Campaign : Casualty
This is the whole of it. If you've already read part one, skip down past the asterisks. Thanks for all the input so far.
Robin slammed his fist into the yielding fabric that made up his bedroll. "Dirty, simple, whoring bastards! How dare they leave my men in such an untenable position?"
The only other occupant of the room tried to make herself small. Erica had seen the General upset before, but never like this. He raged about the room like a miniature tornado, not striking anything that would break, but leaving welts, scratches and bruises all over his large hands. At least two of the wounds would need to be dressed, or they would get infected, she noted absently. He'd broken one of the minor supports of this section of the tent,and the ceiling drooped heavily into the room.
When Erica had come into the room, he'd been jovial, asking after her mother and winking at her. She didn't know what had gone on between her mother and the General, but knew that her mother still blushed when she mentioned his name.
Erica, an army courier, had delivered the official orders, movement charts, and the casualty listings. The general liked to brood over the casualty listings. She heard that sometimes he would disappear for days between mobilizations, returning just in time to lead the movements, but covered with bruises and seemingly bone weary.
After some more good-natured teasing about it being time to find a consort, he'd sat down with the reports. He, as he always did, offered her some of the heavy mead he seemed to favor, and for once, she accepted. It had been a long cold night, and he kept it warmed next to his lamp.
She liked General Likorne. She'd had a crush on him for a while, but she also genuinely liked him. He cared for his men. He was responsible, and he lead his charges himself. Many of the other generals thought him reckless, but he was a fighting man. Erica's father had been a sergeant under him when he'd just been a Captain. He'd had spoken almost reverently of Captain Likorne, and when he had died, the captain had personally delivered the note and his apologies. She had looked up, startled from her reverie by what sounded like a low growl.
It had been coming from General Likorne. He was frowning, and his face seemed to glow with heat. He was through with the official orders, and into the movement charts. His dark eyes flashed as he flipped through the coded messages without glancing at the codebook. He knew the codes? Memorized?
It was the casualty lists, however, that had sent him to the brink of his current madness. His eyes were wild, and when he finally stopped striking things, he looked down at his battered fists. He unclenched them, in obvious pain, and looked at her, stricken. "I'm so sorry, Erica. That you should see me like this..." His face was streaked with tears, and his eyes glistened in the torchlight with tears unshed. He slumped heavily into the thick leather hammock.
His words snapped her out of her stunned silence. She sat for a moment before rising from the simple chair she had been sitting in. She unwrapped some bandages from her kit and poured a small amount of his brandy on them, then cleaned his hands. The occasional hiss was his only consolation to the pain he must feel from the alcohol on his open wounds. She rose purposefully and walked to the flap connecting his private area to the command tent. The noise he had made had drawn no one, and in reflection, honestly hadn't been that loud. She'd been reacting to his presence, not the noise he made. Sealing his flap, she turned back to him.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head. She had figured as much. She sized up the room. His hammock was big enough for two... barely.
She blew out the lamp before sitting next to him. His arms went around her, and his desperate strength seemed to ebb with the contact. She'd wanted this for a while, but this wasn't how she'd planned it. Nothing seemed to be.
It was still dark when she rose from the hammock and dressed. She had slept little. She shrugged off a slight guilt. She had not taken any particulr advantage. Soldiers took care of each other, especially the ones who actually fought. If he had not wanted it as much as she had, he hadn't declined either. And he had certainly not been inadequate or hesitant. No. She shook her head. This was right. Perhaps she'd talk to him about it the next time she saw him. She straightened her riding leathers and unhitched the knot that kept his tent closed. She glanced back once, at him, before striding out into the chill near-dawn.
* * *
Robin woke shortly before dawn. The lingering warmth beside him echoed Erica's presence there less than an hour before. As he rolled up from his sturdy hammock, he slipped on a discarded garment. He hissed and swore loudly as he caught himself awkwardly with a bandaged hand. He was still unbalanced from the night before, the alcohol, the shock of loss, and Erika.
Erika! What was he going to tell her mother? He sighed and sat, carefully, in the chair he'd been sitting in when she'd brought his reports. Some of them were strewn about haphazardly, while others sat undisturbed, seeming to stare up at him.
He stared at the reports a moment longer before noting a bitter odor overpowering the very human one that still lingered in the confines of his personal tent. He knew that smell, and was just about dressed when Nix lifted the flap and carefully hunched into the disarrayed quarters of his superior, a pot of his legendary coffee held gingerly in his large hands. His face betrayed no emotion as he poured his friend a cup of coffee. "Heard about Sander. Figured you'd be needing a cup, if'n you was still around."
Robin nodded slowly. Nix, more properly named Nicodimus Siolix, had been among his cadre a long while and knew how personally he took the loss of his friends. Still, he had been less in control last night. Worse. Both he and Nix had served under Sander's father when they were young. Despite being promoted beyond his command, both had been at his deathbed, and had promised to look after the boy. Robin thought he'd trained him well enough to keep him out of most trouble. So well, in fact, that despite his age, he'd been promoted to right under Robin. It was there, in fact that the problem lay.
"That young Erika I saw leaving here not long ago?" asked Nix quietly. Robin sighed, almost theatrically.
"Yes, it was."
"Fine girl, that one. Favors her mother, I'd say." He waited a moment into Robin's silence. "Her tastes run like her mother's, too, I'd guess."
Robin was stunned. "Her mother and I... we never..."
Nix laughed, a startling sound, considering the quiet of the early morning conversation. "Not for lack of 'er trying. Why, if tweren't for you being so hidebound in your sense of honor and all that foolishness, you might've given Erika a younger brother. Though I guess that certainly would have complicated things a bit this morning." Robin was the color of the sun just barely peeking over the hills to the east. He couldn't seem to get his mouth to work properly, so he simply sat, drinking slowly from the rich blend his friend had made for him. "Well, it's done and well done, if I know ye. And she's 'er father's daughter more'n her mother's. She'll understand ye not consorting. She's a soldier."
Robin started. He hadn't even thought of consorting, but was affronted at his friend's suggestion that he wouldn't. "And how do you know I wouldn't?"
"Oy, Robin, 'Ow long have I known ye? Ye play and ye ply, but there's but one that keeps that fair to fickle heart of yer's. I saw her near kick yer ass." They sat for a moment in the companionship of shared memory. "Enough with the teasing, though. I notice ye have... ye had... orders."
Finally on ground he was at least familiar with, if not comfortable upon, Robin squared his shoulders and gathered the scattered paperwork. "The damn Council's pulling us back. They over-extended, against the suggestions of myself and Ilya, and now, they're not willing to commit the forces required."
Nix leaned closer to his superior. "Ilya would be General Faerson, aye?"
"Oh... yes... That's what I meant."
"Must be yer age, catching up with ye. Should I be asking Erika how old ye be?"
"Actually, I was just thinking about Sander."
Nix was silent for a long moment. "There was nothing ye could've done. Were it not for ye, most of us would've been dead long ago."
"I shouldn't have left him there. He was too young to be leading a force that size, much less in a place I knew was dangerous."
"He was the best one for it."
"If he were, he'd still be alive. He took a stupid risk."
"He saved a the lives of a full company of conscripts and half of his own company."
"He got the other half captured, charging back in there like that, and got himself..."
Nix laid a heavy hand on the general's shoulder. "Let's face it. Ye trained him to be like ye. Ye would've done the same thing he did, even likely in the same way. He were a soldier and knew the risks. Ye cannae be blaming yourself for his actions. Did the Council say what we're to do about those men?"
"They didn't say. So I guess that means it's up to me."
"Up to ye? As in ye, the general, or ye, the man?"
Robin's eyes flashed. "Up to me."
Nix looked skyward as he gathered up his coffee pot and mug, easing out of the tent opening that was too small for him.
Robin lay back in his chair, thinking about what to do next. Nix didn't understand. What he had said had made it more his fault, not less. He would have to plan it properly, to minimize the danger to his men. He would get the others out, even if he had to die to make it happen. Perhaps he deserved to, he thought to himself. Sander had been so young. Too young to know the risks. He would not allow Sander's death to be wasted. He withdrew a map of the area Sander had been protecting and set to planning its assault. It would take a few days to prepare, but he would avenge Sander.
Robin slammed his fist into the yielding fabric that made up his bedroll. "Dirty, simple, whoring bastards! How dare they leave my men in such an untenable position?"
The only other occupant of the room tried to make herself small. Erica had seen the General upset before, but never like this. He raged about the room like a miniature tornado, not striking anything that would break, but leaving welts, scratches and bruises all over his large hands. At least two of the wounds would need to be dressed, or they would get infected, she noted absently. He'd broken one of the minor supports of this section of the tent,and the ceiling drooped heavily into the room.
When Erica had come into the room, he'd been jovial, asking after her mother and winking at her. She didn't know what had gone on between her mother and the General, but knew that her mother still blushed when she mentioned his name.
Erica, an army courier, had delivered the official orders, movement charts, and the casualty listings. The general liked to brood over the casualty listings. She heard that sometimes he would disappear for days between mobilizations, returning just in time to lead the movements, but covered with bruises and seemingly bone weary.
After some more good-natured teasing about it being time to find a consort, he'd sat down with the reports. He, as he always did, offered her some of the heavy mead he seemed to favor, and for once, she accepted. It had been a long cold night, and he kept it warmed next to his lamp.
She liked General Likorne. She'd had a crush on him for a while, but she also genuinely liked him. He cared for his men. He was responsible, and he lead his charges himself. Many of the other generals thought him reckless, but he was a fighting man. Erica's father had been a sergeant under him when he'd just been a Captain. He'd had spoken almost reverently of Captain Likorne, and when he had died, the captain had personally delivered the note and his apologies. She had looked up, startled from her reverie by what sounded like a low growl.
It had been coming from General Likorne. He was frowning, and his face seemed to glow with heat. He was through with the official orders, and into the movement charts. His dark eyes flashed as he flipped through the coded messages without glancing at the codebook. He knew the codes? Memorized?
It was the casualty lists, however, that had sent him to the brink of his current madness. His eyes were wild, and when he finally stopped striking things, he looked down at his battered fists. He unclenched them, in obvious pain, and looked at her, stricken. "I'm so sorry, Erica. That you should see me like this..." His face was streaked with tears, and his eyes glistened in the torchlight with tears unshed. He slumped heavily into the thick leather hammock.
His words snapped her out of her stunned silence. She sat for a moment before rising from the simple chair she had been sitting in. She unwrapped some bandages from her kit and poured a small amount of his brandy on them, then cleaned his hands. The occasional hiss was his only consolation to the pain he must feel from the alcohol on his open wounds. She rose purposefully and walked to the flap connecting his private area to the command tent. The noise he had made had drawn no one, and in reflection, honestly hadn't been that loud. She'd been reacting to his presence, not the noise he made. Sealing his flap, she turned back to him.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He shook his head. She had figured as much. She sized up the room. His hammock was big enough for two... barely.
She blew out the lamp before sitting next to him. His arms went around her, and his desperate strength seemed to ebb with the contact. She'd wanted this for a while, but this wasn't how she'd planned it. Nothing seemed to be.
It was still dark when she rose from the hammock and dressed. She had slept little. She shrugged off a slight guilt. She had not taken any particulr advantage. Soldiers took care of each other, especially the ones who actually fought. If he had not wanted it as much as she had, he hadn't declined either. And he had certainly not been inadequate or hesitant. No. She shook her head. This was right. Perhaps she'd talk to him about it the next time she saw him. She straightened her riding leathers and unhitched the knot that kept his tent closed. She glanced back once, at him, before striding out into the chill near-dawn.
* * *
Robin woke shortly before dawn. The lingering warmth beside him echoed Erica's presence there less than an hour before. As he rolled up from his sturdy hammock, he slipped on a discarded garment. He hissed and swore loudly as he caught himself awkwardly with a bandaged hand. He was still unbalanced from the night before, the alcohol, the shock of loss, and Erika.
Erika! What was he going to tell her mother? He sighed and sat, carefully, in the chair he'd been sitting in when she'd brought his reports. Some of them were strewn about haphazardly, while others sat undisturbed, seeming to stare up at him.
He stared at the reports a moment longer before noting a bitter odor overpowering the very human one that still lingered in the confines of his personal tent. He knew that smell, and was just about dressed when Nix lifted the flap and carefully hunched into the disarrayed quarters of his superior, a pot of his legendary coffee held gingerly in his large hands. His face betrayed no emotion as he poured his friend a cup of coffee. "Heard about Sander. Figured you'd be needing a cup, if'n you was still around."
Robin nodded slowly. Nix, more properly named Nicodimus Siolix, had been among his cadre a long while and knew how personally he took the loss of his friends. Still, he had been less in control last night. Worse. Both he and Nix had served under Sander's father when they were young. Despite being promoted beyond his command, both had been at his deathbed, and had promised to look after the boy. Robin thought he'd trained him well enough to keep him out of most trouble. So well, in fact, that despite his age, he'd been promoted to right under Robin. It was there, in fact that the problem lay.
"That young Erika I saw leaving here not long ago?" asked Nix quietly. Robin sighed, almost theatrically.
"Yes, it was."
"Fine girl, that one. Favors her mother, I'd say." He waited a moment into Robin's silence. "Her tastes run like her mother's, too, I'd guess."
Robin was stunned. "Her mother and I... we never..."
Nix laughed, a startling sound, considering the quiet of the early morning conversation. "Not for lack of 'er trying. Why, if tweren't for you being so hidebound in your sense of honor and all that foolishness, you might've given Erika a younger brother. Though I guess that certainly would have complicated things a bit this morning." Robin was the color of the sun just barely peeking over the hills to the east. He couldn't seem to get his mouth to work properly, so he simply sat, drinking slowly from the rich blend his friend had made for him. "Well, it's done and well done, if I know ye. And she's 'er father's daughter more'n her mother's. She'll understand ye not consorting. She's a soldier."
Robin started. He hadn't even thought of consorting, but was affronted at his friend's suggestion that he wouldn't. "And how do you know I wouldn't?"
"Oy, Robin, 'Ow long have I known ye? Ye play and ye ply, but there's but one that keeps that fair to fickle heart of yer's. I saw her near kick yer ass." They sat for a moment in the companionship of shared memory. "Enough with the teasing, though. I notice ye have... ye had... orders."
Finally on ground he was at least familiar with, if not comfortable upon, Robin squared his shoulders and gathered the scattered paperwork. "The damn Council's pulling us back. They over-extended, against the suggestions of myself and Ilya, and now, they're not willing to commit the forces required."
Nix leaned closer to his superior. "Ilya would be General Faerson, aye?"
"Oh... yes... That's what I meant."
"Must be yer age, catching up with ye. Should I be asking Erika how old ye be?"
"Actually, I was just thinking about Sander."
Nix was silent for a long moment. "There was nothing ye could've done. Were it not for ye, most of us would've been dead long ago."
"I shouldn't have left him there. He was too young to be leading a force that size, much less in a place I knew was dangerous."
"He was the best one for it."
"If he were, he'd still be alive. He took a stupid risk."
"He saved a the lives of a full company of conscripts and half of his own company."
"He got the other half captured, charging back in there like that, and got himself..."
Nix laid a heavy hand on the general's shoulder. "Let's face it. Ye trained him to be like ye. Ye would've done the same thing he did, even likely in the same way. He were a soldier and knew the risks. Ye cannae be blaming yourself for his actions. Did the Council say what we're to do about those men?"
"They didn't say. So I guess that means it's up to me."
"Up to ye? As in ye, the general, or ye, the man?"
Robin's eyes flashed. "Up to me."
Nix looked skyward as he gathered up his coffee pot and mug, easing out of the tent opening that was too small for him.
Robin lay back in his chair, thinking about what to do next. Nix didn't understand. What he had said had made it more his fault, not less. He would have to plan it properly, to minimize the danger to his men. He would get the others out, even if he had to die to make it happen. Perhaps he deserved to, he thought to himself. Sander had been so young. Too young to know the risks. He would not allow Sander's death to be wasted. He withdrew a map of the area Sander had been protecting and set to planning its assault. It would take a few days to prepare, but he would avenge Sander.