Crisis Of Faith

A journalist seeks out an old hermit to get his side of the story during the war between the Catholic Church and Nova Roma. The tale he hears is not what he expected.

A soft glow swam across the Sicilian hills and plateaus, bathing the surrounding area in a warm orange-yellow. A thin country road twisted and twirled along the edge of the land, the brilliant blue sea floating alongside. Cars occasionally drove by, admiring the picturesque landscape as they went. Currently however, a single Fiat was all that strolled along the empty highway, the sun’s dying light reflecting off the small vehicle’s body.

On the horizon stood it’s destination, a squat cobblestone  building that had sat on it’s hill for centuries. The stones, if they could speak, each had their own tale to tell; where they’d been, what they’d seen, even who had laid down the mossy slab. As interesting as these stories would be,  the Fiat and it’s occupant were unfortunately not there for them.

The small Italian car slowly pulled up to the front, the driver quickly studying the exterior. Satisfied, he switched off the engine and eased himself out of the snug seat. The man was quite tall. His teal eyes shone under his sunglasses, inspecting their new surroundings. Blonde hair sat unkempt on his head, looking vaguely akin to a mop.

As the man started towards the door, he dug a small slip of paper out of his pocket. Briefly glancing at the scribbles, he stuffed the note back as he hefted the old yet solid oak door open. The hut’s insides were rather dimly lit, although the man noticed a single (albeit broken) bulb dangling from the ceiling. Squinting around for several moments, the man found his target.

A gruff-looking old man sat hunched over a table, fiddling with some sort of device. “What do you want?”, the man barked, startling his younger counterpart.

“H...hello, I’m Joseph Zacharys. From the BBC. Are you Mr. Giancano?”

The old man paused, as if to consider whether to lie or not, before turning around in his chair. Zacharys was met by a face much younger than expected, yet still wizened from years of experience.

“Yes, I am Nicola Giancano. Nice to meet you”, the man said before pulling a pistol from behind his back. “Now, if you would be so kind as to answer my first question: what in the hell do you want?”, he snarled.

This was not something Joseph had expected; being held at gunpoint by an old man in a centuries-old stone hut in the middle of the Sicilian countryside was not high on his list of priorities. “Don’t shoot! I’m just here to ask you some questions! Thats all!” The old man stared at Joseph quizzically before bursting into laughter.

“I’m sorry, my boy! You wouldn’t believe the amount of people after me these days!”, Giancano said as he switched the safety on and placed the pistol on the table.

The man lifted himself up and started towards a kettle simmering on the stove. “Tea?”, he asked, pouring the sweet-smelling liquid into a dinged cup. Joseph nodded and graciously accepted a cup of his own, still confused over the whole situation. This was definitely not expected. Not at all.

Both Nicola and Joseph had gotten comfortable on Nicola’s rather lavish, if dingy, Roman-style couches and were finally ready to begin talking one-on-one.

“Oh yes, of course! I almost forgot.”

Digging a small notebook out of his pack, Joseph steeled himself for the veteran’s eventual responses.

“Ok, first question. What was your role in Vatican’s northern pacification campaign?”

Joseph could have sworn he saw the man tense up at the inquiry.

“That? Oh, that feels like a lifetime ago to me, although I’m guessing the feeling isn’t mutual. Yes,sorry, I was part of the Swiss Guard’s 57th Regiment based out of Naples. After that whole debacle between BlackValor and World’s End, we were ordered north to begin the assault on Augustus’ territory. We ended the war near the border with Greater Germany. Hows that?”

Nicola glanced over to see the young reporter jot down some brief notes.

“Thats good. Thanks. Now, what were your actions during the Battle of Venice?”

The reporter nearly had to catch Nicola from falling before the man steadied himself.

“Venice? That is a name I had long since forgotten, one I’d hoped never to hear again. They weren’t much, but those moments will haunt me even after I have rotted to nothing. You wish to hear of the fighting at Venice? My personal experiences at least?”

Joseph nodded nervously.

“Than get yourself some more tea. You will want to be comfortable for this.”

The old man cleared his throat and began, fading to the buried memories of that day.

---

Its rather cold, Nicola thought as he sat inside his tent, writing his journal. It had been a long couple of years, not that those years had been pleasant. Nicola realizes how somber and depressing the air inside his tent had become, likely due to his current remembrance of those aforementioned last couple years. The loss of many comrades, many friends. Nicola quickly snapped out of his mood, however, as he grabbed his equipment to leave. They may have died, Nicola thought as the cool autumn air rushes to greet him, but they were not in vain.

Venice. The great city of canals that floated on the horizon. Seeing such a sight filled Nicola with pride, but the dreaded feeling of depression quickly returned as he continued to gaze upon the ruins. The once beautiful, ancient city had become a dead fortress. Sunken buildings had become fortified positions; those still standing, sniper nests.

Atop the tallest building sat a sight that replaces Nicola’s depression with rage. The flag of Nova Roma stood menacing and proud, a defiance to everything the Swiss Guard had fought and died for. A gruesome compliment stood near, the crucified form of a Swiss Guardsman. His chest sat uncover, branded by the cross of St. Peter. Everyone knew the story by now, how a lone Guardsman had went missing one night, how Nicola’s commanders had gotten a rude and horrifying surprise the next morning as they inspected the city through binoculars.  

Nicola’s observations were interrupted as footsteps sounds behind him. While not exactly a surprise considering his location, it was the fact that they appeared to be moving towards him that garnered his interest.

Turning towards the source, Nicola found it to be someone he knew quite well. Michael Topoulos was one of Nicola’s best and longest living friends throughout the bloody campaign. Many labelled the man as naturally handsome, with the looks akin to that of a movie star and the personality of one to boot. While a broken nose might have spoiled his features somewhat, local girls didn't seem to complain.

“Mike! How are you?”, Nicola inquired. grinning at the man. Due to his height causing his uniform to be more form fitting than most, it was always amusing to watch Michael maneuver. Nicola’s friend responds with a charismatic grin of his own.

“I’m good, Nicola. I’m glad I caught you actually. Apparently, the captain needs to see us.” Nicola cocked his eyebrow at the answer. The statement was unusual, as the good majority of the time they simply got their orders from their lieutenant or even sergeant. A request for two men personally from the commanding officer was definitely curious.

“Did he say what for?”

“Nope, nothing. Not even a hint. Probably just your standard petty request.”

Nicola groaned, “Fine. Lets get this over with then. I’ve probably got better things to do.”

The two men traverse the crowded camp, dodging other soldiers left and right. What the two men had forgotten, however, was that their journey would take them right past the one place no sane person ever wanted to be.

The splashes of red stood in stark contrast to the pure whiteness of the tent. Groans and inhuman shrieks filled the air around the makeshift building. Personnel rush in and out, some clad in the drab black of the medical corps, while others donned the clean white robes of the Church. Both Nicola and Michael looked on at the grim set piece before them. “Seems Augustus’ centurions have been sharpening their blades again”, Nicola said grimly. The statement elicited a morbid chuckle from Michael.

“You know, sometimes I wonder what the point of all this is.”, Michael stated abruptly.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve been here, what, a few months or so? What do we have to show for it? Nothing but a few hacked up young kids, marshes and destroyed chunks of bridge. I want to know why. Why we’re sitting here and dying over an old, decrypted sunken city that means jack to us or the Church. Why we wake up to more dismembered and mutilated corpses of our comrades simply because of some higher-ups back in Rome?”

“We’re here because Augustus and his ilk blasphemed against God and the Church. They  declared war on us! We’re simply doing what the Lord and his angels can’t.”, Nicola balked. He couldn’t believe what his friend was saying. Nicola knew they were both devout followers of the Church; he never thought he’d hear something like this from his best friend.

“Listen to yourself! You honestly believe that the God we learned about, that our parents learned about, would condone this? I have faith in the Lord and everything he stands for, but I cannot just sit idly never wondering why we’re doing what we do! I’m surprised that you of all people would spout what you were told. I thought you better than that!”  

Nicola cast his eyes downward. Not because he was ashamed, but because he simply couldn’t look Michael in the eyes after his outburst. He did not want to believe that his friend had begun having doubts about the validity of their mission, partly because he was afraid that he would begin to foster doubts of his own. Michael searches desperately for some sort of recognition in Nicola, yet he sighs irritably when he finds none. “You know what? Forget it. Lets just hurry and see what the captain wants.” Michael storms off, leaving Nicola to sheepishly follow.

The marshes were thick and heavy, too difficult for any land vehicle to traverse. That was precisely the reason why Nicola, Michael and the rest of their team currently performed what said vehicles could not. Their destination slowly came into view despite the low light. As the team enters the vicinity, the civilians sitting around a small fire scatter in the wake of the heavily armed figures’ approach.

The commotion steadily draws out more villagers, looking to observe the cause. Instead, they find themselves within a slowly closing cordon. As the people become surrounded, a single figure steps away from the group. Nicola’s grip on his rifle tenses as he readies for the worst.

“People, please remain calm! We don’t mean to cause you any harm. All we are here for is to arrest any and all Nova Roma soldiers hiding out within your village. Nothing more, nothing less. All we ask is for your co-operation. Now, may I please request a conference with your leader?”

Many in the crowd shuffle uncomfortably, while others simply stand stock still. Nicola can see and feel the sergeant’s agitation steadily rise until he exploded. “None of you wish to help? Fine!”, the sergeant shouts, turning to Michael. “Search everywhere and leave nothing untossed. If they don’t wish to comply then they are insulting the Lord himself. You have full permission to execute them.”

Nicola saw Michael vibrate as the rest of the men stood wide-eyed at the order.  Eventually, they process what had to be done as they move through the crowd, some men roughhousing it’s occupants. Nicola reluctantly begins to move forward until he hears a commotion to his rear. Moving to inspect the source, Nicola is met with a view that he hoped never to see.

Michael loomed over the sergeant, his rifle leveled at the man’s head. Accordingly, the sergeant held his pistol to Michael’s leg. Nicola runs to intervene as soldiers and civilians alike stop everything to watch what is about to unfold.

“Michael, what are you doing?!”

To Nicola’s surprise, he was met by a faceful of tears.

“Did you not hear what he just ordered us to do?! Shoot innocent people just because they don’t listen? In the name of GOD? Them not complying isn’t an insult to Him, using him as an excuse is! I’m sick and tired of constantly hearing how dozens of people were executed because they simply afraid to say anything! Or even if they look at a Guardsman the wrong way!”

“Michael, calm down! Remember what they taught us back in Naples? We’re the sword of the Church! The Church is the earthly voice of God and we are his earthly angels!”

Michael’s face contorts into one of sheer rage and hurt at his friend’s statement.

“You IDIOT! Do you never listen or even THINK about what you say? You honestly believe that? That we can just go around destroying everything simply because the Church and ‘God’ says so?! That is NOT what we signed up to do! We signed up to help people and protect Vatican! Now look at us, we’re no better than the enemy we fight! The only difference is that we use religion to justify it!”

Michael's words hit Nicola like a brick wall. He didn’t want to admit it, but he realized that Michael was right. They had become like those they were fighting. They killed on the slightest whim, using the excuse of religion to justify their actions and deeds. Just like Michael says they do. Of course, Nicola desperately wants to ignore what's true. He has faith in his Church and his cause. He can’t believe that everything both him and his comrades have fought and died for has been a result of one simple thing; the whims of old men professing piety and understanding while still being motivated by the desires that those in power always secretly possess. The desire for power and control and the will to obtain it using any means necessary.

“Please, Michael. Don’t do this.”, Nicola pleads, hoping his friend will at see logic or at the very least reason. Michael begins to lower his weapon, giving Nicola a shred of hope that this might all turn out fine. Until Michael offers two simple words.

“I’m sorry”

Before Nicola or the sergeant can react, Michael brings up his firearm in flash and, again leveling it at the sergeant’s skull, pulls the trigger. To Nicola’s horror, the weapon fires not once but several times. The rifle was on full auto.

The world seems to stand still as Nicola and the crowd behind him try to understand, let alone process, what just unfolded in front of them. Michael continues to stand over the steaming corpse of his commanding officer, not making a sound or any sign of movement. Nicola finally summons the courage to try to move towards his friend, to get him to stand down. As he begins to move towards the scene of carnage in front of him, Michael’s head snaps up to look at the disturbance.

Nicola gazes into his best friend’s eyes with dread and shock. They are glazed over.  He’s lost it. He’s finally snapped, Nicola realizes before he notices Michael raise the rifle until its level with Nicola’s own skull.

A tense standoff begins as the two friends (although at this moment that term is loose) stand in front of each other, one holding the other’s life in his hands. Nicola begins to raise his own rifle at his best ‘friend’. Although he desperately tries to lower his gun, Nicola feels as if his hands and arms are no longer acting in accordance with his body.

“Nicola. You fool. Why can’t you just see reason?”, Michael deadpans

“Michael, if you just lower the gun we can talk alright? Just lower it and everything will be fine.”

“Nothing will be fine. As long as there are still men like us in the world, nothing will ever be fine.”

The click of a safety being switched off fills the air.

“Michael. Do NOT do this. We can talk to someone when we get back, alright? We can explain what happened. Our priest would underst…”

In one swift motion, Michael brings the gun to the ground and fires off a shot directly in front of Nicola’s feet. He then quickly lifts it back up.

“That kind of talk is making me really want to shoot you right now. The only reason I haven’t is because I know you. Though I doubt an attitude as yours will change in minutes.”

Nicola finally realizes that there's no way out. His best friend is ready to shoot him. After a statement like that, the only way either of them are leaving alive is down to whoever shoots first.

“I’m sorry its come to this Michael. You know what's about to happen, don’t you?”, Nicola says, genuine sadness in his voice.

Michael delivers a slight nod, “Yes, I do. You won’t be able to talk me out of it and you’ve come to the realization that its either you or me. So, lets do this somewhat honourably at least, yeah?”

The two men walk away  until the sergeant’s body is exactly between them. Facing each other,the two friends stare at their counterpart; each silently begs the other that they stand down. Nicola offers a brief prayer while Michael simply remains silent. The friends nod at each other one final time. Silently counting to five, both bring their rifles up. Nicola fires first.

---

Joseph watches Nicola as he concludes his story, not at all what he was expecting to hear. But if a man has a tale such as Nicola’s to tell, even if its not what he was looking for Zacharys wouldn’t dare interrupt. The young reporter watched silently as this strong, gruff old soldier weeped into his cup. After what seemed like any eternity, the older man finally pulls himself together.

“I’m...I’m sorry. Thats a memory I had long since forgotten. I apologize if thats not what you were looking for.”, Nicola says as he wiped the saltwater from his eyes. Joseph simply shook his head.

“No, you have no need to apologize. I can tell it was a story that needed to be told, even if it wasn’t the most comfortable one to tell.”, Joseph says gently, trying to comfort the old man. A memory of his own wells up. The memory of comforting another soldier in the ruins of D.C. as he slowly bled out, a piece of rebar from the Capitol Building impaled through his stomach.

It seems such situations are common to him. Maybe its his calming nature. His mother did always say he had one.

The reporter quickly snaps back to reality as he helps the old man up, too weak and exhausted from telling his tale. Helping him back to his chair, he gently sets him down.

“I’m sorry I put you through that. I understand it was obviously something you didn’t want to tell.”

The old man smiles, “Now it is your turn to not apologize. Something like that couldn’t be kept in for so long without some sort of effect. A weight feels lifted from telling that story. Someone needed to know and if its some young hotshot BBC reporter then so be it.”

The two men burst into laughter, a bastion of joy in the otherwise depressing air. As they calm down, Joseph withdraws a sheet of paper from his pocket before scribbling down a series of numbers.

“If you ever wish to talk again or anything, feel free to call me. I’m always happy to listen.”

Joseph says as he hands the slip to Nicola. The two men shake hands as a goodbye before Joseph begins to leave.

“I checked his rifle after I fired, you know. It was empty. Guess he didn’t want to actually shoot me. Knowing that is my punishment for what I’ve done.” Nicola added as Joseph reached the door.

The reporter freezes, trying to think of some sort of response.

“Where ever he is, I’m sure he doesn’t hold anything against you.”, Joseph finally says, mentally cursing himself for not coming up with anything better.

A moment of silence then:

“Yes, I’m sure he does.”

Joseph leaves the old man to his quiet, empty hut. The man sits there for a time before beginning to tear up again.

Looking up at the ceiling, he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”