Nine total military personnel stirring at the arrival of two Judges, nervous glances exchanged between two worlds as the Field General stands from her white plastic chair. A uniform faded and frayed at the edge, yet well maintained despite its years of service in distant battlefields of the southern frontier. Polished brass buttons and clasps reflect the dim light from the chemical lamp; various decorations and medals adorning her chest in a story of hard won, and easily lost campaigns against the enemies of the Federation.
A respectful bow alongside formal tone, the gray haired woman acknowledging the existence of judiciary enforcement within the microcosm of conflict. “Judge Murphy, Judge Hoppe. I presume you bring some good news?”
A silent Hoppe allows her senior to answer the woman, the soul of justice itself staring directly at the uniformed senior officer. “Field General Phillips, what is the objective of this operation?”
The words are enough to bring silence to the tent.
Seconds together turned into minutes of perception, the tension nearly breaking the fragile alliances between military might and the cold order of the law itself.
Field General Phillips doesn’t even react as she finishes formulating her answer. “It’s the elimination of the hostile force currently occupying the central palace complex. Were you considering a different option?”
Judge Murphy continues his questioning, an answer implied to her. “Is the objective not to rescue the hostages held within the palace complex?”
She simply scoffs at his words, an arrogance earned deep in the wastes of the frontiers. “Are you suggesting we mount a rescue operation? Into the palace complex? Has your Judge on the ‘inside’ returned any intelligence of value so far?”
“Not at current.” The soul of Justice admits coldly.
“He’s been in there since this whole thing started, assuming he isn’t dead of course.” The Field General states, an implication poisoning the words. “This entire situation is beyond your capabilities, all due respect sir. The military here is equipped to…”
Judge Hoppe interrupts the soldier, an authority recemented with Murphy by her side. “Ma’am, according to amendment ninety five of the Federation Charter this is strictly a policing matter. We require the assistance of the military; but we issue the objectives and limitations of your activities.”
A silent glare at her form from the Field General, the middle-aged woman taking a deep breath before beginning her tale. “Are you aware of Lieutenant Smyth, Judge? Or the Battle for the Throne fought during the Fall of March?”
The dead gazes from the Judges give her her answer, the old woman standing from her position as she proudly smiles. “It’s a bit of military history, here in March actually. In fact, in Centralis Military Academy, it’s one of the case studies they use to demonstrate the tactics of defending and assaulting a fortified position.”
She slowly strolls around the table, hands held behind her back as she continues with falsified excitement. “Lieutenant Smyth was one of the last surviving officers of the southland empire, he was quite good at his job according to history; before the Fall of March he was in charge of his own infantry company by the time he turned twenty two. But, that’s not what he’s famous for. He’s famous for one thing, and one thing only.”
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The Field General stops as she gathers the expressions from her staff, settling on the cold gaze of the two present Judges. “He’s famous for his last stand, a last stand within the very palace complex right there.”
She points outward, a gesture reaching into the location beyond the temporary headquarters. “He held the Central Palace for three weeks. Even when most of the city had been burned, bombed, shelled to the ground, he held that complex for three weeks with only thirty soldiers under his command.”
The vision of combat, of a real war in the ancient city of March arrives in imaginations. Scatterings of gunfire overwhelmed by the booming batteries of artillery fire; of a siege being fought tooth and nail against overwhelming odds.
“For three weeks they held. For three weeks they ate the rotting bodies of both Federation soldiers and their own brothers and sisters, and what they couldn’t eat they used as barricades. They held the line, in that gods forsaken maze of a palace. And it took the Generals of that day five thousand men to break them.”
An event witnessed by silent divines, the very edge of the tent evidence of reawakening suns bringing light back into a dark world in the steps of an early morning.
“Do you want to know why it took us five thousand men sixty years ago?” The Field General asks the question rhetorically. “Why we, the men and women of the Federation shed that blood instead of shelling that blasphemous place to the ground?”
The Judges remain quiet.
“Because ‘there was something important’ inside the complex. Some great arcane item to determine the fate of the Federation! In the same nature as we’re seeing now, there’s a claim of ‘something important’ inside the palace.”
Judge Hoppe begins her interruption. “The Governor of March and majority of the city council are currently in dan…”
“I AM NOT SACRIFICING MY MEN TO YOUR MEAT GRINDER.” Field General Phillips growls at the Judge, a slender finger pointed directly at his form. “Savior below be my witness, you are not throwing my people to save those sinners. They can burn in the pyre for all I care.”
Judge Murphy remains quiet at words, a hidden agenda detected within the woman. He speaks to her and her alone with cold words. “I question your duty to the Federation, Field General Phillips.”
An escalation of implied words into action, Officers surrounding the table suddenly preparing for combat. Intricate handguns, forged with master craftsmanship from both Federal Territories and looted bodies from the frontier, are noted by the two judges as the world stops.
Military currently outmatched in the vicious close quarters of the headquarters tent, yet still willing to engage in a suicidal firefight.
“What did you say?” Field General Phillips merely stops her stroll, her very person questioned by a frail old man. “Are you going to shoot me Judge Murphy? Have you judged my being of sound, tactical mind worthy of a judiciary trial? If so please I request you make my execution expedient, I don’t have time to wait for the bullet.”
Judge Hoppe nervously takes a stumbled step back away from the situation, Judge Murphy remaining motionless as he observes the field of battle. Short and simple; an answer placed upon the General’s table. “You have committed no crime, Field General.”
A collective breath released, a firefight averted in the barest of inches.
The middle-aged woman returns to her seat quietly, a question raised towards the Judge as she stares right into his soul. “Now, is there anything else, or can I return to saving the City of March?”
Judge Murphy raises a hand, a stoppage of comment as he turns to his counterpart. “What is the status of Judge Chase?”
Hoppe blinks, remembering a current location from a previous radio exchange. “He’s responding to a shooting at Solomon Road sir, he and Cadet Smith will be here as soon as possible.”
Judge Murphy turns to the military officers, a compromise within his mind coming to fruition. Decades in the wastelands and cities of the Federation, of close quarters combat between foes of all locales and generations.
One force in this dying world capable of the insane requirements to this incoming operation, one force of humanity against a faceless enemy.
“I have a plan.”