The Purpose of Conflict

by Vickers-Vimy-1919

Forced into war, the Empire fights enemies on all sides. Their only ally in the time of crisis, the exiled Kingdom of Albion, seeking strength to restore the crumbling Commonwealth and return to the Home Isles. For Tanya, she finds an ally in the exiled Prince Gabriel. Unsure of his or the Commonwealth's true intentions for the war, the Empire, or herself.

7. Ch 7: The Fourth Dacian War II

Purpose of Conflict: Chapter Seven- The Fourth Dacian War II

29/09/1924/ Combined Turkish-Hellenic-Albion Task Force, the Black Sea / HMS Vespasian, Male Dressing Room / 23:38

"What's this?" Gabriel looked at the outstretched item: an unassuming box bound by a bow.

"A bomb." Peggie answered in no uncertainty, matched by her lack of honesty to the box's contents. She was brazen enough to walk into the male changing area, but that limit ended before regicide. That did not discourage him from playing along, however.

"I see you're trying to get yourself out of this bloody campaign." He pulled on his tunic. "I thank you for taking me with you."

"You miss the maids already?"

"Since they aren't starting to hide among the trees and shoot at us; that could be said to be true." He replied enthusiastically, started on the buttons for his tunic.

"You're just used to being pampered, Gabriel." Peggie passed the package along to her friend once his hands finished half of the buttons. Before pulling at her knotted hair and letting it run down her back as Gabriel critiqued her.

"So says the woman who asked Miss Sanders for a massage."

"Who told you that?"

"Miss Canvel. Along with how you suggested she feed you grapes during the massage."

"That was a joke. I didn't expect to get hit with a newspaper for it."

The lack of sincerity changed when the Lieutenant pointed back to the unimpressive package. "Anyways, open it. You know what day it is."

"Wednesday?" Unfortunately, Gabriel knew that answer before Peggie huffed it at him. The annual event eagerly awaited by everyone apart from the afflicted participant. There was no purpose in denying Peggie of her efforts the retaliation would reach beyond assault by a flaccid paper instrument.

Gabriel untied the coloured string and lifted the lid. They were alone in the room so additional secrecy was unnecessary. The vacancy of the room was what likely enticed Peggie to visit, expecting a certain reaction from her present. Inside the box was no further facade of showmanship, just the gift with protective stuffing.

"Happy birthday Gabriel."

He could not suppress the growing smile when he picked up the photo: perfectly sized to fit inside his helmet during a flight. Peggie blathered on about it being a new experimental process called lamination that could protect from the elements of nature and moderately flexible. "Well, you said you lost the first one back in Jerusalem. So, I wrote a letter asking for a favour." Peggie let out a small laugh. "You were right Gabriel, she's still her own women, to say the least." Her figure was interlocked as she talked, not hesitant to hug back, "She is a remarkable woman."

"I'm a bit surprised she's in the photo. She must have had to fight someone for it." Gabriel continued his staring at the familiar but long-absent faces. Not seen in person since the beginning of the Afrikan war. Muttering to himself as the print was clutched between his fingers. The dull box discarded onto the floor where it remained idle. "He looks so much older now."

"You say that as if you only want your nephew in there Gabriel."

"No." Gabriel sharply denied her, rubbing at his eyes, previously unaware they were motivated to show further emotion. "I would never think that. He's a Prince so they're fickle with needless rules."

"If half of what I remember of her is true, she probably fought someone to be in the photo."

"Only half?"

The contact continued as the pair revived mutual laughter. Gabriel still feeling Peggie's arms tightly against his back, nearly able to lift herself to his height level. The comfort in the low silent hum from the life of the ship prevented Gabriel from managing any louder statement than a partial whisper. "Thank you, Peggie. Never change."

She muttered out conformation with her mouth copying the low tone above her friend's shoulder. Gabriel's eyes looked down at the photo, a young boy perched harmoniously on the lap of an older woman. Flipping over to the blank backside showed a short-written note for his eyes. The handwriting engrained into his pupils from birth and recognizable regardless of its formatting, contents, or condition.

HRH Prince George Stuart, Duke of Yorkshire and Governess Miss Maria Ketchener on 20/08/1924

Stay safe my Dear.

Dispatch, Central Office of the Francois Republic Military – Representative of the Principality of Dacia – Please acknowledge upon receival.

…It should go without saying but the situation is beyond dire. It is in this confidence of military men that I can drop the facade we maintain for your government. While this message will be of the same content, brevity will be kept, and my thoughts curtailed. I doubt you will be concerned with my tone.

My predecessor was assured that the Republic would keep a flow of "all necessary arms" as a condition for our entry into the war. For the sake of maintaining relations, I will attribute the Albion dogs in the Black Sea to be an oversight of my predecessor. Our rudimentary mine-laying has momentarily deterred any Hellenic invasion along the coast, but a skeleton force is all they will face if they make land or if you deliver cargo. I am aware of the peculiarities of my demand but if supplies could return to our ports not being assaulted by Hellenic marines I would be grateful.

My control over Dacia has solidified regardless of any information to the contrary. The supposed split in the leadership between myself and Mr. (so-called) Marshal Tóth is negligible. Despite his claims of military leadership, this only extends to his insurgent green shirt forces and holds no official position in the military command. We recognise him as a subordinate and not an equal to myself. I am sure both you and your government are quite familiar with the role of a useful fool in recent days General.

While that control is uncontested in Dacia, our nations external influence has been doubted. Influence in Hiltria is limited so no large-scale smuggling can commence with only our backing; the consequences of a new regime you could say. If you could have someone in your civilian sector work magic to aid in our survival. I prefer the Adriatic state to the Reds up north. Until the Imperial and Hellenic troops cut off any land access we maintain we can pretend that Dacia is unwilling to make concessions to the Federation in exchange for military support.

Our current plan is a prolonged delay. I hope you feel honoured that we're mimicking your country's strategy.

The Carpathians are assumed to be our saving grace, we could hold the Empire there for possibly months if fortifications can be built in time and ammunition remains plentiful. We have decided against further pushes and hope to keep a semblance of independence until a miracle manifests itself. We have reverted to ancient warfare, defending cities and treelines until the Empire leaves us to forfeit them or risk siege.

Our army has become more of a roaming gaggle, discipline exists in spirit if not above the brigade level. I only hope they do not repeat a sacking like that of Jerusalem if supply becomes an issue. I have prescribed orders to shoot looters but if the air raids by the Empire's planes and mages continue unimpeded I fear we will shoot more Dacians than the Imperials.

Despite the chinks in our armour, I have no intention of using my countrymen or foreigners as pawns or patsies. All resources will be committed to Dacia's defence, no supplies or men sent will be wasted. I do make a special request that anti-air units are sent with their crews alongside the equipment, your Franks are already trained which is a luxury that cannot be spared. The imperial mages and planes are outclassing much of our forces and only the mages can be properly attacked by concentrated rifle fire at low altitudes. If you can spare any units from that stagnant Rhine they would be more useful in Dacia.

To summarize: I do believe a prolonged defence is our best chance of continued resistance. Further imports and expeditionary units are a necessity and as the cowards occupy the sea alternative routes will need to be found.

Further, as the Imperials push in further into Dacia, more will I be forced to meet the Federation at the negotiation table; including our government's possible exodus despite how much I dislike the circumstance. Our combined future might be reliant on the scourge of these radicals that our nations call neighbours.

God be with you, General De Lugo.

Signed Supreme Commander and acting Prime Minister General Horváth.

31/09/1924/ Parisii, Francois Republic / Francois High Command, General De Lugo's Office / 10:08

"Well," Jehan Bart rubbed his face while trying to comprehend a response. "I think General Horváth is less than pleased with our nation."

De Lugo sat patiently at his desk while waiting for the guest to read the telegram aloud provided to him. The thinly veiled blame for Dacia's status assigned onto De Lugo's nation had unsettled him. While not completely untrue that Dacia was a distraction away from the Rhine and Norden fronts; the nations near-immediate collapse was unexpected. What was equally unexpected and unsolicited was a visitor from the Unitary directed into his office.

The man had not introduced himself with a name, just the position of a representative of the Unitary. He had no insignias of rank on his well-fitting suit, a lit cigarette and papers that proved he was in line with Herbert Hawkins the Operational Fasces Intelligence. Regardless of a shoving of manners, the larger-figured balding man brought a welcome air of professionalism into the meeting.

"Do you believe the 10th brigade can be redeployed to Dacia in time?" The Albion inquired, dragging on his smoke.

"I think our mage captain would not welcome being smuggled into Hiltria this time of year." Colonel Bart said from the relative safety of his chair, only glancing over temporarily at the man beside him. Bart hesitantly confirmed said captain was of the Lecret family when asked by the Albion; unsure how honest he was initially supposed to be.

"You make your decisions based on the will of one soldier?" The Albion continued the theme of discreetly critiquing others with questions. Bart opted to rub his face again in silence.

"I am not fond of stalemate tactics. All the needless bleeding of your own men and the enemies. Dacia must be left to its own devices in terms of manpower, the defence of the Republic is our priority."

"Correct." General De Lugo stated, pleased and unsurprised his countryman produced the correct answer. "Which is why I have arranged for a delivery of arms to be organised tonight and shipped to Hiltria tomorrow morning."

The Albion kept his presence in the chair but stole all attention from the room.

"That is in part why I am here General. I have been ordered to offer a selection of Unitary weapons for Dacia on top of our regular shipments for your army." The explanation continued with a selection of military observers to train the Dacians in new tools and observe the guerrilla campaign. He reassured them however that the current lending of arms and volunteers would go unimpeded to them and the Entente. Ever as vague in details as numerous in filler words. Not that Colonel Bart seemed to notice as he looked anywhere the Albion did not populate.

Not a week had passed and the Unitary had already materialized a plan of invisible intervention that possibly topped that of the Republic, all organised without a line of communication into the Balkans.

Was it desperation, devotion, or a larger plan underway?

De Lugo could do nothing other than wonder of the motive and accept the offer at face value. All in accordance with the Republic war policy. If he had his way, the Unitary could secretly ship them weapons and products they paid for while remaining on the other side of the Albish Channel; much like the Unified States. But in these desperate times, the afflicted could not be scrupulous with high standards. If the Unitary wanted to help the Allied Powers then it would be welcomed. The islands were a respectable – if unusual – state to the outside world, but they were no more peculiar than some regions of the precious Republic.

De Lugo was reminded of an old adage regarding the enemy of one's enemy, not that he wanted this man from the Unitary to be his friend.

09/10/1924/ Central Transylvania, Principality of Dacia / 1 KM South of Dumeşti Village / 14:23

Visha pushed the water container back into her kit, still whipping away the liquid she spilt. The truck had bounced over a bump at the worst time and sent an influx of liquid into her mouth and consequently down the front of her flight suit and mage gear. The amusement brought out from her fellow 203rd had not lessened as she suffered from the discomfort of cold water dripping out her nostrils.

"As the Major's adjutant, there seems to be a misconception that I won't tell her how cruel you all can be." A threat so idle she could barely contain the laughter. Rightfully mocked.

Even if the laughter were at her expense it was good her friends could manage it aloud. Their mocking laughs taking pleasure in her misfortune were actions done out of affection rather than to derive disdain or instil malice. If they could tease her openly and she could do the same in return, it made them one cohesive unit as the Major intended. It gave her time to try and pat away the excess water off her flight suit.

Her hand went over the hidden pocket that hid her keepsake away from the dangers of the world. Quickly peeked at once she was reminded of its presence.

Visha pinched her necklace's charm in-between her fingers, the coin-sized object glistening in the sunlight. The black circular disk with a Chi-Rho made from real gold filling the space. The necklace and chain were given by her family when the conscription letter arrived in their mailbox. What little history she knew encompassed this trinket. The letters of Christ's Hellenic name too create a combined X and P. God's sign to conquer and a message on how she was to conduct herself out here. Only a short reminder as the metal was returned into the depths of her pocket for safekeeping.

Grantz faired worse on the next bump, his side of the truck dipping more violently and triggering an uncomfortable contact with the unpadded bench. Antagonistically shifting the humour into hatred. One of the enlisted mages near the cab of the truck punched it repeatedly to violently remind the driver to stay on the road. She spent enough time on the Rhine to expect the colourful response and order of silence from the side of the driver; said under the comfort that the officers near the back bed of the truck were not giving the order. Weiss challenged that pretence by yelling ahead for both speakers to return to silence – or else.

The Vice-Commander had taken a company to move up to a new section of the line established by the infantry. Her own inclusion was a token offering granted by the Major when she gave him the movement order. It would have been faster to fly there. But with assurance from Major Degurechaff, they would "get their fill" upon arrival, a truck was utilised. Meaning, they were to save their mana in the bed of a truck only to waste it scouting the Dacian defensive lines in the mountains. Visha admired her dedication to the Battalion and the Empire; not her care for one coming at the intentional cost to the other.

As the war continued further into Dacia they shadowed most engagements and rallying against any large-scale army. By comparison, the night in the capital was the most dangerous excursion. Fighting above the border city sieges to aid the ground forces was surprisingly simple. Their height hovering in the air saved them from most rifle fire. The closest she came to death was one of the Hellenic and Commonwealth biplanes flying too close "accidentally." At least the Empire could keep more equipment out east while they pushed west.

"How much longer?" Visha's mind was reminded of the additional objective of the small convoy as her mind retreated into daydreaming.

"Should be over the next hill." Weiss peaked over her and the truck cab to be proven incorrect by the small hamlet they had business within the near distance. Quick to jump on the opportunity for banter; anything to stave off the tedium of the ride.

"Wrong twice in the same day." He squatted back down in the seat next to her own. "I'm used to being wrong about everything all the time."

She did not feel compelled to join in on the laughter for the mocking despite it being self-inflicted. The tingling of water in her sinuses was not enough to distract from the discomfort of the unique breed of injury. Grantz encouraged it oddly by asserting he was one of immense experience in being incorrect for extended periods of time. It must have been a guy thing.

The vehicle was beckoned to a slow stop along the outskirts of the village. Weiss as the highest-ranked mage past on down from the truck to address their new passengers. Tending to his official duties among other Imperials and whatever Hellenic strays they were adding to the convoy. The engine still hummed as she looked over the line of vehicles ahead past the cab. Three trucks occupied the dirt road, one exclusively for supplies while the other two added new men in uniform to their cargo bed. A light tank to lead them and an armoured car to wedge them in at the rear. Neither would do them much good once they reached the new front. Even a novice like herself knew they would be useless in the mountains.

Visha enjoyed another mouthful of water, Grantz observing that it managed to reach her mouth this time. Weiss returned to risk another industrial spill down her damp flight suit.

"Shift down. We got mages for our truck."

"Hellas has mages, sir?" She queried with her canteen safe between her legs. The baker's dozen inhabitants moving with the NCOs and enlisted mages being squished closer together near the cab. Lieutenant Weiss reached out to pull in the first member of their new company.

Rather than the assumed Balkan mages, the first face to pop up was that of one she saw in the stairwell in Rome getting snarled at by Major Degurechaff. The one that so politely described her appearance as "crap" and was first seen whispering in the ear of the Albion prince.

That very figure appearing after the woman took a seat on the end of the truck, much to the visible displeasure of Grantz. In the same red tunic and steel helmet, Visha knew she should not be shocked but seeing Prince Stuart again made her shiver in her seat. She had spent most of her time behind or to the side of His Highness, having someone of such status sitting across from you was daunting even if she knew him formally.

As far as she knew, this pit stop was to pick up Hellenic foot-soldiers. Not that she minded, unlike Grantz who appeared apprehensive at the prince sitting next to him.

There was a tension among the officers at someone of such status now in their presence. This was mirrored sentiment among the other mages whispering to each other or pretending not to stare. His Highness mimicked that of stone perched on the bench to not be noticed by the Imperials enclosing in. While the Aquilonain girl was either terribly unaware of the new atmosphere or paid no mind to it in preference for whatever was in her own head.

Now that she had slightly composed herself, Visha felt the familiar feeling of pity for him she had experienced in Rome. A young man pressed into a uniform tended to by two maids, the woman looking as innocent as their master.

The misplaced water no longer caused an unwanted discomfort forced onto her, that honour was now done by the Prince. If her hypothesis was correct, then Lieutenant Stuart was acutely aware of this effect. A powerful aura afforded by rank and blood, but evidently intact by social awkwardness.

There was a shout from ahead and the convoy started on its steady journey further into Dacia. They lurched forward in motion with the truck, unable to force a discussion point out of anyone as they vibrated in their seats. Visha was upset but willing to let this new status solidify among the officers. Was it her responsibility to encourage conversation on account of her record, or was that crossing a line? Did the Prince want some low blooded Imperial to try and talk with him, she knew him to be a variant of timid but that did not discount an unseen prideful feeling. There was no Princess he needed assistance with, after that day they may never see each other again.

The slow convoy started to pick up speed as it neared the edge of the village, decreasing the amount of time His Highness had to arbitrarily act in when enticed to. Spoken in what Albion Visha knew and could understand.

"Hey, Rupert." The Second Lieutenant – the darker-skinned individual with her black hair tied into a knot – kicked the Prince in the metal boot with her own, bringing his attention from an abyss and onto her. "Another one over there."

Visha instinctively was ready to perceive where the girl's head motioned to be a threat. That imagined hostile turned out to be a child, a little girl watching the convoy of trucks leave her hometown.

"I thought we got them all." The Prince's Albion was incrementally harder to dissect, but Visha thought that to be an adequate translation. What it meant remained to be determined. Vague nature allowed for misunderstandings, obviously it had to mean something other than Albions murdering children.

The two scrambled with items that quickly produced what appeared to be a square of chocolate. Quickly produced by the girl and provided to a standing Stuart throwing it towards the civilian now behind them. It landed near the child that curiously approached the gift, enthralled with whatever Dacian His Highness was cheerfully shouting for her. The Aquilonain keeping a hand against her apparent companion so he would not be thrown by the truck's movement. The girl understood her native tongue and waved back, undoubtedly unaware of the status from which her treat came; just that there was a nice man in red that had given her candy and kind enough to provide words with it.

The pain of caution in Visha disposed itself and came in with a calm warm spot. No hesitation had struck the Prince to enact or act through his charity.

The distance became too great from the child and the boy who remembered the eyes now on him. They, unlike the child, knew what he was. The other Albion was quick to jump at a chance that she herself would take if acting as a bodyguard for Princess Regina. A concentrated attack on the stalemate of silence.

"Very fulfilling isn't it?" She motioned to her countrymen with her rifle. "It was Stuart's idea. A few might be without their chocolate ration for a day on the Vespasian, but the kids seem happier for it."

The Prince looked towards her slightly but remained of solitude. "Thank you Miss Pierre for divulging our crime." Tone neutral but Visha guessed that was not for the purpose of sounding unimpressed.

"It's only a crime if you do something wrong."

"Stealing is wrong Peggie."

"How much chocolate does the Commonwealth have if you can give it out?" Visha felt that familiar role of encouraging the discussion. It was more productive than asking if they had any more left to snack on.

Not that she did not have her own curiosity on the matter. The Empire could not grow its own large quantities of cocoa and sugar in times of peace. When the greenhouses and labour transitioned to less luxurious crops, it became even more of an import commodity than it had been before. The Commonwealth had most of the Caribbean within its realm and never wanted warm crop climates. As much as Visha wanted, the current budget permitted little sweets for her or the Major's private stashes.

"What do you mean?" The regal Lieutenant looked around her more than at her. She had a natural tendency to fixate on the speaker but that might work against the best intent. Other mages gradually returned to their own conversations independent of the commissioned officers.

Visha privately imagined they were relieved their guests were someone else's problem - that someone unfortunately herself.

"It's odd how war can help the economy if you don't mess it up." The Peggie girl was eager to add her own spin for the conclusion.

"It must be nice to have enough that you can give it away." Visha commented and was answered by Peggie.

"It's not always the best quality depending on the batch, but it goes down well enough on an empty stomach. If it's really bad then us giving it away might be a war crime."

It was a joke, surely. It was beyond hyperbole, but Gabriel's delivery was too serious for other interpretations. Visha was reminded of his attempt to equate himself to a Roman general for Regina.

"Giving chocolate to children is an odd category of a war crime." Grantz chimed in with more humour, looking past the Lieutenant and onto the Aboriginal girl. The one most evident in his observation of the girl.

The truck had been periodically staring at the girl, standing out on account of her darker complexion. Visha herself guilty of the same now and before when she had the opportunity. It was mostly curiosity in her case, but she would assume that was the same for much of her battalion members. It was a beautiful colour, something exotic and never seen in person before. The Commonwealth and their Invicta Pact had an entrenched ethnic diversity more visible than the Europa based Empire. It might not have been polite, but it was understandable if the woman was a bit of a sight to those not aligned to her faction.

Whether or not Peggie noticed the extra attention was irrelevant as she never acted on it and that answered Grantz's question.

"Personally," she pondered the proposition momentarily. "I think it is a crime if you put nuts in it. Just a waste of good cocoa."

Weiss scoffed. Not attempting to hide his polite discontent. "It's a shame that the world's chocolate supply belongs to you in that case. You wouldn't know good food if it bit you first."

"I guess you don't want any then?" Peggie's smug aura invited the truck's attention.

"If that's how you feel then I suppose the leftovers are only for Rupert and I." Peggie palmed over another pocket on her bandoleer. Further prodding made her produce the sought-after rectangles wrapped in foil. In Peggie's direction, Lieutenant Stuart made his own donation to Grantz beside him with a request to send the items down to the rest of the truck.

"Only half a bar each."

"What happened to your supposed boatload?" Visha inquired. Unprepared for the unusual coyness in the answer.

"The rest are in the village if you want to fly back, but you'd have to fight some children for it." The Lieutenant's eyes darted onto her then away when she returned the look, a look more appalled than his. The proposal was so preposterous it could only be a joke. If not for the monotone Visha could be certain. A glance over to Weiss and Grantz implied they shared in the confusion. Lieutenant Stuart seemed conscious of the misstep and seemed to return to isolationism. Was it common to pretend he was not present and his surroundings to imagine the same?

The present was much like the date she had watched: someone forced into a partner that had more interests outside of his own. That situation would inevitably be resolved; neither seemed incompatible but if she had to offer indirect aid then it seemed fair to do such again. For the sake of the truck ride if no one else. Her half ration of chocolate was given and stowed away. It served as a simple starting point.

"How did you two manage to get all of this chocolate out of storage?" If she addressed both it might not put His Highness in the spot as before. Further humour wondering if Peggie was exaggerating the turmoil.

"The Lieutenant is royalty, I'm sure a hand-wave from him could help." Weiss failed to clue into her plan, not that His Highness left his reserved silence.

Gabriel was able to address points simultaneously if at a slightly shaky pace.

"I have no such privilege and would never use them in such a way, Mr. Weiss." He squeezed the rifle in his hands more as he talked.

"Whenever we get to secure areas with Hellenics we grab an extra couple of these bandoleers." He tugged on the leather item across his chest. "Then we take enough goods from multiple crates, so our thievery is unnoticed. It is not the most brilliant scheme in the world. Miss Serebryakov."

There was momentarily stability before he cracked under the pressure inflicted upon himself for calling her by name. Following with a meek and unnecessary apology.

Lieutenant Pierre had spent an evening with much of the 203rd back in Rome and a night with one in particular. Visha had spent that same day indirectly with the Prince but never had the permission to tell of her identity. It felt unusual that she allowed this to happen if it was not her fault as the setting allowed. Only to disappear into the night of Rome after being of assistance. At least she had the Second Lieutenant fill in the gap of information if stealing that honour of introducing herself to royalty.

Visha confirmed her surname to be true, hopefully not letting on the surprise that it was pronounced correctly. Lieutenant Stuart's hand shifted to and from the rifle and his collar slightly, from the wood, the cloth until he decided to proceed with the action. He removed his leather glove and reached across the short distance of the truck bed to her. One less dirt ridden than the minor amount on hers.

Visha shook his hand, internally and outwardly pleased that he could look her in the eye as he formally introduced himself.

"Lieutenant Gabriel Stuart. Pleased to properly meet you, Ma'am."

She smiled, almost turning red slightly. "Second Lieutenant Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov. Honoured."

Grantz beside him was next to experience the Prince's slightly awkward grace; followed by Weiss who both shared their names. Pierre had stretched over awkwardly over her countryman and forced her name, rank and nickname of Peggie to her. Visha returned the gesture, if out of place slightly. She spied Grantz looking disappointed that the privilege was not extended onto him with Peggie squirming back to her seat, denied skin contact with the Aquilonain.

"What are two Commonwealth mages doing with a squad of Hellenics anyways?" Grantz asked to try and reel himself into the discussion with the girl. "Aren't most of the forces at war along the Rhine front?"

Peggie was drawn into answer the question, disinterested unvarnished.

"There's hardly enough officers or NCOs to go around so they asked us to help with checking civilians."

The group then shifted onto Gabriel in his attempt at a correction.

"The Commonwealth is not at war; the Rhine theatre has a volunteer force. It doesn't help us to try and recover from one war just to get involved in another one immediately." Gabriel paused again, trying to gather more words with panic-stricken in his gaze.

"They can't… they're not – the Republic aren't allowed to sink ships because…the oil and rubber and…" Gabriel tried to make further conversation on the topic but rapidly shifted after faltering to perceived pressure.

"…We are here to advise and assist our allies where we can be most useful." Gabriel brought out clarifications, disregarded by his countryman in a bout of sarcasm.

"Advanced babysitting."

"Peggie." He hissed out.

A round of laughter fellows among the Imperials, Peggie joining leaving the regal member to be excluded. She needed to revive something that he could willingly involve himself in.
"I'm starting to wonder if we'll ever get over those mountains." Grantz wondered aloud. Peggie was quick to comment aloud her internal dialogue, soon evident to relate to her friend.

"Here we go."

"Emperor Trajan defeated the Dacian king in the Third Dacian War during the second century. I'm confident the Empire can climb over them with modern technology."

"You forgot that the Dacians will have that same technology as us." Grantz re-entered himself with further criticism.

"This is the same Dacian technology that hasn't figured out how aeroplanes work?" Peggie picked at Grantz's inaccuracies in his statement.

"Rifles, grenades; that sort of stuff. That's not what I meant Peggie." Grantz lingered anxiously at her nickname. The word curling in his mouth before the light brown Aquilonain heard the disallowed rendition of her name. The flow of discussion was readily saved by the Vice Commander forcing the group to move past Grantz's faulty wording.

"Not much technology either way after we routed their vanguard on the first day of the invasion." Weiss went up with a little bit of pride for the battalion. Another successful reminder to the Albions who was pulling up the bulk of the effort. Statistics Visha acknowledged but did not care for, a sentiment apparently shared with both Albions across from her who did not take offence to Weiss; Peggie engaging with the prompt to defend the fun in her "babysitting." A distraction that let her engage further with His Highness and more history lessons over Dacia's former conqueror.

The yellow and green fields behind Stuart gave way to more trees. Checking over her own shoulder Visha confirmed it was not a phenomenon and they were rapidly entering into one of Dacia's numerous forests. She looked up at the canopy quickly casting shadows over them.

She thought back to her father taking the family on picnics in the forests near Kiel. How sometimes he and Uncle would take her to re-enact the war games father played before his accident. Never as that child did she believe those re-enactments would become her profession. But even now there existed comfort within her being protected by the trees. Visha snapped her head back down from gawking happily at the heights. Remembering her present setting if the smile lingered. Prince Gabriel seemed to be the only one spying on her to notice.

Weiss had filled the darkening shadow-filled truck bed with reassurance that it would not bring them trouble. "The Hellenics said one of their units came through here already." It was not a question, but the Prince misunderstood it as such or felt obligated to build further.

"Another division radioed command after they passed through on foot. Said there wasn't anything you shouldn't expect."

"It's a shame, nothing to take away the boredom." Peggie commented abruptly and unrepentant. Only earning sentiment from Grantz but both otherwise ostracised with silence. Visha assumed it to be another one of those odd Albion jokes. It did sound like a sentiment the girl in the stairwell underhandedly insulting the Major had; according to Degurechaff herself, that is.

That assumption did require the Major's assessment of the girl to be totally accurate. But as wonderful as she was, Tanya Degurechaff was still a child capable of misjudging adult situations.

The truck ride was mostly silent, filled only with the moving whir of mechanical parts, Gabriel's unofficial lecture and low banter of the other mages. The truck in front of them erupted into laughter and another peak showed happy faces amongst new friends. A recurring theme in the Invicta Pact and Central Powers factions.

"Were there any big Roman battles that took place woods, Lieutenant Stuart?"

"That qualification hardly narrows it down Miss Serebryakov." The answer was dry and immediate, but there was no assumption it reflected his internal motives. She felt emboldened while others would be put off by such an answer.

"Were there any in these woods?" Mildly embarrassed over an apparently silly question, she extracted the vaguest shadow of a smile from the Albion.

Weiss and Grantz gave situational corrections or information while Gabriel went in another direction with his storytelling. As the Convoy moved deeper into the woods, the Prince fell into a pattern he felt comfortable with. Although his familiar tone, expected stammers, and hesitations hindered the flow of information. The other woman's presence only involved berating her companion in another Albion way.

"Did you have to get him started?"

Then a whistle of air whizzed past them and a sound penetrated Visha's eardrums. Everyone reacted with no unified response, ducking or – like her, covering ears and trying to analyse what just happened.

The tank leading the column exploded, already engulfed in a red ball of fire that spat upwards into the sky. The trucks between the inferno and their own were disembarking or hiding while receiving incoming fire. The treeline on both sides erupting with the small explosions of rifles powering into the convoy or its patrons. Visha saw two Imperials receive contact from the enemy from the truck in front of them.

One being pushed down by his torso into the mass of huddling bodies in the truck bed. The other victim was on the road and hit at the same moment.

The unknown man was still spasming on the ground when she was experiencing the metallic truck bed against her cheek, thrown there by Vice Commander Weiss in one motion. Grantz was down here with her if in a more prepared state to be useful in the firefight. The Prince was there with both his arms gripping onto his countryman for her protection.

Readjusting, Visha could determine he had forced her down and fell upon her to keep her there. Among the lumpy batteries were more 203rd members taking cover to various degrees of panic. The remainder led by Weiss actively shielding and returning fire. He yelled over the scattering fire and motioned for the armoured car to shoot. Whether they heard or acted for him, it released volleys of indiscriminate machine-gun fire into the foliage. Not known if they hit anything resisting them, there was a lull in the concentrated fire on the convoy. The rapid-fire meters away reverberated in the dense trees muted individual speakers and shrieks for Visha. Her commanding officer and the regal Lieutenant were able to break through the mass of noise.

"Everyone, up! Return fire!" Weiss was the first to be heard roaring aloud. "Use your explosive formulas."

Stuart gave out an expansion to the order. The first time she heard him sounded assertive.

"We need to protect the convoy!"

He further seized the initiative when the redcoat got off his partner, affixed a bayonet and lunged over the side into the fray. A feat followed by the girl and all before she felt the warmth from the mana reach down her arm to the trigger finger.

There was never a formalization about who was senior among the two men of equal rank in this scenario and no immediate memory from schooling served to help. Was she supposed to follow her nationality or the social ladder? Visha did not know at the moment and went on soldier's instinct. The section of identical trees was devoid of visible targets, but that might not be true for the rest of her countrymen. A stray round deflecting off her barrier made Visha flinch back down, but she was back up and over the side of the truck in the same motion.

The magical aptitude granted her and the Albions natural protection in combat mages won through genetics. In close quarters they could be considered immortal – a lie maintained if their shields remained unbroken.

Visha hit the dirt and began running further into the convoy. Two more unsuccessful bullets found her barrier and she sent a small fragmentation spell from the end of her rifle in response. Another shot was fired into the bush with violent results, accompanied by a scream she focused on ignoring.

Visha knew not to look but could not resist the temptation. The once spasming body laid there idle; still. Now was not the time to dwell on mortality, Visha satisfied herself with the peek and turned back to the fight and sent off the rest of her magazine while pushing forward. She took up a position near the next tuck in the convoy and blocked all incoming fire the computation orb could manage. Each hit had her blindly firing explosive formulas wherever a muzzle flashed.

More mages passed by in front and behind her stationary point. The pause of formulas compensated by the patter of rifle fire from the truck. At least she was not the only one listening to the Albion.

It was a decent ambush, but they had not anticipated magic users to strike back. They appeared as glimpses in her sight, a hand, ahead, a green shirt sprinting by to be fired at or a bareback shrinking away. A touching pull of the trigger and an explosion was guaranteed, but if it produced anything other than a mild pain within Visha's ears was unclear.

Grantz came to her side and yelled over the gunfire. "We need more near the front. We'll hold them here, go!"

Visha nodded and sprinted closer towards the still smouldering tank. Manoeuvring forward behind the firing line of the 203rd and regular infantry that thinned the longer it crawled. The first truck lacked any magical guardians and consequentially was the most devastated by the Dacian concealed strike.

The redcoats had jumped off the opposite side and apparently cut their way through the fighting to the front to take rudimentary cover near the flaming wreck. Keeping meters away so as not to engulf themselves in flames that were already starting to die down. Their caution must have been from instinct over necessity.

As she ran and now fired back no stray rifle or handgun pierced the shield or dipped into her mana reserves. A glance at her surroundings displayed where most of the Hellenic and Imperial casualties were. Lying about on the road and in the truck bed that still produced vain defensive fire. That was why she was here, to protect them. The only one who could stand and fight off the enemy.

Visha took a knee next to one of the injured and reinforced her barrier with warm mana emanating from her chest. Another magazine was rapidly emptied without caution. Such was her carelessness one of the trees split open and fell into the forest. At least the few present defenders meant the same could testify for the mistake.

Three shots against her barrier fired from the shadows she could confirm a new target not taken down by her blind firing. The first enhanced bullet from the new clip ended the woodland shooter with another satisfying fragmentation formula.

A man from the corner of her vision sprung up from the trees. His arm stretched back and his face gritted tightly. The pose was one made for a grenade throw; a possible weapon that could break the formula and tear into her.

His body did not seem to realise it had been hit. But the man, more of a boy just younger than her – the boy fell backwards with a new hole in his chest. The resilient look of his eyes betrayed his body, determined to throw the grenade but failed by his wounded flesh.

Visha did not need to spend mana on the round. The shot would be lethal – if not, the pin had already been pulled.

She scanned further for any more hostile, real or imagined. After a small explosion went off distinct from one made from magic the enemy evaporated away into the trunks and branches that had passed them. The section of trees around her sights refused to make further acts of violence or noise. That task was occupied by other gunshots around Visha, and a groaning Imperial attempting to plead by tapping the battery attached to her waist.

That three-hour medical class would become Visha's world for the next several minutes. No bullets made contact with her shield. Either she had eliminated all opposition or the Dacian's rendered her mercy. Her partner offered no resistance to her attempts after a dose of mana flowed into him. Little more than a pain killer with her novice experience, but if it helped null his wounds that was enough.

The two bullets that went through the man's leg did not appear lethal and were sealed with white dressing on the entrance and exit holes.

The red gash in the collar bone leaked out a dark liquid that stained the fingers as she frantically attempted to stem the flow. This was the wound Visha needed to worry about. The uniform colour around the cavity changed to that of the substance within the man. Slowly becoming noticeably darker the paler his skin became.

Visha knew it was selfish, but it was sights like this that made her happy to be a mage. Relatively immune to this damage on account of orbs and magical aptitude. She prayed she would never look like this.

The unfortunate state of the battle meant she had to bandage over the bullet lodged inside in the bone; another fact she felt guilty to be relieved of. If battle in the immediate vicinity was not enough incentive to remove the mage gear from the man's lower half.

The man reached up to hold onto her as she worked on saving his life – if she was doing such. He touched her arm, Visha unsure if it were to guide her or comfort himself. It was hard to tell since the only sounds made were extracted from pain. Commendable, if it had been her, she would have probably been screaming her head off.

Visha finally stopped the majority of the bleeding and was now painted with the blood she could not keep in him. She directed for the injured man to support himself with constant pressure on the wound and mentally prepared to depart. His voice was louder than what she assumed possible. A smile greeted her when she informed him she had to move on.

"Thank you."

A final push of healing mana into him and she jumped off.

An increase in gunfire past the tank indicated she had to move on. However, the blood, pain and squirming were enough to make her want to flee. The renewed threat was a welcome excuse to get away from the suffering she could barely handle.

Lieutenant Stuart remained in the same area no worse for wear. Shields illuminated when hit and ducked behind the tank to pull on the rifle bolt and chamber another round.

A rudimentary practice for mages to rely on bolt action and not semi-auto carbines like her very own weapon.

Because of the Empire's technological superiority, she was able to enact a tactic to send the enemy back. Sending a burst of mana from her orb down into the flight gear, rising in the air and soon comfortably floating with an ideal view of the enemy.

The canopy limited the height allowed but gave the perfect sight onto the road and several insurgents. Some in the open, most behind rudimentary defences or shrubberies along the tree line in characteristic green. All normal men and vulnerable to artillery formulas.

Her new position made her a pressing target, and her barrier was already at concerning levels from lowly rifle fire hitting unanimously. The counter strike along the left and right tree lines sent the Dacian's into disarray. Those not caught in the explosions fled into the street or the woods. They might be vigilant in spirit, but their lack of training showed in the discipline. As the reload another volley of small arms forced her back, panic-induced as a cautionary measure to ensure the blood on her hands did not become mixed with her own.

Below, Stuart and Peggie abruptly abandoned their cover and charged forward at the mess of confused men. She was back forward on the same instinct that drove her away.

They sent out their own mix of formulas and regular bullets into the Dacians. Absorbing all attempts by others to take their lives. Visha knew she had to get into the battle, for the foreigners tied to her as allies before any notion of the war effort motivating her.

The originally low number of hostiles was rapidly dropping, her best course would be to hit whoever was left and still fighting. Her conscience always froze her trigger finger when she consciously aimed at wounded or surrendering men. Not that the Albion's efforts left her with an alternative.

Not every shot was a hit, but this engagement did not warrant strict accuracy, rather group survival and recovery.

Peggie exhausted her supply and took a knee to reload. Visha was out of earshot and not on her orb's comm wave but hoped there was a request for cover fire. She pulled out the first stripper clip when one of the assumed corpses reanimated. Throwing the dusty layer of dirt, a small shotgun was drawn.

The first shot had the effort of knocking the girl onto her rear end. The second sent the cracks in the shield apart and rendered Peggie exposed. Already strained from constant use and destroyed from multiple projectiles at a close range. Visha's rifle was not trained on the imminent threat – much like Peggie. The saving grace was the Dacian's necessity to reload after two shells. She swung the rifle back but had little hope that it would prevent the lethal shot from penetrating the Aquilonain's skull.

That possibility was dashed by the bayonet of Gabriel's gun stabbing into the man's neck. Still unable to hear but able to understand the Lieutenant's silent war cry. Visha had clearly witnessed the unenhanced strike, flinch when it reached through to the other side of the skin and continuing until the soldier was on the ground.

The dead or dying was confirmed to be the first option when the blade was torn haphazardly from the neck cavity and stuck down into the head. Enhanced with magic, it cut open easily and squirted out its contents. The Prince becoming stained in the act of killing.

Visha felt uncomfortable watching the act, unsure if it were to ensure the kill or from the rage on the Prince's face.

While her time as a soldier was less than either redcoat. Visha imagined the Rhine had shown her everything war could conjure up. But no other bayonet charge had extracted such a response that was culled into protective but calm rifle fire.

Peggie got back up on her feet, pooled more mana and Visha remembered she should do the same. At the distance high up in the air it was hard to pick out any emotion brought out by His Highness and his actions. If she was grateful or equally as put off by the act of gory violence as Visha was.

The debris in the air hid the true numbers but the enemy was down to their last few men. Visha took down another one through the head before a survey found no more Dacians in the vicinity. The dwindling of individual rifle fire could now be picked out from the mass of war that descended on the convoy. Gazing over its scarred remains showed the new peace to be universal.

She was lost in what to do next. The Imperial vanguard and Hellenics were supposed to have cleared the area, but the past several minutes contested their results. Who knew if this was the final attack along the trail? Whatever blew up the tank most certainly would not be the only one if it is kind.

Visha landed and dissipated the glow of mana throughout her body and left an overheated sensation as the aftermath. The gunfire had stopped completely in favour of Germanic and Hellenic shouting echoing through the forest.

Her priority was in the process of resolving itself. The injured man she was with had a team of medics and regular infantry huddled around, armed with the doctor's bag and instruments she did not know how to pronounce.

At least there was one positive outcome immediately present. She could smile at that, if little else, she could bask in that security while turning around to walk to the twin pair. Peggie and Gabriel were on their feet, neither worse for wear besides the noticeable dirt on the female's black trousers. Lieutenant Stuart holstered his rifle and used his officer's revolver to pick at something on the ground.

For a moment she was transported back to history classes in school. The Prince and sidearm pulled straight from the Coalition wars minus the abundance of technology from the current century. The young Albion pulled something up from the road – no, someone. His gun aimed just in case the prisoner played for escape. It was an older man, bleeding from the hand and head onto an ill-maintained Dacian uniform, a visible victim of the peripheral of an explosion.

Peggie picked at the corpse of the man who nearly killed her with her own gun. Ignoring whatever was said to her as the Lieutenant walked past with the prisoner. The Lieutenant passed off the prisoner to one of the soldiers running to set up a perimeter in anticipation of a counterattack. Him giving compliments to a "good job" and requests to "keep an eye on him" before returning to yell at the girl in their native Albion.

The peace had just descended but Gabriel and Peggie were already caught up in another fight, this time against each other with less violent consequences. Visha could not understand every frantic word yelled out in Albion but glance at the subject was about her brush with death. Peggie making the mistake of pointing with the new gun in place of her finger, a mistake corrected by the Lieutenant knocking it off to the side and back to the ground. A mistake that produced no end as the fight continued in the same path she could not understand.

It felt better to leave them to it. Nothing could be gained from her interference in what appeared to be a private matter between friends. The mystery of the exploding tank was a more appropriate source of her attention than a fight among Albions.

The tank had subsided from an active inferno to a subsided one; whatever device did this was not strong enough to maintain the fireball. Now it showed burn marks and warped pieces of metal to show that there had ever been an injury to its body. There was not even evidence of the shells within being affected by the explosion and fire, otherwise half of the vehicle would be missing. Visha could stand next to the husk without feeling any lingering heat more powerful than a candle.

The sound of someone approaching from behind warranted the soldier's instinct to kick in but dissolved when she saw the Prince; Second Lieutenant Peggie steps behind him in a silent frump.

This time she did not have to fret over appearances but feeling the need to pat her hair into order at a minimum. His Highness complimented her work in the air but extended no further item of discussion. Defaulting to focus on the tank with her as a distraction from his uncertainty.

Gabriel got down to peak at the undercarriage of the scrap mound. "It was most definitely a mine. Not that big of a hole."

"How big is it?" Visha crouched next to the prone figure. Gabriel paused to evaluate the measurement in the barely lit fires.

"No bigger than one used on infantry. But it blew through the tank effortlessly."

"I haven't heard of anything like that before." Visha continued, pleased she did not need to police the discussion this time. "If it was dynamite the crew should have noticed a coil or the disturbed dirt. But that would also have left a bigger hole."

Assumptions needed to be made as questioning the crew was out of the question. Not that she wanted to linger on the vial thought or verbalise it. This was some engendering feat they could not analyse or a new weapon she had not seen before. But how could Dacia produce something so compact yet destructive?

Peggie bent down to her height, assuming to survey the damage alongside her.

"Dacia is mostly mining anyway." Peggie removed her helmet. "I can't imagine they could make anything that wasn't just for blasting rock."

Peggie leaned in closer after her comment – too close. Then before Visha could protest she had the experience of another woman smelling the nape of her neck. Recoiling was natural but falling into the dirt was a by-product of surprise. Peggie appeared unfazed at invading personal space, amused even. Standing again and boasting. "No perfume today?"

Gabriel shied away from both girls and got to his feet. The newest action to extend a hand down and offer his services. An act she felt no need to refuse, even if she remembered her previous caution with royalty.

"That's not yours I pray." He spoke of the moist blood once she was back on her feet.

"No."

"Good." The Lieutenant touched at his neck but retreated away on the same instinct that placed it there. She felt compelled to inquire the same about the specs on his face.

It filled the space that would otherwise ask why he felt the need to cut off a dying man's head.

"That's not yours I pray."

"No." Gabriel was made aware of the substance and reached for a handkerchief after fixing his collar.

"Good."

She emitted a cheery ring with her response, hoping it might ease the Prince. An evident success when he formed a small smile at her echo of him. The expression awkwardly fading when he realised his hand was still connected to hers.

Further speculation was had and went over the explosion and what combination of factors could produce something so violent and where it came from as they lingered by the tank. Questioning how the Dacians knew they were coming or how they evaded all previous search parties.

"What should our next move be?" Visha knew it was best to steer them into solving their predicament and not continue the petty fighting beset upon the pair. That chance came quickly after Gabriel ignored Peggie's continued interest in the weapon that killed her. Gabriel became the rank assigned to his name and began leading the effort as expected of an officer. It was pleasing to see he could manage that on his own.

"We need information and I think I know how we can get our answers." Gabriel had cleaned off the lingering Dacian blood from his face and continued with the planning.

"My Major should be further north at an airfield. With permission from Mr. Weiss, we will transport a prisoner there for interrogation. Along with any information found on the prisoners."

Gabriel confirmed the order with the two and walked off to confirm the order. Removing himself from the small amount of attention he placed on himself. Most likely something that would simultaneously prevent himself from biting at his friend.

Visha pondered if it was right to follow him or if solitude was better for the moment. Did this mean the Albions would be gone indefinitely? Would she be ordered to attend the interrogation with them?

"Don't worry." Peggie patted her on the shoulder, taking her away from the brief spell of rapid thinking. A more welcoming touch than being sniffed. "We'll go slow for you."

09/10/1924/ Northern Transylvania, Principality of Dacia / First Forward Based Imperial Airfield / 16:03

Visha landed on the tarmac easily but already had the mild feeling of creeping magic exhaustion. Grantz landed behind her with the same metallic clang of boots making contact. Adding to the noise was a thump of a ruff-sack full of confiscated papers to the mix. Their mage gear did manage to keep up with the Commonwealth's model at the cost of her burning through her mana reserves.

It was no mystery how Peggie and Gabriel worked alongside aeroplanes. While fast as a plane, Visha observed how they operated in a near-identical fashion. Leaving them struggling in the rear even when a slower speed was maintained. How they carried an unwilling passenger with them was left unanswered. One she did not want an answer to.

Grantz checked on her status, himself exhaling from the same exhaustion. Visha confirming she was still kicking if in the same tired state. Their walk down the tarmac to where the Commonwealth pair had landed.

Grants shifted in his walk, readjusting the bag of evidence as a distraction. Confiding to be nervous before reuniting with the redcoats.

"Do you think Major Hanover will be bad? He seemed nice in the field."

"Never mind." A final check that he still looked appealing was made before they here in earshot of the others.

Gabriel had his revolver out. A rope dangled between his waist and the soldier blinded by a bag, the same Dacian again at the Lieutenant's mercy. Peggie remained quiet.

"Are you two alright?" She asked when they were in range to have a conversation.

The girl replied sharply and immediately.

"Fine."

Inferring the exact opposite of the message. The older woman steaming off to lead the pact; to Gabriel's silence and Grantz's disappointment. Visha saw the gears changing in his head until he decided to run up and join her.

Lieutenant Stuart took longer to answer and bypassed the question with mission details.

"Major Hanover said he would prepare something for our guest when I messaged his orb. Let's see if he's done."

Now technically alone with the Prince – Dacian excluded – to start a conversation felt too great a challenge. A portion of her felt privileged to be in such high cultured company. To be next to someone descended from historical figures was something she could never suppress internal excitement for. She wanted to ask about his actions to save Peggie but fought against it.

"Is Peggie alright?"

"Peggie is fine. Temperamental but alive. That's enough." Gabriel answered swiftly, no more subtle on the topic than the woman he spoke of.

The hanger door already slipped open to reveal the well-lit hollow interior. An inexpensive metal structure in comparison to those built by the Empire. But it was trusted to house more Commonwealth planes and the apparent Major next to one of them – wrench in hand. Rather than the red, Major Hanover was down to his light blue undershirt and braces. A tobacco pipe occupying his mouth while steady hands picked at the plane's engine.

Peggie and Grantz were first to greet the superior. The Imperial shaking hands with the new fair-haired Albion as their introduction once the Major wiped his hands free of muck. There was a small number of other mages and crewmen about the hanger, engaged in whatever work or idle tasks they deemed necessary to occupy their time. Most maintaining their equipment or aircraft, but none seemed interested in the newcomers or their own second-in-command. None other than Major Hanover.

"Rupert." Hanover's voice was steady, slightly contested by pipe he held in his mouth but still clear to all who listened. "I'm glad to see you and Miss Pierre made it out in one piece. No close calls?"

"None that took effect, sir."

"Jolly good." Hanover looked over and down to her. Effortlessly maintaining his attitude in Germanic. "Another face that requires a name."

Visha saluted but was dismissed before completing the full formalities expected in the military.

"We don't need any of that unless we're in front of the men." He took out his pipe and shook her hand, strong and firm like the Prince's but outclassed with a calming effect that paired with the kind tone of Hanover's voice.

"A Muscovian in our midst. What are you doing working for the Empire?"

It was a genuine question at face value. One compelled to answer not by the nature of rank and instead of the friendly – but steadfastly in-charge attitude.

"My father is Germanic. We moved in with my aunt and her uncle when the Tsardom fell."

"How kind of them." Gabriel dutifully filled in the events and recounted the items in Grantz's rucksack.

"I see." Hanover extended the wrench to Gabriel while the Lieutenant informed him of their haul. "Hold that please."

He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, temporarily forgoing the clean tunic expected of officers and called out a reminder as he started to leave. Informing them of certain "arrangements" made for this occasion.

An unknown Mr. Rushworth was called for and appeared soon after, another tall Albion with well-defined features fit for a propaganda poster. Mistaken by Visha to be the pilot telling them stories back in the Vatican, but that one was noticeably shorter – whatever his name was. "Are we ready Mr. Rushworth?"

"Take off your gear here and follow me. And don't forget that wrench Mr. Stuart."

Even though they were not on speaking terms, Gabriel and Peggie still aided in the removal of each other's kits in a silent efficiency she had not seen before. Glad to be relieved of the extra weight Visha focused on its removal and followed in the Albion practice of leaving it nicely piled next to the plane. Something Major Degurechaff would scold her and Grantz for if she were to find out.

Their small team followed the apparent Rushworth and Hanover down the hallway they disappeared into, catching them by the door of a storage room: A depressing hobble with only one barred window, devoid of contents aside from a chair and enough containers to fill the corners. Rushworth said in a thick accent that stressed what Albion she knew. "The door doesn't lock from the inside, but no one comes round here sir."

The Major played with his pipe again, looking up to the slit window as the group filed into the room. "Works for our purposes."

Visha felt uneased at what she might be present for, Grantz seemed to be the only other to share the sentiment. Gabriel no more readable than usual, Peggie mopping and Rushworth abruptly absent.

"Put our friend in the chair." Gabriel and Peggie enacted the order and returned to separate portions of the wall.

Visha felt compelled to speak out, for the interests of humanity and her own comfort.

"Should we wait until Major Degurechaff arrives to observe the interrogation?"

The steady calm of Hanover played into an eery cold in his sentence.

"I think not. She's still young, there's no need for her to get involved in this."

Hanover pushed a box with his boot in front of the man, requesting Gabriel to untie him and relinquish the wrench. Without hesitation, the task was done and into the darkened room a terrified Dacian jolted at all the figures around him. Visha felt a pain in chest form for him, for whatever she might have to partake in.

Major Hanover was sitting in front of the man when the bag was lifted. With rolled-up sleeves and an officer's cap over the blond hair, he brought the menacing look together with a stone-cold expression. Peggie and Gabriel stood against the walls eerily quiet. Were they willing to watch these events unfold, for the sake of information they would allow for this unjust cruelty?

Her sense of morality often conflicted with her sense of duty. But shooting at the enemy in battle was necessary, even if no older than yourself and armed with a hand grenade. What was happening here was cruelty. Grantz appeared to have the same moral conflict.

Naturally scared or not, she could not let this injustice standby without a protest.

"M-Major Hanover. I must-"

Mr. Rushworth returned through the open door. Rather than conceding to violent instruments, he carried a tray of assorted items of a nefarious nature. Fags, tobacco, slices of bread with spreadable condiments, a canteen and a metal cup of what appeared to be tea. Visha let out an audible sigh, embarrassed momentarily until the setting moved on with the Major.

Rushworth placed the tray on a box, now an informal table next to the Major. He picked up the metal mug and wrapped his hands around it to seek out the internal warmth.

"Now," Hanover took a sip from the cup, an initially odd act to Visha that clarified itself when he passed it to the Dacian. A poison check. "Why don't we start with your name."

A/N:

"The two-three week goal is still trying to be maintained if becoming increasingly unadhered to."

As said myself believing I might be able to maintain a set schedule. I am still a fool for doing the same but hold as much scepticism for myself as a large portion of you all do. I do wish to say that I am equally if not more frustrated or angry with myself for the laze in productivity. This project has been an unexpected joy and it pains me that I can not give it my full attention every day of the week. All that said, I do not wish to infer this will outright cancel the story. I spend more time on some element of the story than I do wasting it on other earthly pleasures.

Comments regarding this chapter: This is the one with the most revisions needing to be made on behalf of my beta-readers, without Xanen or my fellow Canadians input this would be up in the word count of over twenty thousand. I have already committed to solving the problem of slow pacing (supplemented with slow uploads apparently) and feel this version is the best even if it does not have all the parts I personally want. Leave a comment if you too wanted to read Gabriel's storytelling of Roman history because I know Xanen sure didn't.

What I also mentioned in the last chapter's author notes was a coincidence in two characters sharing the same name. For those of you who read the Saint, I can promise you many a sigh was had when Xanen told me of a character based on Lord Kitchener. Many more were had after we agreed to mutual spelling for the fun of it. If anyone is wondering why a character that has not even appeared in the story yet is getting this much attention in the author notes, all I can say is to keep her in mind. Gabriel and Peggie evidently have.

Thank you for reading.