Finn walked back towards General Fleischer’s tent, trying to forget about the village girl. Elise. He was used to a certain set of emotions with civilians wherever the Gisken army went. He was used to the crying, the fear, the sadness. What he wasn’t used to was the anger. That woman hadn’t mourned her father’s death and the fall of her town as much as she was enraged by it. He could see it in the way she walked, the biting way she talked to him. He could hear her voice in his head: Like Blair treated Ulrick with respect and dignity? He doesn’t deserve everything you’ve done to him, you know. I don’t think anyone deserves that.
There weren’t many times he felt ashamed about being in the Gisken army. Talking to her, though… the shame ate at him in a way it hadn’t since the Kurzhian campaign.
He glanced back towards the west side of camp, where he’d dropped Elise off with the camp followers. He hoped she’d be alright: it wouldn’t be easy for the next little bit, working with people who, for the most part, didn’t even speak her language. She’d get used to it, though; she might even get friendly with those women. God knew they were a friendly bunch.
The men standing guard outside General Fleischer’s tent saluted as Finn approached.
“Is the general busy?” Finn asked. “I was told to report back.”
“Lieutenant al’Heida just went in, sir,” one of the guards said.
Finn sighed. “I’ll wait here, then.”
“Of course, sir. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
The main guard went into the tent, leaving Finn and the other guard behind.
“How are you holding up, private?” Finn asked.
“I’m alright, sir,” the guard said. “My ma’s worried about me: it’s my first time away from home.”
He’d guessed that: the boy was far too young to have been there during the Kurzhian campaign. In fact, he was probably straight out of training.
The first guard came out of the tent. “Captain: the general wants you to come inside.”
Finn frowned, a little confused, but nodded: he was sure General Fleischer had his reasons. “Thank you.” He looked to the younger guard. “Take care of yourself.”
“Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”
Finn stepped into the tent.
He saluted General Fleischer. “Sir.”
General Fleischer saluted back. “Captain: excellent timing.”
Blair turned and glared at him. Finn did his best to ignore it.
“We were just discussing the conduct of certain officers, today,” General Fleischer said. “Specifically, the ramifications it might have on certain officer’s future careers.”
Right.
“I’ve been talking with some of your subordinates from today’s attack,” Raul said, looking through the stack of papers on his desk. “I’ve been planning on naming my successor after this campaign is finished, and I decided to use this initial assault as an initial gauge of the two of you to see if either of you are ready for command.” He looked back up at them and clasped his hands. “Would either of you like to venture a guess as to who impressed me and who didn’t?”
Finn shifted between his feet, uncomfortable.
“Who did you talk to?” Blair asked.
“I don’t think that’s important, and it would be in your best interest to remember your courtesies, Lieutenant,” General Fleischer said. “Captain Ackers: the men who served under you described you as calm, collected, and respectful. With soldiers, enemy combatants, and civilians. All of them agree with the idea of promoting you.”
Finn couldn’t help but feel a little pride.
“Lieutenant al’Heida: your men had some very different things to say about you.” General Fleischer picked up a different paper. “While I couldn’t find any corroborating reports about your treatment of Commander Praetor and Miss Brewer, I did find multiple reports of being overly hostile to your men, to enemy combatants, and, worst of all, civilians. None of your men would recommend a promotion of any kind. In fact, one of your sergeants recommended demoting you to corporal.”
“Who said that?” Blair demanded.
“Watch your tongue, boy,” General Fleischer growled.
Finn looked down at his feet. Anything to keep from looking at the two of them. He hated being alone with the two of them: as much as the general tried to keep his military bearing around his son, any meeting between the two of them always dissolved from a meeting between officers to a squabble between father and son.
“Now, would you like to make an argument as to why I shouldn’t follow your sergeants’ recommendations?” General Fleischer asked. “I have a lot of highly qualified men right here whose lieutenants all highly recommend for promotion. Sergeant Biermann, Sergeant Levaugh, Sergeant Pedersen. Isn’t Sergeant Pedersen one of the men who put down the uprising in Orovich a few weeks back?”
Blair had his fists clenched at his sides. He looked like he was on the verge of punching him.
“Captain: I assume that a promotion is agreeable to you?” General Fleischer asked. Even though he was addressing Finn, he was staring directly at his son. Watching him as he squirmed as he watched his rival for the title of General of the Imperial Army of Gisk get promoted.
“… If you see it fit to promote me, sir, then I’ll gladly accept,” Finn said, standing up a little straighter.
“Excellent.” General Fleishcer stood up from his desk and picked up a small bundle of cloth wrapped and tied with twine. He walked up to him and offered him the bundle. “This is a little spur of the moment, so I was a little worried about finding a pair of these. Luckily for you, we were able to find this.”
Finn took the bundle and gently unwrapped the twine.
Inside the bundle were two gold laurel wreath pins and two matching insignias cut from red fabric, the leaves of the wreaths embroidered in gold thread.
The marks of a Major.
“Congratulations, Major,” General Fleischer said with a salute. “You’ve earned it.”
Finn saluted back. “Th-thank you, sir.”
General Fletcher turned to look at Blair. “Lieutenant: care to explain why you haven’t saluted the Major, yet?”
Blair didn’t respond: he just glared at Finn, as if he were imagining all the different ways he could kill him.
General Fleischer’s eyes narrowed. “Lieutenant, you’re already getting demoted to sergeant; if you continue this childish insubordination, I’ll bust you down to corporal. Now, salute the Major and congratulate him on his promotion.”
Blair didn’t move a muscle, at first. Finn began to wonder if that was a hill he was willing to die on.
Finally, he saluted. “Congratulations on your promotion, Major,” he said through clenched teeth.
Finn returned the salute. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
Blair continued to glare. Finn did his best to ignore it.
“Now that you’re a Major, I suppose it’s time to grant you some new responsibilities,” General Fleischer said, walking back to his desk. He began to leaf through the papers on his desk. “I’m putting you in charge of promotions. I trust that you’re a sound enough judge of character to find officers in these commendations and recommendations.” He picked up a stack of reports and handed them to Finn. “Get these laurels sewn onto your uniform and start going through these. Report back once you’ve made your decisions; I’ll send a runner if I need you sooner than that.” He saluted. “You’re dismissed.”
Finn saluted and left the tent.
He let out a long sigh the second he was out of General Fleischer’s sight. He couldn’t believe it: already a major. A major, and if things kept going the way they were, the future General of the Imperial Army of Gisk.
Now, if only he could decide if he even wanted that position.
***
Raul Fleischer took a deep breath as he watched Major Ackers leave. He was keenly aware of his son staring at him. He could feel the heat radiating from Blair as he bottled up the passion that threatened to overtake him right then and there. The same passion that made him one of the most short-tempered people he’d ever met in his life. If he didn’t manage to get in control of himself, that very passion would destroy his military career.
He turned to look at Blair. He really is Chaya’s son, isn’t he?
“Are you really going to demote me?” Blair asked.
“I don’t see that I have much of a choice,” Raul said. “Once we’re done here, you’ll sew your sergeant’s patch back on and change out your pins. You’ll replace whichever sergeant Major Ackers sees fit to promote.”
“… am I dismissed?”
Raul sighed. God, give me strength!
“You need to learn to control your emotions,” Raul said. “I hate being forced to-”
“Forced to what?” Blair demanded. It looked like he’d finally snapped. “You and I both know that you’d never demote someone for doing what I did. Nobody but me, anyway.”
Raul could feel his own anger rising to the surface. “No: any officer who has ignored the rules of engagement as blatantly as you gets thrown in the brig. They’d be praying to not end up in front of a firing squad.”
Blair seemed surprised. Raul blamed himself for that: Blair’s military career had been spent entirely in a time of peace. He’d seen a lot of promise in him, then: it was why he promoted him so quickly. But it seemed that his son had been too eager to prove himself in battle, like so many other men he’d seen in his years. He, himself, had been like that when he was young. He hoped that this slap on the wrist would be enough to set him back on the right path. Before he made a mistake that couldn’t be forgiven.
“I’m going to leave you in charge of interrogating the Watchman,” Raul said. “Not only do you need to find the Godswater, but I need to understand exactly how his Blessing ticks. We need to learn more about it than even the Caithians. Am I understood?”
Blair nodded. “Understood. Do I have a timeline?”
“One week,” Raul said. “After that time, I plan on executing him: I don’t need a soldier like him getting back to his lines to tell them everything he’s seen and heard.”
“Yes, sir. Anything else?”
“Empty the prison, make certain everyone there knows exactly what the Gisken army will offer them if they join us,” Raul said. “Use that building to house POWs. The commander gets his own cell. See if any of the men currently at the jail would like to discuss the location of the Godswater, or if any of our prisoners know. Of course, the standard things like enemy troop movements should also be a priority. Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want this demotion to be temporary,” Raul said. “Step up, prove to me that you deserve to be a lieutenant. Or more.”
“Yes, sir.”
Raul saluted. “Get out of my sight.”
Blair saluted and left.
Raul sighed. Finally: he was alone.
He plopped down at his desk and pulled out his flask. He could almost hear his wife chastising him: Chaya had always thought he drank far too much.
Ironic: he drank far more now that she was gone.
He picked up the framed photograph on his desk. Stared at her warm, smiling face. It used to be that seeing her face - remembering what happened to her - reminded him why he was fighting. Now, it just made him tired. Maybe he really was getting too old for this.
Raul took one swig. Two. Three.
Damned whiskey: why the hell didn’t it work, anymore?
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