Once more I found myself watching the men of Loyal Company, 2nd Platoon die. They were a dogged lot, fighting to the last moment possible. Their bravery was inspiring to behold and as their commander I was damned proud of my platoon. Loyal Company was an anchor in our straining line of battle. While our neighboring companies fell to the onslaught, the men of Loyal held fast.

But it was only a matter of time until we too broke. With our flanks exposed we were taking fire on three sides. 1st and 4th platoons shifted their facing, our formation resembling an ugly wedge, the wings taking on unfavorable positions so the 2nd and 3rd platoons could focus forward but it was a delaying action at best.

We couldn't win, but we could die well.

The battalion commander gave the order for a full retreat but it was too late. My platoon was committed and the enemy was upon us. 3rd Platoon was in a similar state, our men practically fighting back to back trying to cover the rest of the company's withdrawal. We would delay the enemy because that was all we could do, delay them and die well doing it. We were too few and too isolated for an orderly retreat. There was no one left to support us yet I had my orders insistently battering down from on high. My platoon could not die here, we must fall back immediately.

It was futile to point out that retreat was not possible, that holding my ground would be the best strategic choice. I had my orders. My lads were routed from their entrenchments and as they routed they were shot in the back because no one else was alive to cover our retreat. We'd held when no one else had, only to run and be gunned down like dogs. It was disgraceful.

Once more, I found myself walking amongst a field of the dead at the wargame's conclusion and not for the first time pride and dread warred within me. My men. Boys and their fathers who'd fought as hard as they could until escape became impossible. What was left of our company had been like a cornered animal, fighting all the more ferociously precisely because attempting escape was as good as death. Better to go down swinging. Damned fine discipline. Yet discipline alone wasn't enough and at the end of the day dead was dead.

I wasn't walking amongst my fallen men alone. One of the mercenary sargents was nearby, (Leeroy, I thought) slowly shooting each man he crossed with a very painful but ultimately harmless riot shotgun.

"This is was defeat feels like." He intoned, blasting a man in the leg. "Remember this pain." BAM! "A man alone on the battlefield dies." BAM! "But the army survives the battle." BAM! "Be a part of that army." BAM! "Survive."

Then the burly thug was upon me. There was a slight twitch of his weapon's muzzle, as if he was considering shooting me. Me, an officer! It was absurd and the notion left this brutish thug just as quickly as it came.

"A word in private, Sir." He said, offering the reverence my position demanded as an afterthought.

I was sorely tempted to decline his request and order him to speak plainly then and there. Impropriety however, was unbecoming of a man in my position. Whatever disputes might ensue were best handled outside the earshot of my men. We walked a good hundred paces away before the mercenary spoke again.

"You're a damned fine officer, Lt Adams."

I was taken aback by the compliment. It seemed a curious thing to bare in private. It would do the men well to see their officer being commended, as much for my own actions as theirs. It has been said there are no bad soldiers, only bad leaders, and to an extent I feel the reverse also bears a degree of truth. Good soldiers make it easy to be a good officer and the men of Loyal made it very easy indeed.

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"Why thank you, I suppose." I said at length. "Though my men deserve as much credit as I-"

"I agree. Loyal Company is a bit unpolished but it has backbone and your platoon exemplifies that. I'll be recommending that Col Lynder promote you to Captain."

Again, he caught me off balance. I was a fairly senior lieutenant but there was an order to these things. There was exams to undertake, training to be completed prior. It'd be impertinent of me to rise above my station, and beyond that I didn't want to be promoted. I had a responsibility to my men and if I was suddenly responsible for an entire company my attentions would suffer proportionately.

"My thanks again, but the company already has a Captain-" I started.

"You're right. But Capt Wall is needed right were he is-"

"And I'm not?!" I scoffed.

The mercenary shifted his balance and again his weapon's muzzle carelessly drifted in my direction. The nerve of this man! I saw now where all his flattery had been building up. He wanted me gone, no doubt so these dishonorable mercenaries could assume my command! I would not have it. I would-

"Why did this defensive fail?" The merc asked, his tone musing.

"My position was indefensible." I snapped, prompting the merc to make a 'go on' gesture. "My position was indefensible because it was taking fire on three sides, soon to be encircled and overrun. 3rd platoon was in a similar state and we were unable to mutually support each other. We had received orders to withdraw our platoons and regroup with the rear echelon despite those orders conflicting with the realities on the ground. We were the only forward element still committed to the battle, the enemy was concentrating fire upon us and closing. Had the left flank held a few minutes longer…"

Suddenly I saw what this merc was getting at and the realization sat heavy in my stomach. It wasn't often that I was on the receiving end of a lesson.

"Because much like the lone soldier, a single platoon or even company cannot survive alone on the battlefield either." Leeroy lectured. "Loyal Company is ready to be blooded. They can follow orders and keep their heads in these mock skirmishes. All that's left for them is repetition and drill drill drill until they're polished. But Loyal can't stop an army by itself and there aren't enough veteraned men to go around. Kook Company is a shitshow, Capt Brunell doesn't know his own ass from a biscuit and there isn't enough time to cultivate one of his LTees for the job. Kook Company, the ranks and sargents as much as the army, needs a leader… and I'm pushing your name. Now tell me, am I wasting my time with you?"

It pained me to consider the offer. On one hand, it was for the good of the militia as a whole which would in turn allow me to better defend my home. What kind of a man could refuse such a calling? Could I call myself a true Brunswick officer if I didn't rise to this occasion? On the other hand, I'd have to leave not just my platoon—my men—but also my company. I wasn't so arrogant to think that they'd crumple without me and yet I felt a seed of doubt in my stomach. Would they be okay without me?

"Who did you have in mind to take over my platoon?" I inquired. "I can't leave my men without knowing they're in good hands."

"Lt Victor, from Mobile Company. The man's a stoic. He's wasted in such a bellicose outfit, but he'll fit right in with Loyal."

It took a moment to connect a face to the name. Yes, I knew him from a few smoking room discussions. He was an architect by trade and we'd shared a few conversations in the past about one thing or another. Unimaginative but a good man. Stoic. Dogged. Stubborn. Yes, I suppose he would make for an agreeable stand-in during my absence.

It would be hard to leave my men, but I was doing it for them. So that they could have allies strong enough to support them in the coming days. So that when battle was joined, Loyal Company would not stand alone. As much as it chapped my pride to admit, this mercenary was completely without his uses. Resigning myself to my duty, I gave a sigh.

"Very well." I said. "Better me than some poor ninny who'd get those lads killed when the lead starts flying. What arrangements need to be made?"

"None that haven't already been handled. It will be formalized tomorrow, but effective immediately you are now the commanding officer of Kook Company."

"Shouldn't Colonel Lynder be the one to grant me my appointments?" I chaffed. I didn't much care for the way this brute had just inserted himself into the command hierarchy as my nominal superior. Damned mercenaries, the lot of them were worse than crows. My rising opinion of the hired gun slipped back to the mud beneath my boots, where it belonged.

"He will be at the next debriefing in… eight minutes. I suggest you find a clean uniform and scrape off that evening shadow, Captain."