knew until now...”

 The soldier paused for a moment and looked at me and said “Well, who is the Baron now?”

 I slowly looked up from my hospital bed at the soldier, and through tear filled eyes said “I am Henry Jonathon James VanAnkat, the 22 Baron VanAnkat!”