Crna ruka
June 28th, 1914, Sarajevo, Bosnia-Herzegovina
“And what do I call you, then?” He smiled. “The great Crna ruka, liberator of Serbia? Perhaps you prefer Bela ruka, scourge of the Serbian liberation movement. Or should I simply call you Judas, or would Cain be more appropriate?”
“You will call me Karl, King of Austria, Wilhelm, if I permit you to keep your tongue.”
Wilhelm smiled, and got in close. “Make no mistake. I’ve placed you in line for the throne for my Kaiser,” Karl felt a knife slide through his robe and against his belly, “but I’d dispatch you rather than stomach your prattling tongue.”
Karl smiled. “Well put. But tell me, Freiherr, tell me of my Uncle Ferdinand.” Wilhelm removed the knife, and sheathed it. “They were children,” Wilhelm explained, letting the smoke roll out of his mouth.
There were fifteen men in the room, agents of the Mlada Bosna, and pawns of the Crna ruka. Archduke Franz Ferdinand was visiting the capital on Saint Vitus’ day, a holy day of the Serbian Orthodox church, and his anniversary. These fifteen men were students and anarchists, freedom fighters and fools; and they were doomed to die from tuberculosis.
The car carrying the Archduke and Fürstin Sophie traveled in a caravan among the people The first of the assassins, Ilic and Grabez, lacked the skill and the nerve to make the shot in time, and they let the car pass.
Cabrinovic and Mehmedbasic were waiting near Cumuria Bridge on the Milijacka river. Cabrinovic had a clear view of the car, and threw his grenade. Ferdinand deflected it, and covered Sophie with his body. Mehmedbasic threw his, but it rolled beneath another car. The explosions cut a bloody gash through the crowd, and a piece of shrapnel lodged in Sophie’s cheek. The car immediately rushed from the scene as Cabrinovic downed a cyanide pill and jumped into the river. But his pill lacked potency and he vomited the poison, and the river was only a few inches deep. Mehmedbasic was seized before he could swallow his cyanide, and they were both taken into custody. The other assassins along the parade route assumed the explosion killed Ferdinand, and retired.
Wilhelm followed Ferdinand’s car at a sniper’s distance until they reached the City Hall. Ferdinand interrupted Bürgermeister Curcic’s speech. Wilhelm broke three of Ferdinand’s driver’s fingers before finding out the Archduke planned to visit the hospital later in the day, to see those injured by the explosion.
Gavrilo Princip had been the only one of the fifteen courageous or stupid enough to wait at the meeting place, and he listened enthusiastically to Wilhelm.
He went to the hospital on foot, and Wilhelm spotted him in the street, his pistol bulging stupidly out of his trousers. Wilhelm sped up and sliced his car across the front of Ferdinand’s car, forcing it onto a side street. The driver began to back up slowly as Princip recognized Ferdinand.
Princip pulled his pistol and fired two shots into the car, as it sped away towards the hospital. Ferdinand had been shot through the neck, and when he opened his mouth to speak blood poured out. “For heaven’s sake, what’s happened to you?” cried Sophie, unaware she’d been shot in the stomach. Ferdinand leaned forward, and whispered to her through the blood in his teeth, “Sophie dear, don’t die; stay alive for our children.” Princip took his own cyanide capsule, but it too was spoiled, and he vomited it up, and was taken into custody. The archduke and his bride were dead by lunchtime.
Wilhelm sipped a deep burgundy wine, and swirled the glass’s contents in the light. “Children are the greatest weapon in the world. They can be trained. They can be molded. And they can be fooled.”
“Interesting,” Karl replied, stroking his chin with his black glove while staring into the flames dancing inside the hearth.
Next Part
