Author's note: Disclaimer: FoZ/ZnT belong to the departed Noboru Yamaguchi and whoever inherited the I.P.. Any real life organisation/person is merely being used in a fictional non-profit way.
Special thanks to Trainalf and Karaya 2 for their help on this chapter and getting the ambiance right. Wouldn't have done it without you guys.
Interlude: A Warrior's Last Voyage
Henrietta was standing the walls of the academy, looking at the gate. It had been a week since she had returned from Ottawa. Her last day there had been spent arranging the arrival of the American recovery team and the military observers from both nations as well as finalizing the details for Ambassador Ambroise's stay in Tristain before visiting the Canadian Parliament.
The sound of rumbling filled her ears as she recognized it as the arrival of the American recovery team. They were right on time. They'd arrived in those horseless carriages she'd seen so often on the other side, although these looked far different then any of the ones she'd seen. They were much bigger than the ones she had seen and rode in.
Painted green and box-like, these carriages conveyed strength. Besides her, Lord Centurion Pierre and Lady Karin de La Vallière watched their arrival, stone faced. Like hawks, the veteran battlemages observed each movement they did. Between those carriages, an even larger one was with them. It looked a lot more like a wagon they were familiar with, since it had what looked to be a cloth cover over it.
"They are still ugly wagons," Lady Vallière commented, earning a short grunt from her husband, "What type of magic do you think powers them?"
"Definitely not Wind or Earth magic," Lord Vallière replied, "It is unlike anything I've ever seen."
Henrietta cleared her throat before explaining.
"Uncle Pierre, Aunt Karin, Earth doesn't have magic. Those wagons are powered by refined oils like most of their means of transportations."
"Fascinating," the lady said emotionlessly, "I look forward to meeting more of these Americans and Canadians."
"They really are nice people." Henrietta insisted as the long line of vehicles drove up the road towards the academy, kicking up dust as they did so. They pulled off the road and stopped in the grass a fair distance from the academy gates.
"If they are anything like M. Ambroise," Lord Vallière replied, "Than I believe that we will be able to discuss civilly."
The group hastily made their way to the entrance where the convoy had stopped.
The men who stepped out of the wagons were just as intimidating as the polite ambassador's guards. Tall and broad shouldered, they towered over many of the Tristainian soldiers that served in the Vallières' armies. They too hid their faces with glasses and scarves. Their uniforms and armour were completely foreign to the Tristainians. Their clothing and armour were a mix of small spots of brown, beige and green while sleek, black muskets hung from them.
Their appearance caused the Vallières to tense up slightly. Two men were at the front of the groups, each in a similar uniform though unmasked. Henrietta stepped up to meet them, followed by M. Ambroise. Ambroise had gotten a dispatch beforehand, so he was able to introduce them.
"Your highness, I present to you Colonels Benjamin Hamilton of the United States Army and James Roberts of the Canadian Army. Colonel Hamilton will be overseeing the recovery of the American soldier on Academy grounds and will be leading the team of observers from his nation whereas Colonel Roberts will be in charge of my nation's observers."
The colonels nodded before raising their right hand to salute Henrietta and Ambroise while the Vallières were scrutinizing them. Both looked to be around their age, meaning in his late 40's to early 50's. Their uniforms were unusual not just because of its color but because it was identical to those he led. Perhaps they were the each leaders of an order of knights? Their greying hair and face were shaved clean, giving them very well-maintained appearances that betrayed great discipline. They also donned the same helmet that their men wore.
"Greetings, it's an honour to finally meet you, your Highness," Colonel Hamilton said professionally before turning to face the Vallières, "And you are?"
"I am Lord Centurion Pierre Le Blanc de la Vallière and this is my wife, Lady Karin Desirée de la Vallière. I am pleased to meet you Lords Hamilton and Roberts."
"Milord, I am not a lord but just a colonel. My country doesn't have any nobility," the American explained quickly, "From what I understand, you are the commanders of one of Tristain's armies?"
"As for me, I don't possess any title either though there are certain Canadians with titles though they are quite rare," Colonel Roberts added quickly , "Most of them do not serve in the Forces however."
The American and Canadian officers had been briefed on the workings of old Medieval Kingdoms.
"THE finest army in its borders." Lord Vallière boasted proudly, "My family's army has long defended this land while my wife has long led the Manticore knights as their captain."
"I see."
"What army of the United States do you lead Colonel Hamilton?"
The colonel shook his head before talking.
"I currently do not lead any troops but remain in the employ of the US Army."
Explaining the intricacies of staff work at the Pentagon was not something that he felt necessary for the time being.
"We see." They didn't, but obviously they weren't going to make themselves look ignorant. Especially in front of a military representative from a potentially powerful ally.
"And you Colonel Roberts?" Lord Vallière asked.
"I am in a similar position but I serve at one of Canada's military academies, helping to train new officers."
"To train the next leaders of your army is truly an honorable task," Lady Vallière complimented before turning to the American, "So what exactly will your men be doing?"
"It's very simple, we'll go in, confirm he's one of ours, claim his weapons and bring him home."
It was rather straightforward as far as a mission went. Behind them, the Americans were unloading a large shiny metal box.
"And you Colonel Roberts?"
"We'll be staying here and wait for Colonel Hamilton's return." The Vallières looked at him curiously, "It's a task that concerns only the Americans."
"Was this man important in your army? A great hero Colonel?" Henrietta asked as they began to walk into the Academy, followed by Agnes and her bodyguards.
"We don't know yet your Highness."
"So why go to such length for a single man Colonel?" Lady Vaillère asked neutrally, trying to gauge his reaction.
"No one gets left behind my lady," Hamilton answered simply, "It is one of the core values of our nation's armies and one we hold dearly."
As the procession made it to the Academy's courtyard, they were greeted by an elderly man that reminded the Americans of a cross between Gandalf and Dumbledore.
"Colonel Hamilton, this is Old Osmond, the Academy's Headmaster and the man saved by your soldier."
"Hello." Osmond received the men very warmly, "I am very happy that you are here."
"The pleasure is ours Mr. Osmond," the officer responded, "We look forward to bringing home of our own as soon as possible."
"Of course, of course. I'll take you to him right now." Osmond offered. The Canadians stayed behind with the Vallieres. Henrietta, with Agnes of course, accompanied the Americans and the headmaster.
"I'd never seen a man of such power." Osmond was retelling the story. "Wild dragons are a very grave threat to us. Even the most skilled of mages will be wary when facing them."
"Oh?"
Osmond nodded.
"I was travelling back to the Academy after an expedition to some ruins. Unfortunately, I ran into a wild dragon on a path in the woods. My magic was useless against its hide. It disarmed me, and I feared then and there I would fall. And then suddenly it just exploded! Killed in a single instant! I turned to see an injured man stumbling from the woods and collapsing before me, carrying his staff of destruction. I'd never seen such power or bravery."
"If he was one of ours, I'm not surprised. We don't run from a fight."
The tidbit about the rocket launcher killing a dragon instantly was something that Hamilton couldn't ignore. That was something the higher-ups in Washington would need to know as soon as possible.
"He has done your army justice then. I carried him to the Academy as swiftly as I could but alas, he had succumbed to his wounds as we arrived in the infirmary."
There was guilt in the old headmaster's voice.
"I truly wished that I could have spoken with him and understand who he was, for I owe him my life."
"I understand Mr. Osmond. Rest assured, he'll be treated with the full honors he deserves when he goes home."
Osmond nodded in approval.
"Luckily for him, I had just begun my tenure as headmaster of the Academy. I had buried him down here." Osmond went on as they entered the catacombs beneath the academy. "Usually, these are reserved for the most intelligent and greatest magical minds. But I felt it an honor he deserved after sacrificing his life for mine." He led them past the numerous tombs before stopping in front of one in particular.
"He's right here." Osmond told the party. "He's been buried in this tomb for all these years."
"May we open it?" The American colonel asked.
"Of course." Osmond nodded. The American officer stood back and let the elderly mage do his work. The old man began motioning with this staff, and the heavy lid was effortlessly lifted up and set off to the side. The soldiers had been briefed, so they weren't alarmed although they were still silently surprised.
"Impressive Mr. Osmond," the colonel said before looking inside the tomb. There was no mistake. It was an American soldier from the Vietnam War. He had the familiar M16-A1 rifle beside him, along with the empty rocket launcher. He looked as youthful as the day he died. His body was clean, and his uniform immaculate. The flak jacket had two reddish holes where his lower chest was. His M-1 helmet showed no sign of rust either and the cover was intact.
"Sir, look, he's a Private First Class from the 101st!" One of the soldiers in the party pointed to the Eagle patch and rank on his shoulder before scrutinizing the rest of the body and pulling a name tag from beneath the uniform top, "Name's Robert A. Jackson."
"He looks like he hasn't aged a day." The colonel remarked. "How long has he been here?"
"I can't remember for certain." Osmond confessed sadly as he bowed his head. "But I was a very, very, young man. I think it was almost 50 years."
"And his body's been preserved that long?" They'd expected skeletal remains, the sad norm when it came to retrieving casualties this old.
"Yes, with the usual magic for these affairs. It was the least I could do for him after he saved my life."
Magic? The Americans wondered how that might affect getting the body ready for the funeral. For all they knew, it'd wear off and the body crumble to dust as soon as it went through the gate.
"What would happen if you removed the magic preserving his body? Will it-"
"I don't believe that's possible. Well, without some highly questionable means."
"I see… how efficient is this preservative magic?"
"Extremely efficient. This is the same used by nobles to preserve the bodies of their ancestors and you needn't worry to move his remains. The spell will hold as long as you don't desecrate the body."
"Excellent Mr. Osmond."
"Do you need any help moving him?" Osmond asked. The colonel declined.
"No. He's one of ours. We'll take him home. His family and country are waiting for him to come back," he declared somberly. The Tristainians watched as, with extreme care, the Americans lifted the body from the tomb. With extreme care, the body was lowered into the metal casket. Three others collected the man's musket and staff of destruction.
"Will he be taken directly to be buried?" Henrietta asked. She still remembered her and M. Trump's discussion of her attending the funeral.
"No. We'll need time to search our records for him. Find out where exactly he disappeared from, and what family he has left. It may be a week before he's buried."
"I see." Henrietta nodded as she witnessed the Americans lifting the casket and maneuvering it carefully, almost ritualistically. The colonel took a glance at Osmond.
"My nation would like to invite you to this man's funeral. His fellow soldiers and surviving family will most likely wish to thank you for preserving his body and will want to know how he died a hero."
The elderly simply nodded and silently agreed.
There was something incredibly somber about the mood as the large party left the school's underground section with the body. No one said anything.
When they were again above ground, the American colonel stopped next to M. Ambroise and his Canadian counterpart. "You are not going with them?" Duke Valliere asked as the other soldiers carried the bag containing the body to the carriages.
"They're going home. As I'm sure the princess told you, we will be staying." He answered, "Our ambassador will be arriving soon and I am also in charge of the observation team."
"Indeed." The duke responded, obvious displeasure in his voice.
The Tristainians neither saw or heard it, but as the recovery team approached the truck, a door on one of the MRAPs opened and a man stepped out. He was dressed similarly to the soldiers- sunglasses, a vest, a gun slung behind him- that the Tristains wouldn't notice him particularly. But to the soldiers, he stuck out like a sore thumb.
"So they really had an American buried here?" He asked the recovery team, eyeing the soldiers carrying the deceased's weapons.
"Yeah," dispassionately answered one of the soldiers with evident disdain.
While the soldiers were on security detail and scanning the area with purpose, this man looked around with far more leisure and obviousness. At the untouched nature, at the authentic looking castle in the sky line, are the people in weird dress and knights in armor carrying muskets.
It wasn't the craziest stuff that Simon Anders had seen, but it was up there. Yet it was still familiar. These were people. People were rational and irrational. They acted in certain ways. They could be made to act in certain ways.
The soldiers, they were here to analyze the military situation. But him? He was here for the people and the social order of this world. How to understand it, how to read it, and, eventually, how to manipulate it.
The large carriage and several of the smaller ones left. The only ones left were for the observers who would be staying.
There were further introductions after that. Each party was made up of three officers from those countries' militaries. The rest were soldiers who'd come along to guard them. The soldiers guarding the Canadian nobles were very different from the Canadian soldiers who'd come with M. Ambroise. They were still as tall and muscular but didn't hide their faces. The Vallières noted that these men looked very well-fed and very well paid, judging by their appearance. Aside from the different colors and insignias of their uniforms, the American soldiers looked almost the same. Even their strange muskets were nearly identical as far as the Tristainians could tell, the Canadians having painted theirs green. There was not a single swordsman or pikeman in their ranks.
What kind of armies were they?
The next few days for Henrietta were spent juggling her visitors and her own people. Obviously, she wanted to prove Tristain was still a strong nation, so with Agnes' help she arranged to show off their military power. There were more than a few nobles who wished to show off their private armies as well to the new visitors.
Both the American and Canadian officers were very polite. Mostly, they only watched. When it came to show off the Griffon Knights and Tristain's meagre aerial fleet, they even asked a few questions. Henrietta was especially hopeful when they began asking about Albion's military and what threats they posed. Their guards though, were mostly silent, even when questioned by Tristainian nobles and soldiers.
Speaking of which, Henrietta spent a depressing amount of time placating them. Her regency council were not pleased with her at all by this. And it kind of stung the young Princess that even her mother wasn't behind her on this.
As unfitting as it was to her position, she was almost glad when word from the American ambassador reached her that she could return to the other world to attend the American soldier's funeral.
"Welcome to Georgia, your Highness!" Trump greeted boisterously as she disembarked from the plane along with Old Osmond, Agnes and the musketeers. It was noticeably warmer than Canada, but not annoyingly so and there was no snow anywhere in sight. The weather was very relaxing, although a bit humid. There was also another man next to him, dressed similarly. Henrietta wore a dark grey dress rather than her usual purple one, having being instructed by the ambassadors that the colour was a better choice for Earth's funerals.
It had been explained to her how the United States was divided into, well, states. Georgia was one of them, located in the south of their country. They hadn't told her much about it, but this is where the soldier had come from. This was his home.
"Thank you President Trump," she replied, curtsying before the president, "It's an honour to finally visit your country. Even with the given circumstances."
"On the contrary your Highness," Trump replied, "Your visit here is a way for you to understand how America takes care of its soldiers and show your good will towards our world."
He glanced at the old mage next to Henrietta.
"Are you-"
Old Osmond nodded.
"Yes, I am the one that Robert A. Jackson saved. I cannot express how grateful I am to be present for his funeral."
Trump nodded in agreement.
"I will not be able to accompany for the funeral but arrangements have been made by the State Department to have a diplomat assigned to your party and guide you during the funeral."
"Splendid."
"May I introduce to you Mr. Connors from the State Department."
A convoy of limousines and SUV's arrived at the graveyard. It was a small one surrounded by a stonewall. A small group of people dressed in black were slowly filtering in.
"Is this where the funeral is to be held?" the princess asked Mr. Connors as the limousine came to a halt.
"Exactly, your highness."
They were led by their American guards to a small section at the back and saw different people dressed in black file in. What they noticed where the men and women dressed in what seemed to be uniforms. They wore black jackets and blue pants along with wool berets. Their shoes were shining like black pearls under the sun.
The uniformed people stood around a magnificent wooden casket in which lay the defunct soldier, his uniform having being replaced by an elegant one. It was green and had various medals and insignias on it. His left shoulder had the same eagle insignia on it as it did on his combat uniform. The casket was draped with the American flag.
Henrietta and her group spotted some aging men in the front rows of seats, dressed just like the deceased. Some had scars on their worn faces while another was in a wheelchair. Their faces were heavy with emotions.
"Those are men he fought alongside with before his death." It was explained to her when she asked. "They missed him all these years and came to finally see their brother in arms again." Even from where she was, Henrietta could clearly see at least one of them was openly crying while another was comforting him.
"I see." She acknowledged quietly before noticing another man arriving, alongside an older woman. Both looked emotional, tears brimming in their eyes and were accompanied by younger people as well- young adults and late teenagers like Henrietta herself.
"That was his family. I believe he was the oldest son of his family." Connors explained quietly.
"Oh, I hope his death didn't bring too much misfortune to them," Osmond said sadly, knowing how certain families would collapse with the loss of their first son, "I hope that his return will ease their suffering."
"It doesn't seem to be the case," the diplomat replied warmly, "His family has been doing well from what I see."
Another man made his way to the front. He looked like he was an offshoot of Saito's people, but with more tanned skin. His tired and weary face and small frame looked like they had endured great hardship and he wore a red beret on his head with an eagle insignia. His clothing was similar to the one worn by the fallen soldier though the shoulder insignia was different. It was a red square with a round circle with an eagle flying on it.
They saw him being greeted tearfully by the other soldiers who showed him to one of the seats. Very soon, people stopped coming in and the attendees were all seated. A man dressed in black garb took the podium and began to speak while Trump sat in a chair behind him. Connors quickly whispered to the Tristianians that he was a priest.
"Today, we are united to celebrate the return of one of our one, Robert Arthur Jackson, to his family and brothers in arms after he had left for the distant land in service to his nation. Once in Vietnam, Robert had served with distinction alongside his fellow Soldiers, having fought in numerous battles until the Tet Offensive. During this battle, he was lost to us and transported to another world where he once more displayed the virtues that our servicemen aspire to fulfil by selflessly giving his life to save the one of another man. But now, by the grace of God, he has come home."
Henrietta and the Tristanians were confused. Who was this 'God'? At the same time, they could hear weeping from the front row where the veterans and next of kin were sitting.
"I know that there is no doubt sadness in our hearts, that he has already gone to join our Lord and Father in heaven. Let us not be sad. Let us not lament on how he was transported to this mysterious world; God works in mysterious ways. Let us instead be glad that this son has returned to be buried with his family. Let us remember instead how he was in life: brave, devoted and kind."
The priest stepped down from the podium and it was Trump that took his place.
"It is an honor for me to be here as your president. I am grateful to be present and give thanks to another brave American serviceman that gave his life for our freedom and for another man. I would like to thank Princess Henrietta and her people on behalf of all of America for allowing the return of one of our lost sons. Without them, we would not be standing here and this man would never have been reunited with his family."
The crowd clapped lightly and turned their heads towards the Tristainian delegation who lowered their heads in respect.
"America thanks you, your Highness, and is grateful for your presence."
Trump then left the podium and returned to his seat. The old, grey haired woman that they had seen earlier was the next to speak. She had made her way from the front row.
"I don't know what to say," she said, tears glimmering in her eyes, "After so many years, I'd never thought I'd see my big brother again after he left for Vietnam to fight the 'bad guys'. I can only thank God for reuniting him with us and thank you Mr. Osmond for preserving his body. I've missed you Bobby."
She stepped down and another man walked up. It was one of the 101st veterans.
"I can't believe you made it home Bobby after everything. You still look good too, you lucky bastard," he said, sniffling slightly, "Me and Bobby met in training. Couldn't stand each other's guts at first in fact. Called him a fat prick and he called me a shithead. Somehow, we became best friends along the way before we completed training. Next thing we know, we're being sent to South Vietnam to fight Communists."
His voice broke and he paused to recompose himself.
"I'll never forget the day we lost him. It was during the Tet Offensive. We were in Hue City and Charlie had overrun the place. We got caught in an ambush on a small street. Bobby got shot but tough bastard didn't stop running as we pulled out. A building collapsed between him and the rest of the squad. We couldn't get to him…" he choked, "and thought the VC got him. I never thought he could've gotten so far from us. I'm proud to have been his friend and I'm happy to know that he died helping his fellow man."
There was another pause.
"I thank God for having returned our brother to us. We are truly blessed today."
Another one of the aging men stood up to speak. It was the one with tanned skin and a red beret.
"Bobby was one of my first American friends that I made when I was in the South Vietnamese Airborne. He and his friends were funny people when we met as young men fighting for our countries."
He sighed before continuing.
"When we were resting after a hard-fought battle, Anh Bobby and I made a promise that when the war would be over and Vietnam free from Communism, I'd come to America to visit him and his family to thank them for helping us. He promised me that we would go fishing and hunting together in Georgia. We were young and hopeful back then. We'd never thought that things would end the way they did. I certainly didn't believe that we would lose, but after Bobby disappeared… I still made it to America but under different circumstances… But by the heavens, we found each other again and I am thankful that his soul can now rest in peace rather than wander forever far from home."
Henrietta noted that this man had not mentioned the Americans' God a single time. He turned to salute his dead friend.
"Thank you for helping my people in our battle for freedom. May you now find peace my friend."
The next moments were filled with speeches from the other veterans. The one in a wheelchair thanked Bobby for saving his life after he was injured by an explosion. Bobby had ran out from cover to drag the injured man to safety. He would never fight again but would live thanks to his friend's selflessness. Praise for his courage, friendliness and good nature abunded from the people who spoke of their once-lost friend. There was not a single dry eye amongst the gathered.
Henrietta and the Tristainians were moved by the comradeship between these old soldiers and they were grateful that they helped him return home so that his loved ones could bury him in his land.
A row of soldiers formed up behind the casket once the speeches had finished and the priest said his last prayer. They carried magnificent muskets made with well polished metal and wood that was a deep and rich shade of brown. The weapons gleamed proudly in the sunlight.
"Are those muskets loaded?" Agnes asked Connors. She was curious to see armed soldiers at a funeral of all things.
"They're fired near the end of the ceremony. We call it a three volley salute. A long time ago, when armies would take a break from the fighting to collect and bury their dead, muskets were fired in a volley of three to signal that the dead had been put to rest, and that side was ready to continue fighting. We continue to do it at funerals. The dead can rest, but we will fight on."
"That's very… inspiring." Agnes commented as she watched the soldiers perform a ceremonial drill with their muskets before they fired.
The Tristanians weren't quite prepared for the sound the muskets made when they fired. Even Agnes, who fired pistols and muskets regularly, was caught off guard. Their etiquette kicked in, making sure that they wouldn't embarrass themselves here. Another began to play a brass horn after the shots were fired. The music was solemn and mournful as the crowd placed their right hands over their hearts while the veterans raised their right hands to their temples to salute the fallen.
The same soldiers who'd fired assembled around the casket and began to fold the American flag that had been draped over the casket. It was done in a ritual-like way, every man moving with almost supernatural precision and each move carried great care as they folded the flag in an intricate fashion before presenting it to the fallen's sister. The soldier knelt before the old woman as he presented it to her.
"On behalf of the President of the United States, the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service," he declared as she accepted the flag, tears in her eyes. Very soon after, the casket was lowered into the ground and the crowds began to disperse. Not all though; some stayed to talk with each others. Some of them even approached the Tristanians.
"Thank you so very much for giving us our Uncle Bobby back," one of the younger man said tearfully, "You have no idea how long we've waited for this."
"Please, it was the least we could do," Henrietta answered kindly before Osmond spoke up.
"Your brother saved many lives in our world," he explained warmly, "That wild dragon he slew was a threat to many innocents and would not have stopped after me. It warms my hearts to see that he has returned to his loved ones."
The man nodded.
"Know that you'll always be welcome in our home when you'll come to the United States."
Meanwhile, Agnes had walked over to the gathered veterans. The elderly men were conversing with each other, nostalgia dripping from their voices.
"Excuse me but I wished to speak with you," she asked politely, "I have a few questions for you."
They looked at the knight in green armour with uncertainty.
"Yes... Ma'am?"
She could sense their hesitation but her curiosity and concern for the princess and the kingdom overrode the tension.
"As you are aware, Princess Henrietta has graciously hosted your nation's ambassador in her Royal Palace along with their guards. As head of her security and commander of the Musketeer Corps, I wish to learn more about your order."
Ever since the American and Canadian parties had arrived, Agnes had attempted to talk with their guards and get a glimpse of how they worked. She had hoped that she could confirm their trustworthiness and efficiency should any alliance go through.
For whatever reason, she couldn't get anything from them. M. Ambroise's guards had refused to speak to her outright. The Americans and Canadians that had come with the observation parties kept referring her to their commander, who Agnes obviously couldn't disturb while they were being hosted by Nobles.
"Order? You mean our division?"
She nodded.
"Well Sarge, looks like it's storytime for you," one of the veterans chuckled. Agnes recognized the man as being the one that did the first speech.
"I believe that introductions are needed. I'm Sergeant Jackson Hughes, 2nd Battalion, 502nd Infantry, 101st Airborne, retired. And you are?"
She bowed respectfully.
"Chevalier Agnes de Milan, Captain of Her Highness' Royal Musketeer Corps."
"Pleasure to meet yup Ma'am. "
"A sergeant, you said?" Agnes asked. She'd heard again sergeants in the Albion armies, but she had no idea what these people meant by it. The man nodded.
"I got promoted during my career in the US Army. Started out like Bobby over here."
"I see sergeant but what can you tell me about the 101st Airborne? What does 'Airborne' mean?" Agnes hadn't seen anything in this world akin to Griffons or dragon riders.
"How can I put this? Hum… We're soldiers that get dropped from the skies into battle," he said proudly, "We're called the Screaming Eagles because of that. One of the best units in the United States Army!"
"From the sky?" Agnes asked incredulously. "How? And what purpose could that possibly serve?"
"By jumping out of a perfectly good airplane!" One of the other veterans laughed, and the others joined in. Her mind raced. These men jumped out from airplanes? She was very familiar with what those were now after two visits and three flights.
"Well, we could get into some very tight places from the air. Or we could just get right behind the enemy and really ruin his day."
"Wouldn't that get you surrounded?"
"Ma'am, we're paratroopers! That's our job to be surrounded," another boasted between chuckles. Agnes had to admire such bravery even if it was a bit reckless, "Besides, we won't have to look far for the enemy!"
"I see."
That American bloodlust was showing again.
"But Ma'am, we also fight from helicopters," Hughes explained, "In fact, it was during that war that we started to do so."
"'Helicopters'?" Agnes repeated the strange word.
"Small aircraft that can fly and remain stationary in the air. They carried us into battle and helped us win with their weapons." The intrigued Agnes. One of Tristain's biggest shortcomings was its lack of air power compared to other nations. With the threat of Albion now, it was even a severe handicap.
"That answer your questions Ma'am De Milan?"
"Yes. Has the 101st fought many battles?"
She knew that certain so-called elite orders and units were little more than ceremonial guards, with only training as their experience of battle. Prince Albert III's Knights of the High Tower came to her mind.
"We've been part of the United States' vanguard against all foreign threats for over 70 years. We've fought on six continents against multiple, differents armies and against the worst scum imaginable. Most of our enemies were too scared to face us!" he explained, "All the men with me right now have fought in countless battles for our country and made through alive."
"What of the other units and orders in your army?"
"They're good but they're not us."
"What does that mean exactly?"
"Well, they'll get the job done but we'll do it better."
"I see. Thank you for your time Sergeant Hughes."
Agnes couldn't help but wonder what kind of men would join such a reckless unit. She was about to leave the veterans but a question suddenly nagged her.
"Excuse me Sergeant Hughes, but I have one last question?"
"Hmm yes?"
She cleared her throat. It was something that could be quite delicate to say the least.
"Are these funerals common for ordinary soldiers? Even from non-elite units?"
"Yes… hum but why do you ask Ma'am?"
Agnes could sense no hesitation in the old man's voice. If this were a sham, she would have noticed it in his voice. The only surprise was in his question.
"Well, such funerals in Halkeginia are only reserved for the nobility, mainly the old families," she explained matter of factly.
"Right, funerals like these are more of a modern thing," the veteran replied, "There weren't common until the last century or so, if I remember correctly."
Agnes didn't know what to say so she bid them farewell, happy that she had gotten some insight into the minds of the American soldiers. It left a deep impression on her to have taken part in such a ceremony. While her status as Chevalier of an elite unit guaranteed her at least a dignified burial on the battlefield, it didn't compare to the elaborate ceremony she had witnessed here.
Meanwhile, Henrietta and Osmond were conversing with Trump and were guarded by his guards.
"I must say that it is an elaborate ceremony," Henrietta said as she looked at the crowd, "To see such effort for a single man."
"Well your Highness, that is how Americans commemorates its fallen servicemen for their service to America."
"Such compassion… is unheard of in Halkeginia," she said simply.
"I see but perhaps you could learn a lesson or two from today," Trump proposed, "Traditions have to start somewhere your Highness."
Henrietta nodded while Osmond spoke up.
"Thank you M. Trump for allowing us to be here," the elderly scholar said, "I'll repeat myself once again but I'm happy to see that M. Jackson got to be buried in his home and that I finally have a name for my savior."
"The pleasure is mine M. Osmond though I am very happy that her Highness and you have allowed us to retrieve Private Jackson's body." Trump said, "If anything, it shows that there's potential for friendship between our countries."
"Really?!" Henrietta almost shouted.
"Yes your Highness, your presence here has already been reported by our media. Generally, this is something that the average American likes to see."
"Thank you M. Trump."
As she entered the Royal Palace of Tristania, Henrietta couldn't help but muse over the ceremony. Though sad and solemn, it had been a pleasant break from her court's intrigues. The young princess knew that she had many trials ahead of her…
Author's endnote: This chapter is dedicated to the brave men and women who have served or are currently serving in the armed forces of Canada and the United States as well as the rest of the Free World. May we never forget your sacrifices for our nations.
This chapter is a time skip, with the next one starting exactly when Saito, Louise and Henrietta return to Tristain.
