Jean Townsend was the quintessential Atlantic Federation diplomat. Charming, affable, and utterly duplicitous. He was always looking to gain either himself or the Federation any advantage possible, and he was very good at it. This elicited both admiration and envy from his colleagues in the Federation's foreign service. As a result, he was the man chosen to secure an alliance with Gallia in the wake of the Empire's attack…

Unpublished memoir, Colonel Miles Hayworth, Atlantic Federation Army

It wasn't that Heinrich Lannes was a stick-in-the-mud. Well, he was a little stiff, he'd admit, but even a man much more easygoing than he was would be slightly annoyed by the situation set in front of him. He suppressed his annoyance, however, and spoke civilly.

"Sergeant Traherne," he said dryly, "would you kindly tell me how you came by this information?"

"Well, sir," the scout said, slightly uncomfortably, "I talking with someone I know in the Auxiliary, and she happened to mention that the 4th Field Kitchen was in the same position we are, and the lot of them were planning on going to Harriman's tonight."

"And you, Sergeant, remembered that Corporal Firenze was in said unit."

"Yes sir."

"Sergeant, seeing as I'm an officer and she's enlisted, doesn't that strike you as causing some potential for misunderstanding?" Drastic misunderstanding, Lannes thought. The instructors at the university had been death on any sort of use of rank to assist in amorous endeavors, and with good reason. While he'd never do that, and he was reasonably certain Julia knew that as well, others might not be so aware.

Traherne's face split into a broad grin. "No, sir, not in Harriman's. You've never heard of the place, I take it."

"I've heard of it. It was the most prominent establishment in Randgriz during the last war."

"Yes sir. But do you know the reason why?"

"No."

"Harriman—who still owns the place—did something nobody else in the city did during the last war. He only let soldiers and people with soldiers in, and he had a strict policy of no rank and no service. If you mentioned either, he'd kick you out. What happened there stayed there."

Lannes gave Traherne a skeptical look.

"The first floor's dancing and talking only," the latter said hurriedly. "No monkey business."

"And we all have the evening off?"

"Yes sir. Captain's orders. She said that since Gunther and Landzaat were being honored specifically but everyone had a hand in those victories, we don't need to be back on base until midnight tonight."

"Good of her," Lannes grunted. He liked Gunther—and Landzaat, but that wasn't relevant to the present problem—but it was more than a little frustrating to see high command joining the rest of the populace in acting like Squad 7 was the only one in the regiment. Speaking of thinking of others…

"So what will you be doing, Sergeant?" he asked .

"Oh, nothing much sir. Figured the noncoms'd take the squad out to one of the local places. Should be fun."

Lannes actually smiled. "All right then, Sergeant. Have it your way. I'll go to Harriman's."

"Thank you sir," Traherne replied. "I hope the evening goes well."

"So do I, Sergeant," Lannes said softly as Traherne left the room. "So do I."

Heinrich Lannes stood in front of Harriman's wearing civilian clothes and feeling mildly uncomfortable. Gallian law didn't forbid wearing civilian clothes while on active duty, exactly—it was just the sort of thing that could lead to probing questions if someone discovered you had military ID. Questions like "Are you planning on deserting?"

Fortunately, he had a pass, which should dispel any of that. There was, however, one thing left to resolve before he went in.

That was the question of where he wanted to try and take tonight, assuming that Traherne was correct and Julia was here. He had no intention of spending the night with her, of course—she wasn't that kind of girl, unless she'd drastically changed in a matter of months, and he wasn't that kind of guy. But that still left a lot of room to maneuver, and judging from the tone of the letter he'd gotten that morning, he thought it was time to fish or cut bait.

There was, of course, the possibility that he'd misunderstood her. But he didn't think so. He'd read over all the letters, from the first one sent after Vasel to the one he'd just gotten, and when read one after the other the steadily warming tone had been blindlingly obvious, and he was kicking himself for not noticing sooner. For that matter, he'd thought about his own letters—including the one he'd sent right after the Barious—and he realized his tone had gotten warmer too.

Well, now or never. Heinrich walked to the doors of the place, taking it in as he did so.

It was a four-story building that took up half the block—he'd heard it had once been a warehouse, before it had been turned to its current use—and it had three doors, each with a short line and a pair of very large gentlemen who should have been lancers standing in front of them. He decided to go for the center door, since that seemed to be the shortest line.

It wasn't long before he got to the front of the line, digging his wallet out of his pocket as he did so.

"ID, sir?" the man on the right asked.

Lannes flipped his wallet open, and the bouncer grunted in approval, then spoke.

"Don't start a fight. Defend yourself if someone else does start one, but if you provoked them, you're out too. Keep things decent out on the dance floor. Nobody's a professional unless they're on stage or tending bar. If you need a room, check-in's on the far right wall. Finally, no rank. That'll get you kicked out surer than anything else. Any questions?"

Heinrich had a few, but they weren't ones this man could answer. "No sir."

"All right. Head on in," the bouncer said, leaned back, and rapped twice on the door.

It swung open, and Heinrich walked into a scene he'd honestly never quite expected to be a part of.

Now that he was inside, he understood why the check-in desk was on the right of the building. The left wall was taken up by a stage where a full-scale big band was playing—and they were good at it, too. Probably the best rendition of "Fouzen Train" he'd ever heard. The dance floor took up the entire left half of the building, and the dancing was—well, it was dancing, and that was about all that could be said for it. Then, starting where the dance floor ended, was a bar that ran almost all the way to the far wall, where stood the check-in desk and what he assumed was a hidden staircase to the upper stories.

He hoped Julia was here, and that he could find her if she was. And if not—well, he'd heard the drinks were cheap.

He realized he'd been standing here too long when someone shouldered him aside and growled "Quit gawkin', boy."

He bridled at that, but shrugged. He had been standing there like an idiot, and he should get out of the doorway and get a drink.

Getting to the bar was a bit of a struggle. He'd underestimated just how crowded the space between the bar and the doors was, although in fairness the lights were a bit low. Once he did make it there, he simply put a couple of ducats down and asked for a drink.

The bartender, who had grey hair, a broken nose, and a shrapnel scar that barely missed his eye, laughed.

"Keep one of those, son. Unless you're paying for someone else, too."

Heinrich blinked. "Mighty generous of you."

The bartender grinned. "Not really. Real profit's in letting rooms for the night. 'Sides, boss has a soft spot for soldiers. Wife's a refugee from the Empire. So, what'll you have?"

"Dark lager, if you've got it."

"Golden Tree suit you?"

"Suits me fine."

"Heinrich?"

The soft female voice saying his name took him completely by surprise, and he turned around to see Julia standing there with a half-pint in her hand.

She was…stunning. He wasn't sure if it was just the fact that he'd spent the last few months mostly seeing women in uniform, or whether it was the first time he'd seen her in normal clothes in months, or something else—probably the something else, honestly—but her dress was both extremely respectable and extremely flattering, her hair perfectly framed her face, and she was smiling cheerfully.

Get ahold of yourself, man!

"Julia," he replied. "It's good to see you."

"It's good to see you, too."

He noticed the bartender putting his pint on the counter out of the corner of his eye as he continued. "Do you want to grab a table?"

She nodded. "I would. Very much."

A thought came to his mind. "Did you come with friends?"

Her smile became a little sad. "Yes, but they found dance partners, and I didn't want to spoil their fun. I was just about to leave when I saw someone who I thought was you." She paused, and her next words came out in a rush, as though she was worried that she'd stop herself if she didn't say it quickly. "I'm glad it was."

Heinrich smiled. "So am I," he said as he picked up his pint. "Let's find a table."

Once they were seated, Heinrich raised his mug. "To looking around."

"To looking around," Julia echoed as she clinked her mug against his, and they both quaffed their beer. At least he assumed she was having beer.

"So," she said, "I heard about Norville."

He immediately raised the mug to his lips again. He had seriously been hoping not to have this conversation in person.

"Not everyone would have stuck themselves out like that," she continued, in a tone of utter neutrality.

"It needed doing," he replied.

"From what the article said, they held out quite well on their own," she continued, still in that carefully neutral tone.

"You weren't there," he said softly. "It was near-on midnight when they got cut off. All we knew was that they'd run into Imps, in force, and lost their squad leader and tank commander as well as their squad sergeant. We didn't know that those two were still alive, and if we had known, we couldn't have known that they'd make it back to their squad in time. So I did the best I knew how to at the time, and that meant trying to get my comrades out of a jam. Because that's what you do."

"Heinrich," she said softly, her tone cracking slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just…never mind."

Maybe that last bit had gone a little too far.

"I apologize if that seemed like I took what you said personally," he began, but she placed her mug on the table and cut him off.

"No, it's not that. It's that…well, you just keep doing these things. They don't talk about you or your squad much in the papers, but I know that if someone's mentioned at all they've done something impressive, which usually means it's dangerous. I know you're an infantryman, and I know you won't lead from anywhere but the front, and that you'll go where the fighting's hottest." She looked him dead in the face. "Valkyrur curse it, Heinrich, I'm worried about you."

Well, that was certainly gratifying, but the look on Julia's face said she hadn't meant to say all that, and he was going to have move a lot faster than he had been planning on.

He put his hand on the table and kept his eyes on her. "I'm grateful for that, and I get it. If you weren't in the Auxiliary, I'd worry about you too. But I have to do the best I know how." He softened his tone as best he could, cursing the harshness that had been creeping into his voice from inhaling cordite and ragnite fumes. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she replied, and let go of her mug to put her hand in his. "I do. And I don't think I'd be as worried about you if you didn't do the things that make me worry."

The band swung into another number.

"How well do you dance, Julia?"

"Not well at all."

"Neither do I. Do you want to finish your drink and then go for a walk?"

"I'd like that. I'd like that very much. Let me just tell the girls that I'm leaving."

They walked down the street, arm-in-arm, as they had for the past two hours. Heinrich almost wasn't sure when they'd shifted to that from hand-holding, but they were adults who'd known each other for some time, after all. Things could be expected to move…slightly faster than they would if they'd just met.

"Did you know I would be there?" Julia asked.

He decided to make a clean breast of it. "My platoon sergeant told me that your unit was going to Harriman's, and implied very strongly that I should show up as well. So I did."

Julia laughed. "I'm sorry, I should have told you. I caught him sneaking glances at us several times when we were talking, that day in Vasel."

Heinrich grinned. "Never figured him to be some kind of romantic."

"No, I don't think that was it at all," she said, suddenly serious. "I think he could see what I saw that day."

"Oh? What was that?"

She stopped and turned to face him. "You're a good man, Heinrich. But if there was ever someone who might lose himself doing what you're doing, it's you. That's not necessary to be a good officer, Heinrich. I've seen men and women that's happened to. It's not good, and it doesn't help them or their troops. I think he wanted you to have an anchor."

"Well, I wish he'd've told me," he said with a sigh. "But I'm glad he did."

"So am I," she replied, and didn't move, and kept looking up at him. Almost expectantly.

He might be a little slow on the uptake, but he wasn't an idiot. So he leaned down and kissed her.

She returned it very enthusiastically.

He…really wasn't sure what do with the feelings he suddenly felt. But he knew they were somewhat…inappropriate, at the present time.

He really needed to come up for air, now.

So he did.

"How long have you been waiting to do that?" were the first words out of his mouth once he'd breathed for a few seconds.

"Since Vasel," Julia admitted.

"Ah. Well then." He paused. "Do you want to do that again?"

"Yes."

"Well then."

They engaged in a repeat performance. If they did this too long, he might start suffering from oxygen deprivation.

On the other hand, there were worse ways to go.

He broke off the kiss as a sudden realization hit him and looked at his wristwatch.

"Heinrich, a girl could get a real complex if she thought the guy she's sweet on got bored enough with kissing her to look at his watch," she said, in a tone that indicated that she was half-joking. But only half.

"Sorry," he apologized, "but it's nearly eleven, and I need to be back at the base by midnight."

"And we all agreed to meet back in front of Harriman's at eleven thirty," Julia remembered. "Of all the luck. We need to get back now. How far have we walked?"

"I think we went two blocks down, then circled the same block for the past two hours."

"Is that a good sign or a bad one?"

"No idea."

"You look well tonight, sir," Traherne said with an unrepentant grin on his face as Heinrich Lannes walked through the gate into the regimental section five minutes before midnight.

"Sergeant," he replied, "you will not induce me to tell you anything about what happened. Did the squad have a good time?"

"Indeed they did, sir. And I wouldn't dream of prying into your affairs. Now…"

"Lieutenant!" he heard someone yell out, and he peered down the street to see Hofstra wheeling himself faster than he really should have been down the street.

"What is it, Corporal?" Lannes asked, his good mood now a memory.

"Princess Cordelia, sir! The Federation's kidnapped her! Squad 7's moving to intercept what they think is a transport carrying her to the harbor, but the captain doesn't want any chances taken. She wants you and Squad 2 outside the Federation embassy in thirty minutes."

"Sergeant, get the squad up. I'll get Crichton, then get us some motor transport. The embassy's fifteen minutes away, so move fast. If I'm not at the motor pool by the time you get there, handle it yourself."

"Yes, sir!" Traherne replied, and ran off as Lannes turned to Hofstra.

"Tell Captain Varrot we'll be there by the time she's going to need us there if she needs us."

"Understood, sir."

Lannes stood in front of the Federation embassy in Randgriz, MAG slung across his chest with three teams of infantry and a tank at his back.

It didn't look like an easy target, but appearances were deceiving. The gates were wrought iron and the wall was stone, but the former would go down if Thistle hit it hard enough and the latter looked thin enough that it wouldn't take more than a couple of lances to blow a hole in it. Furthermore, the snipers had already set themselves up to where they could cover the entire front of the building and take out any lancers or snipers that showed themselves, and as he'd walked forward he'd heard Kat, van Reenan, and the other engineers discussing how many grenades were needed to make a good breaching charge.

Furthermore, Berthelmy and Wilders were already on their way. This wasn't going to be easy, but if he got the go-ahead, the Feds weren't going to have an embassy for very long.

There was a stirring inside the embassy, and a Fed scout came to the gate and shouted out to them. "What are you doing here?"

"We've got every right to be here," Lannes yelled back. "Your territory starts at the wall."

Another man stepped forward, who looked like a Federation officer—a major, Lannes thought, although it was hard to tell. "Do you intend to attack?"

"Not right now."

"Would you care to explain that comment?"

"How about you come on out here, and we'll talk over this like civilized men."

The officer considered it for a moment, then turned his head and called to someone Lannes couldn't see. The gate opened just wide enough to let him out, and he slipped through it and walked calmly up to Lannes as the gate shut with a definitive clang behind him. Surprisingly, he wasn't armed.

"Major Miles Hayworth, Federation Army."

"Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes, Gallian Militia."

They shook hands.

"So, Lieutenant," Hayworth asked, quietly. "I'll ask you again. Why are you in front of this embassy, armed for battle, with a tank that's not even bothering to point its gun in a direction other than the main gate? Your mere presence here is a breach of diplomatic protocol, but one that we'll probably let slide. An attack on the sovereign territory of the Atlantic Federation, however, would be an act of war—one that your country can ill afford."

Cold anger flared in Lannes' gut, and he forced himself to be civil as he responded. "First, Major, your country has already committed an act of war against mine. Second…"

"We have done no such thing!" the Major hissed. "I don't know what you've been told, Lieutenant, but…"

"I've been told," Lannes interrupted coldly, "that your country has kidnapped Princess Cordelia, the reigning monarch of Gallia, and Gallian forces are moving to intercept a group believed to be her and her abductors. If that group reaches the harbor, or is caught and the princess not found, I am under orders to assault this embassy, capture as many of its inhabitants as possible, and search this embassy from top to bottom—if necessary, by dismantling it brick by brick. I trust that you understand what I'm doing here now?"

As he finished, Lannes noticed that the major's face had turned ashen. "Don't tell me you didn't know about this, Major."

The color returned to Hayworth's cheeks. "That Valkyrur-damned idiot," he snarled. "This doesn't even make any sense. You'd already signed the treaty of alliance, what more could we possibly want from you?"

"You mean you didn't know?"

"Of course not! Ambassador Townsend brought his own guards with him for this mission, a squad's worth. They kept to themselves, mostly. I had no idea…that imbecile!" Hayworth looked at Lannes. "I swear to you, I did not know of this."

Lannes felt his anger dissipate, and began to feel an odd sense of warmth towards the man.

"Well, I can't say as I've ever been where you stand, Major, but that doesn't change my orders." He paused for a moment, then decided to try and keep this from becoming a battle, even if it turned out Gunther couldn't rescue the princess. "Listen. There's two more squads coming up. They have the same orders I do."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I'm telling you this because I don't want to kill you and your men. Which we will, if it comes to it. You can't have more than three or four teams in there, and I don't care how good your men are, you're not going to be able to stand against three-to-one odds, especially not with sniper and tank support."

"You'd be surprised," Hayworth said flatly. "We've fortified the place fairly well."

Lannes shook his head. "We know where your snipers and lancers are, and those are the big threat. You might know where mine are, but we'll get the first shot in. And while I know Federation embassy guards have held out against longer odds than these," he looked at Hayworth levelly, "those were angry mobs backed by armed thugs pretending to be soldiers. Not Gallians looking to rescue their monarch."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if I receive orders to attack the embassy I'm going to give you a chance to surrender. You know the Federation's in the wrong, and I don't think you want your men to die because Townsend decided to do something unspeakably stupid."

Hayworth shook his head. "I think you'd find us rather a more difficult nut to crack than you think. Even so, you're right—you probably would be able to take the embassy. But I have my orders, lieutenant. In the event of attack, I am to defend this embassy until I can no longer do so. You will do your duty, Lieutenant, and I'll do mine."

"I understand," Lannes replied, "but please do understand that I will do as I said I would."

"Heinrich!" Lannes winced as Berthelmy yelled over the radio. "I've got the embassy in sight. Any suggestions?"

"Which way are you coming from, Louis?"

"Coming from the west. Stientje's a minute behind me."

"I'm in the square to the south of the embassy. My suggestion would be to set up to the north. Anyone else coming in?"

"We're not getting any reinforcements for another fifteen to thirty minutes at least. But do you really think we'll need any?" Berthelmy asked almost incredulously.

"More is usually better," Lannes replied. "And we've got more," he continued, looking Hayworth dead in the face.

"Right. I'll be ready to attack in five minutes."

Lannes smiled. "Don't rush it, but do it quickly."

"Trust me," Berthelmy rumbled. "Besides, the captain said they'd know one way or another in twenty minutes when I left her, and that was ten minutes ago."

"Right. Get to it. Hopefully we won't need to take this place."

"Agreed," Berthelmy replied, uncharacteristically solemn. "Talk to you later."

Hayworth coughed. "A good intimidation tactic, lieutenant, but you must have known it wouldn't work."

Lannes shrugged. "I thought it was worth a shot."

"Perhaps not the best way of saying that, under the circumstances."

"A fair point."

The two men stood there for another few moments, until Lannes' radio crackled again.

"Heinrich? This is Stientje. You have any ideas where to deploy?"

"Where are you coming in from?"

"We're coming in from the west."

"My advice would be to deploy where you are. I think the captain's going to be telling us what happened sooner rather than later."

"I agree. I hope Gunther finds the princess."

"So do I," Lannes replied, and turned off the radio, then looked at Hayworth.

"I think you should get back to your men, major."

"I should," he agreed. "I wish we had met under better circumstances, lieutenant."

"Myself as well," Lannes said as he stuck out his hand. "Maybe we still might, if we don't die in the next thirty minutes."

Hayworth's mouth quirked up in a sad little smile as he took Lannes' hand and shook it in farewell. "Maybe we might. It will be an honor, either way."

"Likewise."

As Hayworth turned on his heel to walk back to his men, Lannes' radio crackled, and he noticed the major pause as he listened.

"All Gallian units!" Varrot said urgently. "Do not, I repeat, do not attack the Federation embassy. Her royal highness has been found and retrieved unharmed, along with Ambassador Townsend. Stand down, but do not withdraw until we deliver the Ambassador to the embassy. Varrot out!"

Lannes grinned. "Major!" he yelled. "Looks like we'll get that meeting after all!"

He was of the opinion that Hayworth's sigh of relief could have been heard all the way in Vasel, if anyone had been awake to do so.