Re: Blood and Iron - Chapter 917: Was it Worth it?

Chapter 917: Was it Worth it?

The theater lights did not rise immediately when the film ended.

For several long seconds the screen remained dark, the last echoes of the orchestra fading slowly into silence.

The audience sat still in their seats, as though no one wished to be the first to break the spell the film had cast.

Claire found herself staring at the black screen, her hands resting motionless in her lap. The final image of the movie lingered in her mind: the letter in Petar’s lifeless hand, crushed beneath the boots of the German soldiers as smoke rolled through the gas filled streets of Belgrade.

It had not been a triumphant ending, nor had it been a patriotic ending. It had simply been… tragic.

Slowly the lights rose.

Around them the older men in the theater began to stir. Some stood stiffly from their seats, adjusting their coats or the medals pinned upon their chests.

A few spoke quietly to one another as they made their way toward the exits, their voices low and thoughtful.

No one laughed, and no one applauded. It was not that kind of film.

Claire turned slightly in her seat, glancing first at Maria, then at Theresa. And for the first time since she had met them, the twins were completely silent.

The bags of popcorn rested untouched in their laps. The drinks they had brought into the theater remained half full.

Both girls sat very still, their eyes fixed forward as if the screen still held something they had not yet finished seeing.

Claire hesitated… it was an eerie and unfamiliar sight.

Maria and Theresa were rarely quiet for long. The two of them possessed a kind of lively energy that seemed to fill every room they entered.

Whether they were whispering jokes to each other during lectures or debating which café in Innsbruck served the best pastries, the twins had always seemed almost inseparable from their laughter.

But now that laughter was gone.

Maria’s shoulders were slightly hunched, her fingers absently twisting the edge of the popcorn bag in her hands. Theresa sat beside her with her arms folded across her chest, staring down at the floor.

Claire felt a small knot of concern tighten in her chest. Perhaps allowing them to see this film had been a mistake.

She cleared her throat gently.

“So…” she began carefully, her voice quiet in the half-empty theater. “What did you think?”

Neither of them answered immediately. The twins looked at one another first. It was a brief glance, but one that seemed to pass some silent understanding between them.

Then Maria spoke.

“I thought it was very good.”

Her voice was softer than Claire had ever heard it.

Theresa nodded slowly beside her.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “Very good.”

Maria added after a moment,

“But also very depressing.”

Claire blinked slightly. That answer had not been what she expected.

She had imagined them leaving the theater excited, talking animatedly about the battle scenes or the cinematography.

The film had certainly contained enough spectacle to impress younger viewers. It’s special effects were among the most realistic anyone had ever seen. But it wasn’t overly gory for the sake of it. It was simply real…

And it was perhaps that fact that had caused the twins to seem… subdued.

Claire shifted slightly in her seat.

“Well… war films tend to be like that,” she said cautiously. “They’re meant to be.”

Maria shook her head faintly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Claire tilted her head.

Maria’s gaze drifted toward the aisle where the veterans were still slowly filing out of the theater.

“I mean… it was depressing because it wasn’t really about heroes.”

She paused for a moment.

“It was about people like Petar.”

Theresa nodded again.

“And his brother.”

Claire felt her brow furrow slightly.

The two girls continued speaking quietly, almost as though they were thinking aloud rather than addressing her directly.

“They were just boys,” Theresa said. “They didn’t even want to be there.”

Maria sighed softly.

“They didn’t hate the Germans.”

“They didn’t even understand the war,” Theresa added.

“They were just… told to fight.”

The words hung in the air between them. Claire felt an unexpected heaviness settle in her chest.

She had grown up hearing stories about the war, of course. In France the Great War was spoken of as a matter of national humiliation. But the conversations she had heard were almost always framed in terms of nations.

How the Third Republic had failed. How Germany had bled them dry. It had been measured in victory, and defeat.

The suffering of individuals rarely occupied the center of those stories. Claire opened her mouth to respond, but before she could say anything Maria spoke again.

“I feel sorry for them.”

Claire blinked.

“For who?” she asked.

Maria looked down at the empty popcorn bag in her hands.

“For all the innocent people,” she said quietly. “Like Petar and his brother.”

Theresa’s voice joined hers.

“All the people who had to die because of the Black Hand.”

Claire felt the words settle in her mind like stones. She had expected anger, or pride. Or perhaps even a sense of historical vindication.

But sympathy? That had not been what she anticipated.

Maria suddenly looked up. Her expression was thoughtful, but there was something troubled behind her eyes.

“There’s something I’ve always wondered,” she said slowly.

Claire felt a slight tension build in the pit of her stomach.

Maria continued.

“Why did they have to kill our grandfather?”

The question was spoken quietly. But in the silence of the theater it seemed louder than anything else that had been said that evening.

Theresa turned her head slightly toward her sister.

Maria continued speaking, her voice still calm but carrying a weight that made Claire’s heart tighten.

“I mean… what did they think would happen?”

She gestured faintly toward the screen behind them.

“Did they really believe that killing him would make things better?”

Theresa’s eyes drifted toward the exit where the veterans were disappearing into the hallway.

“Was everything that happened after really worth it?” she asked softly.

Claire felt the air leave her lungs. For several seconds she could not find any words at all.

She had spent most of her life surrounded by people who viewed the events of 1914 through the lens of national memory.

In France, the assassination of Franz Ferdinand was almost always described as the moment that ignited the righteous struggle against German militarism.

It was a catalyst… a spark. A necessary turning point in history.

But sitting here in the quiet aftermath of the film, listening to the granddaughters of the man whose death had sparked the war, the question suddenly felt… different.

Claire stared at the twins. Maria and Theresa did not appear angry. They did not appear resentful. If anything, they looked simply… sad.

Maria leaned back in her seat, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t hate the Serbs,” she said quietly.

Theresa nodded.

“Neither do I.”

Maria continued.

“I just feel sorry for all the people who got dragged into it.”

Claire swallowed silently… She realized she had been holding her breath.

This was not the first time since she had arrived in Germany where she felt something inside her perspective shift.

When she had first come to Innsbruck, many of the stories she had heard from family members in France had carried a certain tone.

Germany was still spoken of with suspicion in some circles.

The Reich was powerful, orderly, disciplined. And had resulted in the return of the House of Orleans.

But many French families, especially those outside the aristocracy, still remembered the wars with bitterness.

Claire had expected to find a country obsessed with victory. Instead she had found something else entirely.

The older men in the theater had not celebrated the scenes of battle. They had watched them quietly… somberly.

And now the granddaughters of the Archduke himself were expressing sympathy not for their own loss, but for the suffering of the very people whose nation had stood against their family.

Claire felt her thoughts drift.

Perhaps the war had not been as simple as the stories she had grown up hearing and perhaps history rarely was.

She glanced once more toward the twins.

Maria had stood up from her seat and was brushing stray kernels of popcorn from her skirt. Theresa followed a moment later. Neither of them seemed eager to speak further about the subject.

Claire slowly rose to her feet as well.

The theater was nearly empty now.

As the three girls made their way toward the exit, Claire could not help but look back one last time at the dark screen.

The final image of Petar’s letter returned to her mind again… The crushed paper, the boots, and the gas that had exterminated Belgrade.

She found herself wondering how many young men like him had died in those years. How many fathers, how many brothers, how many sons never came home?

And how many fiancées were left waiting for them. A promise never fulfilled. Not because they had broken their oaths, but because others had become permanent.

Claire followed Maria and Theresa out into the cool evening air of Innsbruck.

This was not the first time since arriving in Germany where she felt the quiet realization that perhaps the people she had come to study among did not view the past in quite the same way that many in France still did.

And that thought lingered with her long after they began walking home through the autumn streets.