Blood and Amber

Part 2: Gold and Silver

Chapter 09 – Cadets and Kings

General Greenfield stared out his window in deep thought. The claim laid out in Amber's diary was preposterous. The thought that she was the rebirth of a man from another world – such things just don't happen. Even if it did explain where her unnaturally mature character came from, it just couldn't be possible.

But the piece of the story that seemed to rub him the most was that she had left this tale in her journal only to be found after she had died. Why? What was the purpose in such a posthumous message?

The thought had crossed his mind that it was a joke; an irreverent hoax devised by someone trying to mask their fear of dying in battle. Erwin had met people who would attempt such a thing. But Amber was not one of them; Erwin had plenty of interactions with the child prodigy, and he knew that was not her character.

For someone like Amber, she wouldn't do such a thing unless it were true.

With a soft sigh he went back to the brown suede journal and opened it up again. Maybe there would be some other clue, if he kept reading.

I have been given command of a squadron; Raven Squadron. I felt some notable excitement leading up to this; my first opportunity to lead soldiers and be a directing force in the war. My first opportunity to make a difference and change the outcome of the war.

But it seems my crew resists me. I was assigned to replace a lieutenant who fell in combat the day I finished officer training. Instead of a fresh new crew, I had to step into shoes that had already been filled.

It reminds me of the idea of marrying a woman with children from a previous relationship. I had wrestled with that concept a lot in my past life, as each passing year it seemed more and more like the only way I would ever have children. I had often wondered if I could ever be a good enough father to those step-children I hoped to have, or if I would just be a pale imitation of the father they wanted.

Of course, that never wound up happening to me. But now I get to have a little taste of it; being the leader of a squadron that will never see me as an adequate replacement for Lieutenant Jäger.

* * *

'If that damn coward hadn't pulled back, then Lieutenant Jäger would still be alive.'

Lance Corporal Nussbaum had played the events in his mind a dozen times, and he knew exactly who to blame: that coward enemy soldier. He had wounded that Gaullian soldier, and that soldier had turned around to retreat from the battle. But Nussbaum wasn't going to let him get away. He chased after the soldier, determined to finish taking him down.

But the Gaullian was spry, and kept rolling and diving to keep Nussbaum from making another hit. 'If he had so much damn energy left, then why didn't he stay and fight?' It only took two more shots to send the coward's corpse dropping to the ground, but by the time he landed those shots he was a hetch-and-a-half away from the battle. And by the time he made it back, Jäger had fallen.

Nussbaum was certain that wouldn't have happened if he had been there. If he had been there, it would have changed the whole battle. There would have been enough firepower to shift the battle in their favor. He was certain he would have made a difference, if only he had been there... if that damn Gaullian coward hadn't run away, he would have been there to help. It was all that coward's fault.

Nussbaum continued to fume silently as he walked up the ramp out of the trench, passing by the soldiers who were busy digging out more of the trenchline. There were faint remnants of grass occasionally visible through the compacted mud that marked the trail they were following.

Corporal Ochsner led what remained of their squadron across the muddy paths that soon guided them into an encampment of a dozen white canvas tents. The command tent was easy to find because there was a flagpole bearing the Empire's flag in front of it. It was also next to the communication tent with a large radio antenna jutting out the back. As they entered the command tent they immediately found Captain Bain inside speaking with Sergeant-Major Rottmayer, who told them to wait outside.

And so Raven Squadron waited outside. There was a generous space in front of the command tent, big enough for a whole battalion to stand in formation. The grass here wasn't dead yet, although it was completely trampled flat.

Nussbaum looked over his fellow squad-mates, although no one said anything. Ochsner took the time to light up another cigarette. He was understandably the most nervous of the group. Corporal Ochsner, undoubtedly soon to become Lieutenant Ochsner. A battlefield commission was an easy way to get promoted, but Lieutenant Jäger had to pay the price for it.

Nussbaum began fuming again. He also pulled out a cigarette, but he paused before grabbing his lighter, and then wound up just rolling the cigarette around between his fingers. 'Well, at least Ochsner will make a good lieutenant. It's better than getting stuck with someone we don't know. Worse yet it could have been some rookie who doesn't know what it's like out here.'

Nussbaum's eyes continued to look around at his squad-mates. Sasha seemed particularly sullen. She had spent the last two days crying almost constantly. She seemed to have better control of her emotions before, but after Bruckner fell and she became the only woman in the squadron, she just hadn't been the same. At the moment she seemed composed, but Nussbaum could see that there was something changed about her. Something about losing both Bruckner and Jäger back-to-back had broken her, and there wasn't another girl for her to fuss out her feelings with.

Hornet Squadron emerged from around the corner of one of the tents and moved toward the command tent. As they drew near, Ochsner called out to their lieutenant “If you're here for Captain Bain, he's inside talking with the Sergeant-Major; he asked us to wait out here.” Hornet's Lieutenant nodded and motioned for his crew to wait. He went inside and came out a moment later to rejoin his squadron, and the Hornets began milling about near the Ravens.

The two groups began eyeing each other wordlessly. They didn't know each other tremendously well, but there was enough familiarity for them each to recognize the absence of certain faces. Even if nothing was said, Nussbaum still felt as if there were silent condolences both given and received.

Soon the captain and the sergeant-major emerged from the tent; the latter departed toward the far side of the camp while the former approached the two groups of air mages. After salutes were given and returned, Captain Bain began speaking. “A new convoy just arrived; it's being unloaded right now. There's some reinforcements for each of your squadrons; three for yours, two for yours. All fresh out of flight school.”

Nussbaum felt confused and annoyed. Only two for them still left their squadron short one. Did he forget that they lost Rosenthal last month?

The captain stepped closer to Raven Squadron. “Additionally, Major Detmold has secured a new lieutenant to lead your squadron.”

Ochsner blurted out almost automatically, “A new lieutenant? But... who?!” It was a pointless question; no doubt a product of shock more than anything else.

Bain replied, “I believe his name is Darkwood. He's very decorated, it seems. The major was pleased to get him.”

Ochsner nodded his head slowly in acceptance. Nussbaum, however, didn't feel as accepting as the corporal. But he kept his anger to himself, at least until they were following Captain Bain over to the convoy. He leaned over to the corporal and spoke in a hushed tone, “Decorated how? Like, won a bunch of medals for combat service? Or is this a 'fresh out of the academy top-of-his-class' kind of decorated?”

Ochsner shook his head. “If he's been earning medals, then why isn't he just staying with his old squadron?”

Nussbaum sneered. “Tch, auugh! I don't want to take orders from some kid who just barely joined the army!” He then began fuming silently. Jäger had led them since the start of the war, and even the privates in their squadron had that much experience; they knew how to not get cocky. The thought of being led by a fresh recruit with no experience made his stomach sour.

They soon arrived at the backside of the camp where there was a dozen or more trucks parked. There was at least a platoon's worth of new recruits, all of them were eighteen-year-old children. The boots had already unloaded the trucks carrying supplies; in fact Sergeant-Major Rottmayer was having them load a portion of the supplies back on to two of the trucks while some captain Nussbaum didn't recognize was checking and counting everything.

Captain Bain went up to the boots and picked out the new mages. They all looked so young that Nussbaum wondered if they all lied about their age to join up. Their hair was all still their natural colors.

Bain divided the infantile infantry between the two squadrons and then dismissed the hornets. He then led the ravens around to the far end of the convoy where they spied Major Detmold speaking with a small group of officers. He spied a flight-pack sitting among the bags next to them.

As they drew near, Nussbaum looked them over, wondering which was their new commander. Only one had a magically-altered hair color; it was an incredibly pale blond that almost looked natural. The lieutenant's back was partially toward him, so Nussbaum could only see the profile of his features, but it was enough. He looked youngish, but there was something distinguished behind his eyes. There was also a scar by his left temple, and it wasn't an old scar. The battle-scar helped Nussbaum feel a bit placated; perhaps Darkwood was at least a little more seasoned than he had feared.

Captain Bain turned back to the squadron and held up his hand; at his gesture the band stopped as the captain approached the major. There seemed to be a look of concern on his face. Nussbaum barely heard the corporal whisper to himself “That can't be Darkwood...”

Major Detmold turned toward the approaching captain. “Ah, here they are now! Lieutenant Darkwood, this is Captain Bain.” The group of lieutenants all saluted the captain. “You will be reporting directly to him.” He then turned toward the squadron and raised his voice, “Raven Squadron, form up! At attention!”

Nussbaum was already standing next to the corporal, so the squadron formed up beside and behind him. They all stood at attention and saluted.

“Ravens, this is Lieutenant Darkwood; she will be your new commander.”

'She?'

The lieutenant with the scar turned and stepped to the side; there was no orb on his chest. But standing beside him was a small girl, wearing an officer's uniform and a mage's orb, with sandy-blonde hair and freckles on her face. Nussbaum froze in confusion; it was a child, a literal child, who couldn't even be nine years old.

The child returned the salute and declared “At ease.” There was a slight smile sitting smugly on her face.

Nussbaum's hand lowered tepidly. He glanced around and then blurted out “Is this some kind of joke?”

The child's face instantly soured.

Major Detmold asserted himself. “This is no joke, this woman has already proved herself against the Norlans on the Northern Front. She's earned her position and you will respect that.”

Nussbaum kept his mouth shut but squirmed his head about. He looked back to the major while drawing a heavy breath through his nose. He looked back down at the child. Part of him thought he should give it a chance, see where it would go. But he'd already lost good friends, and that was with a competent man leading them. 'No, if I don't stand my ground now, I won't be able to go back later. It has to be now!'

Nussbaum faced the major and declared “Sir, I will not take orders from a child!”

He could hear the anger in the breath the major took. With a voice filled with gravel he spoke through his teeth, “You will take orders from whoever I tell you to take orders from, Lance Corporal! I don't –”

“Pardon me sir,” the child interrupted, “But if I may, I believe this is my responsibility now, is it not?”

Major Detmold paused, looking at the child. After a moment he stepped back and nodded at her. The child in the officer's uniform stepped in front of Nussbaum.

'Oh but this is just perfect,' Nussbaum thought to himself. What was she supposed to do now? If he didn't follow her orders, she was supposed to report him to the major. But now she stripped herself of that option, and she would look all the more pathetic when she had to come crying back to the major for help.

The child stared at him with stern posture. She was a good actress, he would give her that. She knew how to imitate a seasoned and superior man. But she was, after all, just a child, and there was no power for her to back up that firm posture and stern expression.

She motioned to her bags sitting behind her. “Lance Corporal, take my flight equipment to our squadron's bunk.”

Nussbaum briefly considered a more coarse response, but decided to stay on point. “No,” was his only reply. He didn't need to harass her, he didn't need to throw insults. He only needed to remain firm, and that would be enough to make her crumble. And so he kept himself firm, standing erect and looking down on the child.

For her part she also stood steady. 'So be it,' he thought, 'the first one to flinch or falter loses. And I can outlast a child.'

The little girl's face turned faintly smug. “Tell me, Lance Corporal, is Amber Darkwood gonna have to choke a bitch?”

Ten weeks earlier...

As General Greenfield made his way through the office building, he spied General Kippenberger walking through an adjacent hallway, accompanied by an entourage fitting for the old four-star general.

'Damn,' Erwin thought to himself, 'I've missed the award ceremony.' Not that he hadn't seen a ceremony like this before, although it was historic considering the record-breaking youth of one of the recipients.

He continued on his way to the front entrance and peered out the window. Amber Darkwood was still outside, surrounded by a small flock of reporters. He paused for a minute, wondering if it would be better to shoo all the journalists away, or to let Amber have her moment of glory.

He looked around across the field and saw the other honored soldiers walking away with their families. But of course, there was no one there with Amber. A clump of guilt began to fester in Erwin's stomach. He had his chance to submit those adoption papers, but it was too late now.

Erwin opened the door and stepped outside. The journalists happened to be leaving at the same time. Amber was left alone. She stood there, by herself, staring off into space. She took a small step and then paused. Even from this distance he could see her demeanor drop in a sullen manner. She seemed to be frozen there as Greenfield made his way to her.

At just a few paces away Amber turned to the side and saw him approaching. She quickly snapped to attention and held her arm up in a salute. “General Greenfield!” she exclaimed with a pleasing tone, “Why, you must be the second-highest-ranking officer I've seen all day! To what do I owe this great honor?”

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The general returned the salute and smiled. “Well, it is a day to honor you. Not everyone earns the Golden Wings of Valor, you know.”

Amber looked down to her chest and gently touched the medal with the side of her finger. She spoke with a soft voice, “yeah, I guess it is a rare honor.”

“I heard about what happened; I read the report, you know.”

Amber nodded gently. “I killed seven people,” her voice was soft.

As she looked back up Erwin could see the pain in her eyes. She kept her face stiff, but he could still see it in her eyes. He'd seen that look in hundreds of soldiers, but never before had he seen it in someone so young. A child, brilliant and wise beyond her years, but still a child, now stained by the horrors of war.

There was a moment of silence, and then Amber spoke. “I can see the look in your eyes too, you know. You were trying to ensure I did not experience this.”

“And just what is 'this'?”

Amber blinked slowly. “The disillusionment of a young soldier. I was aware that it would happen. I've seen a few...” she looked away for a moment. “I've read a few books, about soldiers and war.”

Greenfield asked “Just what books would that be?”

“Full Metal Jacket, Platoon, All Quiet on the Western Front...”

Greenfield's eyebrows narrowed. “I've never heard of any of those books.”

Amber let out a tiny sigh. “No I guess not. But the point is, I already knew this would happen, the change that comes upon a soldier once they have tasted of real war. And I make no pretense about it; I didn't expect that knowing about that would make it easy. Maybe less surprising, but not easy.”

Greenfield drew a small breath. “If you already knew this, then why did you enlist?”

Amber looked him in the eyes again.

Erwin continued. “When I asked you why you enlisted before, your response was full of pretense. It almost hurt to hear you rattle off a textbook answer when we both know that's not you. So what is the real reason?”

Amber looked away thoughtfully while drawing a slow breath. She began, “I once spoke with a man – a young man, barely out of boyhood. He was in a quandary as he was debating with himself about following in his father's footsteps and joining the military.

“But his father tried to sway him not to. He was some kind of special forces; a ranger, I think.”

Greenfield's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to think of what name she meant to say.

Amber continued. “To dissuade his son, he shared some stories about the horrible things he experienced; about the horrible things he had done. The boy told me some of them.” She slowly shook her head. “No man wants to earn a medal for such things.”

She turned her face to his again. “The boy was fairly convinced not to follow in his father's footsteps. But he asked his father this question: If you started your life over, would you serve again? His father thought it over carefully, but had to admit that he would. And that simple answer made it hard for the boy to say that he really shouldn't join the military, knowing his father still felt it was worth it.

“I thought about that story before I signed up. I knew that fighting a war wouldn't be noble nor exciting, but it would extract a terrible cost on both my mind and body; even my very soul.”

She set her hand on her chest. “But I also had this belief that it could be worth it, that I could make a difference.” Her voice began to crack. “Just like that boy's father, I feel terrible about what I've done. But I have to hold to the belief – the hope – that this will have some merit; that in the end I can make a difference and it will be worth it.”

Amber took in a breath and wiped the water from her eyes. “Thank you,” she softly said.

Greenfield raised an eyebrow. “Eh? What for?”

“...I had forgotten why I was doing this. Thank you for reminding me.”

Greenfield smiled softly. “Those are good words. I'll have to pass them along to others who may need to hear that.” He paused a moment. “So, what was it you said his father was? A ranger?”

Amber's face scrunched up in thought. “I think that's what he said... No wait, his father was a seal! That's right, because he and Daniel got in an argument about marines versus seals and who trains who; I remember now...”

Amber suddenly looked up at the general with a look of shock. “Auh-h! No, just forget I said anything. The point was, he was a soldier. I can't remember what made him so special.”

Greenfield shook his head and decided to drop the matter.

After a brief pause, the general spoke up again. “By the way, I wanted to talk to you about that rifle you requested.”

Amber seem to pique a little. “Ah! So, is the Army willing to accede to my request?” There was a slight emphasis on 'the army' as if she were addressing some pretense.

The general continued. “Everyone agrees that you should be using a carbine instead of a rifle, given your stature. I personally reviewed your request for that Swiss gun you requested. Honestly I'm really curious how you even knew that specific model existed.”

“I was talking to the quartermaster,” Amber replied. “I was mentioning some improved designs we could be using for our equipment.”

'Of course,' Greenfield thought to himself, 'I can't even pretend to be surprised about that.'

She continued, “He was involved with some trials the Army conducted, considering some new rifles, and it was one of the weapons they looked at. He suggested it as it already does half the things I mentioned.”

“Hm. Well at any rate, the Army is willing to buy one of them for you, especially in light of your recent actions.” He gestured softly toward the medal pinned to her chest. “However, we are not interested in covering the cost of special ammunition for just one soldier. Either you'll need to pay for your ammo yourself, or you'll need to have a gunsmith customize it to use seven-nine; again, coming out of your pocket.”

Amber didn't even pause to think. “In that case, I would prefer to pay for the gunsmithing. I would like one additional change as well; the earlier versions used 12-round magazines but the carbine is using a smaller six-round version. Since the magazines and chamber have to be tweaked anyway, I'd prefer to use the larger one. That is, assuming the Army is willing to issue me a line of credit? Taking it out of my paycheck until it is paid off?”

Greenfield's expression furrowed. “You haven't even asked to see what it would cost you yet.”

Amber lightly shrugged. “It almost doesn't matter. Coming out of the war flat broke is better than not coming out alive. And even if buying Swiss ammo is cheaper in the long run, it presents a supply chain issue. What if a shipment gets lost or destroyed or delayed? Being the only one who needs that ammo could really put me in a pinch.”

Her countenance quickly dropped to a softly-sullen expression. In a low tone she breathed out “God forbid, what if there's a pandemic and we're all holed-up waiting for supplies that never seem to come. Supply chains, I tell you.” There seemed to be something knowing behind her eyes, like the dull shadow of experience and memory.

The general let out a breath and shook his head. “Alright, you win. You'll get your custom carbine. It will take a few weeks, but it should be ready before you're finished with your officer training.”

“Thank you sir,” Amber said with a brisk nod, “I know this is out of the ordinary and I am very grateful for this honor. Although I don't think the Norlans will appreciate this.”

Greenfield held back a smirk. “See to it that they don't.”

After a moment of silence, Amber spoke up again. “Honestly though, you really ought to order a whole lot of them. That's the kind of weapon you're going to want your soldiers to carry in this war. Higher capacity magazine, and a much shorter barrel.”

The general's eyebrow raised suspiciously. “Now why would we want a shorter barrel?”

“It's better for the trench warfare. A long rifle makes it too hard to turn around in tight spaces. Seriously, you should talk to the soldiers who are surviving out there; they aren't relying on rifles once they breach a trench. They mostly use grenades and the blade of their shovel.”

His suspicious expression didn't drop. “Who did you hear this from?”

“I believe his name was Erich Maria Remarque.”

“So you think this Swiss carbine would be the best gun for fighting in the trenches?”

“The best? No, the best weapon would be a shotgun.”

“A shotgun?”

Amber raised a finger. “Mark my words, General. One day the enemy is going to breach our trenches with squads carrying Winchesters. They will sweep through the trenches like their guns were brooms, and we'll take casualties so heavy that we start claiming they're violating the rules of warfare.”

She then turned to the side and mimed holding a shotgun. She held down the trigger and began pumping the slide. “Pop, pop! Watchin' Germans drop!”

Greenfield's face squirmed. “Just who's side are you on here, anyway?”

Amber tried to hide the sheepishness in her expression as she lowered her arms. “I just want to keep you abreast of the situation. This is going to be a heavy war, you know.”

“...Right.” Greenfield stared at the soldier for a moment, still at a loss to explain this childhood anomaly. She bent her head around to look at the scene around her, and Erwin also glanced around. Nobody was around; the reporters had long since departed, and the other honored soldiers had left with their families.

“What are your plans tonight, Cadet?”

Amber looked back up at him with a playful smile. “Cadet? I thought until tomorrow I was still a private O-A. But you'd know better than me.”

“Well then, what are your plans tonight, Private?”

“I have none, really. Hit the chow hall and then peruse the library, I suppose.”

“Would you like to come over to my home again, for dinner?”

Amber's smile turned a bit smug. “Well I think it may be an act of impropriety to have personnel of such vastly differing ranks cavorting together, but I must admit that I do love your wife's cooking, so I'm in.”

Greenfield nodded with a smile. “Good; then I'll just telephone her real quick to let her know you are coming. I also need to send through the paperwork for your weapon. Meet me back here in about forty minutes.”

Amber nodded. “Will do,” she said with a pleasant tone.

The two saluted and the general walked back to the central office. As he walked into the building he found General Hersch waiting for him in the front hall, standing by a window.

“Marcus,” Greenfield said, nodding.

“Erwin,” Hersch replied in like manner. “So what did she decide on?”

“She said she wants to have it taken to a gunsmith and customized.”

“Ha! I knew it; the little orphan girl doesn't know the value of money. She thinks that paltry paycheck is going to be enough to buy the world!”

Greenfield lightly shook his head. “Don't be so sure; her reasoning was so that she could make some additional modifications to it, and she brought up concerns of supply chain issues for the custom ammunition. And those are legitimate concerns, I must say.

“Besides, she also asked if the Army could give her a line of credit; without seeing the bill she already assumed it would be more than she had.”

General Hersch stood in silence for a moment. Finally he just shook his head with a short rumbling sound.

Greenfield spoke on his behalf. “I know; that girl defies all reasoning.”

“Experience is the greatest teacher!” Hersch spat out. “No amount of reading books alone can prepare you for life! That girl needs experience!”

“Why don't you just go talk to her yourself? She's right outside.”

Hersch shook his head. “No, no; I don't want that child to start getting an ego thinking she gets to rub shoulders with all the generals.”

Greenfield slightly nodded. “I suppose you're right about that. Well, I'll see you later.”

* * *

Amber found officer training to be notably different from the rest of her training, and for a wide variety of reasons. But the difference that stood out the most to her was how she was treated by her peers.

When she started her mage training she was met by many confused and suspicious faces, and even after several days many of her peers seemed to think her presence there was a mistake, and to one extent or another everyone treated her like a child. It took some time before the other trainees began to respect her ability over what they perceived her age to be.

When basic training started she had to start the process over with new members in her platoon, and since the training now focused on the physical rather than the mental, it was much harder to gain the respect of her peers. (That is, until Bronner accidentally taught her how to gain respect through fear.)

Her flight training was almost entirely composed of the mages who had been with her since her first day, and combined with the joy of learning to fly, it was easily the best time of her military career. But once she was stationed at the Northern Front she again had to face all the judgment that came from her appearance.

There were only four other mages she had gone through training with who were sent up North with her, so there were few voices to speak up about her ability, not that voices from trainees meant much to the people with real experience.

Carl Wahl was her only friend at that time. They had found out in training that they were both slated to start their officer training after (to quote their papers) “3-6 weeks of service, or after adequate demonstration of ability.” (It has always been the practice of armies to require mages to serve as enlisted men before making them officers, stemming historically from struggles to find adequate officers among a seemingly random selection of the population. The new war had prompted leaders to reduce the amount of service time.) While they were stationed in Tanfax they expected they would both go through officer training together. They made joking wagers with each other about the future of their careers and who would get which of their peers assigned under their command.

But Amber had “demonstrated her ability” and today was beginning the last of her training, while Wahl was still on the Tanfax Isthmus fighting to keep the Norlans at bay.

The officer training was done at the same military base on the outskirts of Wagnin where Amber had visited and met Colonel Greenfield when she was six. It was held in a small annex of the base referred to as Rosenbaum Academy. Technically it wasn't part of the base, but for all intents and purposes it was. The interiors even looked the same, with light-tan walls and wooden trim, but otherwise devoid of personality.

As Amber walked down the hallway to the assigned lecture hall, with gold threads around her epaulets marking her rank as cadet, she realized that there would be no one in her new class who already knew her. She'd be starting over from square one without anyone else to vouch for her ability. It was going to be another slough of comments like “little girl, this is for people training to be officers,” “little girl, are you lost,” and “little girl, are you looking for your father?”

She came to the door to the lecture hall. A paper was pinned on the wall that declared “Officer Training – B Company.” She stepped inside.

The lecture hall was a bit more generously sized than the ones at the training base; it felt like going from a high school classroom to a college classroom. There were small risers every two rows to help those further back to see, but as they only rose a single step Amber would still need to sit in the front. The room was already half-filled with cadets; some were seated, but the majority were standing or milling about with several congregated together in small groups; each group was engaged in a quiet conversation. There didn't appear to be a single person over 25; few were even 21.

Amber made her way over to one of the few empty seats in the front row. As she did she noticed the many faces that looked to her direction and remained fixed on her, and the many conversations that abruptly stopped and were replaced with statements in hushed tones.

She exhaled slowly. 'And so it begins.'

Amber plopped her notebook on the desk. In the awkward near-silence she asked “Is anyone sitting here?”

The cadet in the next seat looked around nervously. “Uh-h, no?”

Amber looked to the group standing to her right; various heads began shaking.

Just before she turned around to slide into her seat she noticed another group in the back of the room, whispering, gesturing, with all eyes staring at her; two of them were locked in expressions of disbelief while the third whispered at them exuberantly.

Amber sat down, and tried to bite her annoyance. 'This is going to be worse than my first day at boot. Nine times. Nine times I had someone try to stop me and ask what I was doing there. But apparently it's going to be worse among the officers. No more of that 'yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir' mentality; these are the people who are supposed to ask questions.'

It was one of the men in the group now to her left who spoke up first, a towheaded man she later learned was named Meckler. “Eh- excuse me?”

Amber sighed. “Yes?”

Meckler continued, “Well, I'd like to know, how did you earn the Golden Valor Wings?” gesturing toward her chest.

Amber blinked. “Eh, what?”

Someone on the right side of the room called out “Didn't you read the paper this morning? She took out a whole squadron of air mages, all by herself!”

Various remarks began bubbling out across the room as the space filled with awe and excitement. “See, I told you! I told you!” “I thought that was some kind of joke!” “Single-handedly!”

The man seated next to Amber asked “How did you manage that?”

Amber was caught off-guard and didn't know how to answer the question. “Well, with bullets, mostly.”

Meckler remarked “What do you mean, 'mostly?' How else are you going to do it?”

A cadet sitting by the window spoke up. “One had his throat slit. Another had his head cut clean off. There was one where they could only find half his body.”

The room roared with excited reactions. Amber leaned over the back of her chair to get a good look at the cadet; he was older than the other boys and the red cuffs on his uniform told that he was promoted from an NCO rank.

When the chorus of exclamations subsided she called out with a suspicious tone “Now how did you know that?”

Another burst of cheers bubbled up as her tone confirmed the description.

The cadet by the window replied “I was stationed out there too; I talked to the men who cleaned up the bodies. And since I speak Norlish I got to interrogate the one who survived.”

“How is he, by the way?” Amber asked, and only afterward realized how it sounded.

The cadet shrugged. “About as well as he could be for having a knife in his chest.”

Amber quickly jumped on the chance to redeem the esteem she was garnering. “You don't happen to know where the knife is, do you? I forgot to pick it up off of him so now I'm missing one.” The concern for the knife should mask her last question.

The man seated to her right declared “Wait, how did he survive a knife in the chest?”

The cadet by the window replied, “It got stuck in his orb; it gave him a deep gash but didn't quite get through the sternum.”

Amber finished the story. “Honestly it's surprising that he didn't die from the fall.”

One of the men in Meckler's group called out “Wait wait wait, you knifed an air mage, while he was in the air?!”

Amber shrugged. “I ran out of ammo.”

The room fell into another chorus of cheers followed by a cacophony of comments.

Two more cadets entered the room. They both stopped and looked at Amber. She could tell their eyes were pointed at her chest. One of them breathed out “It's her!”

Meckler called out again, “This girl, this girl! Hey let me buy you a beer tonight!”

Amber turned to face him and held up her hand. “No thank you, I don't drink alcohol.”

His face balked between expressions as his mind came to terms with her statement. “Oh – right. Well how about a coffee then?”

“I don't drink coffee or tea, either.”

“No? Then what do you drink?”

Amber plopped her fist against her desk and with gruff in her voice called out “I only drink the blood of my enemies!”

Another wave of enthusiastic cheering spewed forth, and Amber smiled at the reaction the line produced. It was easy to sound like a bad-ass when you can quote shows no one else has seen.

A moment later a voice came booming into the room, “What's all this ruckus about?!”

The source of the voice was a major who came in carrying a briefcase in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. Immediately all the talking ceased and everyone stood at attention and saluted. The major let everyone stay like that while he made his way to the podium. He had light brown hair, a bushy goatee, and a sour expression on his face. “Honestly, this is supposed to be a class for officers! And here you are making a ruckus like a bunch of...” he froze, his eyes fixed on Amber. “...schoolchildren.”

The major finished setting his parcels on the podium and then unfolded a newspaper that was tucked under his arm. He looked at the paper, and then at Amber. The paper again, and Amber again. “Well I'll be damned...”

* * *

The sun had set, but most of the cadets were still up. Amber, however, had retired to her bunk. She felt drained in far more than just her body. She was king for a day; everybody and their dog wanted to ask about what had happened on the Norlan border. It was exhausting to repeatedly recount her battle, all the while acting like it was a grand and noble experience. Her face felt sore from the smug mask she had been wearing all day.

She finished placing her tunic on its hanger and looked at it for a moment. The glinting gold pinned to the chest won her much respect today. No one had treated her like a child, nor asked why she was wearing that uniform. Now she had a reputation. They might only see her as “the child with the Golden Valor Wings” but she had reputation.

It didn't feel worth it.

She flopped onto her bed without bothering to take off her pants or her socks. The room was small with only four beds in it, stacked in two bunks. She was the only woman attending the academy, so she had the room all to herself; which was perfect because now no one could see her cry.

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