“Regrouping and recuperating are not wastes of time. They are quite the opposite, and without them, armies will fall to pieces and not know what to do.”
-Musings of Captain Henry Eckels. 2027.
Nathaniel’s legs were still throbbing with pain when he woke up, a rather dull and infuriating uncomfortable pain at that. At least his lungs weren’t burning, however.
As he hauled himself out of the sheets, the bitter cold hit him. The rain was pounding against the castle outside, the morning still dark from the clouds above.
Nathaniel groaned, shuffling towards to lit fireplace in the centre of the quarters, a fire still blazing away in it’s marble mouth.
While the king’s keep was a grand piece of art on the inside, it’s bones were old, constructed as one the first great monument. Back then it’s insides were simple bare stone covered by tapestries. That was something that only lesser lords and those nostalgic higher ones really had as the interiors of their great halls, and Nathaniel thanked the monarchs of the past for not being one of those sorts of fools.
They could have insulated the building a bit better in their work however. But that he supposed came from the frame itself being so old and from all of the windows that filled the slots where solid oak shutters once were.
A knock came from his door.
He sighed, “Come in,”
A servant with their head bowed shuffled in, placing a parchment on a table by the door before silently moving out again, not a word said between the two. As it should be.
Nathaniel heaved himself up from his chair and picked up the parchment. An invitation from the king to meet and plan the rest of the war and explain what had just happened.
He groaned and moved to get his clothes on, still left in here for when he would come back either triumphant or like he had now. On a solitary horse.
It was a wound to his pride but one he could cope with. As long as nothing so humiliating happened again. But for that…
It could be sorted later, hell he might find the right person very soon. But time would tell.
He threw on the best set of garbs he had, whipping his cloak over his shoulder and straightening his front, walking out of his quarters with no hint of shame or defeat.
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The king was not happy at all.
He seemed to be, in fact, in a state of despair as the duke finished his, admittedly slightly altered, record of the battle, noting in particular the overwhelming power of the enemy’s cannons.
A rather cooperative surviving pistoleer also helped with the recount, noting the very large metal contraptions which manged to spit out explosive cannon balls at a rate of one every four seconds. A very frightening fact thought, at least there were only four of them, plus some sort of modified one.
Though then there were some other similar ones but that was just the cream ontop at the end of the day considering everything else.
The king continued to stare blankly at the table. His mouth moving as he spoke only to himself.
All around him were the gathered generals and major nobles of the realm. Which also included the pompous Duke Ilondis of house Rector, with his stupid yellow clothes.
Nathaniel hoped his curled mouth and glaring eyes hadn’t been seen and made him seem infantile, but he couldn’t help it in the man’s presence.
But they had all gathered here for a serious discussion, what to do next. A very important question and one that didn’t seem to have any right answers. If it wasn’t for one thing.
“So, my deal with the under dwellers has borne fruit then?”
The king slipped out of his stupor for a moment to nod, “They came to me before you arrived. They’ve come baring some better handguns, but nothing like what the enemy have. And they have given us these.”
He slipped a pile of papers and parchments over to the duke. Flipping through them revealed a treasure trove of answers to some of the questions he had been wanting answered.
The Nathaniel smiled, “They seem to have given us plans on ambush techniques. One that can kill their mechanical monsters.”
He spread out the drawing and documents across the table. A plethora of diagrams on “Anti-Tank” ditches, “IEDs”, improvised mortars, flammable liquids and the various slight improvements that could be made to their own powder weapons.
He continued to smile as he studied them but there were some things missing.
“Your majesty, when did they say they could make handguns like our enemy?”
The king sighed, “they said they had plans for them but only they could make them… And they needed a week to start making them with the new supplies we have given them.”
Nathaniel frowned. A chunk of stone now thrown into the cogs of his plans. His enemy could move on the capital far faster than that, even with an army of thousands it seemed. Given their steeds seemed to be made of iron and not of flesh and blood. So, he’d need to somehow make time. Though the most common route for that would be…
And the pieces fall into place.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
He straightened himself up, trying to look as confident as possible as his smile grew back. “My king, we already have the materials we need to make our enemy wait for longer than that. Its right here and I believe I can create a plan of action to achieve it and give them a bloodied nose,” he turned to Ilondis, smiling still, “we will simply create ambushes for them using these tools. Ilondis, I want you to command those forces that will handle the most urgent and first of these actions.”
Ilondis straightened himself up, rising from his seat as well as a smile came across his stupid face. “I am honoured by your request, and while my expertise is not in combat but trade, I will be sure to contribute to our defence by taking your offer. I will also have the mercenaries hired by our comrades follow my forces in this effort and I will assure you all here; I will be the one to deliver us the time needed.”
Nathaniel felt a little pride at that. He was always right about who were the stupid honour seekers. And so useful they were…
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The rain pounded against the roof of the tent and against the AFVs in the camp, creating an orchestra of sounds.
Edward liked the rain. Well, when he had his large greatcoat and boots he did, like he had on now. He thought it was good planning on his part to bring them along, despite what Alex may have thought.
This was beauty in his eyes. The forest with it’s leaves slick with rain, the rolling hills spotted with little trees, standing against the storm and huddling flocks of sheep below their branches. The dark skies contrasting against the brightness of the flora despite the lack of light.
And a cup of hot tea cradled in his hand, and he looked out onto it, spotting the forests and hamlets out in the distance. It reminded him of home, of the trips out to the northern countryside with it’s of quaint English beauty that had streaks of Scotland and it’s rugged, foggy views. That mix turning into a homely landscape that one would love to huddle up in on a day like this in a small cottage.
Such experiences softened his heart and lulled him into a deep sense of nostalgia, of times spent on road trips to go on holiday across the country, or visits to his nan’s rural town. It always felt special somehow, even when he knew the route.
While he was buried deep in his thoughts, his sight blurring as the images in his mind grew stronger, a feeling of oneness passing over him. Just as he heard a snapping sound.
“Alright lad, it is remarkably familiar if it wasn’t for those odd trees and the mycelium grass patch over there, but we have some work to sort out before we get moving again. You can ogle this once we’ve actually secured the country.”
Edward’s eyes came back into focus, his head craning around to look at the actual thing he was there for.
He’d stayed with the ground forces after the meeting and Elliot had gone back up to the fleet and stayed the night. Now he was at the front-line position that was being held while the mess at the bridge was cleared, sentries arrived, and all the heavy equipment crossed.
The tent he was staying under was one unfurled from Victor’s command APC. With open sides and a ground sheet, a table set with an approximation of an ordnance survey map. Well, the best they could get without any cartographers and only an AI assisted program.
Inside the APC were various members of the general’s staff, all busying themselves with their own work. Probably collating data with the intelligence company.
Edward shuffled his shoulders, his gaze firming as he mentally prepared himself to change modes. He’d figured he should try to be more “officer like” around Victor. It seemed to be the sort of behaviour that would make him feel satisfied that he wasn’t in the hands of an idiot.
He cleared his throat as he prepared to remove all twinges of his regional accent, “I’m sorry for that. The landscapes do sometimes pull me in a little too much. So, how’s the path towards our objective looking?”
Victor raised an eyebrow, his gaze focusing. I guess he though he sounded stupid doing that… “Well, our forward scouts, drone and satellites haven’t found anything out of the ordinary. Just the regular troop mustering points and material shipments. But there may be some more slow down points for us.”
Edward’s eyes narrowed, “I thought we had most of those points mapped out.”
“Well, not quite: Some drone footage has found some little problem areas on the road that have become boggy in this rain despite the cobbles. Then there are the various little villages that I’m going to want scouting teams survey before we pass. Then there’s some bandit sites. Then the possibilities of ambushes…”
The admiral held a hand up, his brows furrowed in confusion, “I’m sorry, a boggy cobblestone road? That shouldn’t be a thing.”
The general dryly chuckled, “Well it seems some points of this road are like the sort you’d find in Romania. They’re just a hard surface thrown up on the regular mud. So, these cobbles just seem to sink into it. It isn’t that much of an issue and its rare given the time of year but every incident of it is going to slow us down just that one bit more. Given all these little delays I’d say we can make it to the capital in just under a week. Given nothing disastrous happens.”
“Quite quick then?”
“Well, its only about one hundred and fifty kilometres. Not much really, unless you’re only going at 40 kilometres per hour and having to worry about all these little nags and several hour-long side activities.”
Edward slowly nodded. Not bad, not bad at all. “Well, there isn’t any actually big issues then?”
“Most things are agreed and sorted on, yes lad. But what I want to do is go over some little contingencies and problems.”
“Like what?”
“Like how long does it take for air support to arrive and when are the marines going to finish with their mopping up on the other side of the river? The colonel hasn’t given me an ETA on that yet and I think she wants you to hand it over to me. Not sure why she can’t talk to me but I doubt she’d enlighten me on that.”
Please do not tell me there is any interservice rivalry going on! Edward’s mind filled with all of the issues that could cause and all of the headache inducing meetings and reports. Though, it could just be down to the general being abrasive… Which would be a far better answer. But that was just something to talk to Laurence then.
“Right general, you have a point with those then, I’ll get them sorted for you. And I think then, I want to get a full briefing on the troop’s current condition. I know it’s important and I’m the one ultimately in charge of logistics here.”
“On that,” Victor held up a hand, beckoning over a staff officer over who handed him a waterproofed clip board, “We have had an issue where some of our troops have been issues more toothpaste than required. Do you have anything on that lad?”
Edward audibly groaned. This was going to be a sort of recurring issue then? He’d consulted with the logistics officer on one of the cargo ships and they told him they had gotten the requisition order straight from the brigade’s top logi officer. “I think I had my suspicious on that order. Just it seems to be some sort of mix up somewhere along the requisition line…”
“Well then, we’ll put out the fix for that to work on then? And track down where it happened.”
Edward resigned himself to that work then, and various other planning duties in that meeting under the darkened, rainy skies. The weather added atmosphere to what was otherwise a boring meeting.
He felt restless, like this was all something he shouldn’t be doing quite yet.
That medal on his chest. The Medal of the Commonwealth. It burned on his chest, itching, and making itself known, even as a miniaturised bar variant on his uniform.
It told him always that he did not deserve to be in this place, of this rank. That he did not deserve to have that medal.
It did not matter that he was told he had won a battle, because he hadn’t. He’d inherited a plan and a mission, nothing more.
He needed to prove himself, actually put himself on the line and do something deserving of that medal.
But there were few opportunities to do so in his position.
But he only got into the position because of the medal and the battle. Or that was what he was sure it was.
The paradox.
But if an opportunity presented itself, he would. He’d get up from his desk and take that rifle. He had no idea what sort of opportunities there may be.
But he wanted to finally do something gallant. Something he could say was what that medal was for.