“Go. Ensure our major is still alive,” Colonel Beltram curtly gestured Sergeant Burns to the crowd with his cane. The Sergeant complied reluctantly, leaving the colonel alone next to the fire.

It was beyond Beltram’s abilities to understand the horrible nature of the past three months. So many men had died for no reason, yet the colonel felt each death was a personal failure of his stewardship. The lives of thousands of men entrusted to Beltram’s care, yet so many of these men were now dead.

Everyone was watching the Tulip, waiting for Major Cane to escape the wreck. Precious few supplies salvaged, and the men forced from the wreck. The sound of men calling the Major’s name was deafening.

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The colonel held a palsied hand to his eyes, bowing his head to the weight of the failure.

When next he looked, there were more men in the crowd, a sudden number that was impossible. Colonel Beltram’s mouth opened, yet he was silent as the hundreds of newcomers turned and faced the frail old man.

Now he understood. Colonel Beltram saw his unwitting hand leading destruction with the condemning eyes of the dead, allowing no mercy.

Beltram’s hand drifted to his holster, pulling the revolver clear and raising it. The hammer pulled back by an unseen hand, the click deafening to Beltram, but he did not wince. His gaze locked on the dead.

The report lost in the cheers as Major Cane appeared on the rolling hull of the Tulip.

A frail colonel lay slumped in his chair, another victim of Coal Island, as ghosts faded from view.