Hundreds hunched inside their dirty, stinky trenches doubling as latrines. Men and women huddled together in the cold night, their bodies not used to being exposed to the crisp air without the proper clothing to accommodate. A couple dozen had gotten frostbite on their nose, toes and other limbs and extremities. For those who had facial hair, thinking it would keep them warm, their hair itches and bugs had found their way to nest themselves. It's been days since they've even moved. Safe to say, the people inside are growing antsier by the minute.
Hyatt has grown ill. Frequently coughing phlegm - sometimes blood. Of course, he did his best to keep his condition from being known. The food supply was low, their weapons have rusted and ammunitions grown scarce.
"Yes, you have heard me correct." Hyatt said it a couple of times already. But his foe wanted to hear the pitiable words leave his breath once more. "I surrender my army to you."
Trott looked at the hologram of Hyatt, appearing smaller than the rebel actually was. Behind him the officers celebrated yet another dynamic victory over their Thebeskan foe. Maybe they'll be able to go home now?
"Very well... I only ask you this." Trott goes on. "You must accept as grounds as your unconditional surrender." Perplexed, Hyatt did not respond. "A duel. It is customary." Hyatt chuckles, thanking the Imperial admiral for giving him a good laugh. Then he realized he was serious.
"Customary? This isn't customary!"
"It is for me. I only accept surrender if I'm the one to fire the final shot." Hyatt judges that he was dealing with one of the many high-ranking officials in the Imperial army to suffer from an oversized ego. Albeit, Hyatt acknowledges Trott's pride is a welcome change to officers of the past who've shown to be nothing more than snakes in the grass.
"Alright." Hyatt says. "I accept."
Word spreads of the impending duel, many deriding their commanding officer as a "loon" sometimes to his face. "Sir, You can't possibly expect this to work in our favor!" One says.
"We're surrendering, Maxwell. Nothing is in our favor. I took this job knowing I may have to lay down my life for you men and I fully intend to do that."
Within an hour the Imperials delivered their admiral ready for their one-on-one bout. Trott strolls down the walkway eager, yet, calm, unable to hide his giddiness. He loved to duel. It was a well needed heart pounder that made the dregs of Imperial life worth it.
"Are you ready?" Trott calls out to him. The battlefield, once strung with shells and craters and dead bodies, was now cleared for the most part. The two sides watched not knowing what to make of this.
"1..." Their eyes didn't leave each other.
"2..." Hyatt checked to see if he still had feeling in his fingertips.
"3!" Hyatt got the first shot, the commotion following was enough to create a moments hesitation for both sides. The two were so far from their respective armies, all they could make out was a sound. Not who fired or if anyone was hit. Trott checks his chest to make sure he hadn't been struck. To his delight, Hyatt missed. Calmly, Trott extended his arm and nonchalantly fired the decisive shot. Just like that the opposing army, now leaderless, ran for their lives in an unorganized manner.
Of course, the battle hadn't been won. Yet. While this was a brilliant show of Imperial superiority - and would act as jolly good material for the propaganda films - Thebeska still fought on even as all their political and military leaders they began the conflict with found themselves taking a long dirt nap.