I'll be real with you all. This chapter was hard to write. Let's rip this bandage off and be done with it.


. . .

Finally, home again, home again at G&R Fabrication. Naota slumped exhausted on the tank's turret and sat on the engine deck. Johnny backed them into the shop and after an idling cooldown, shut down the engine. Outside the grounds were filled with men from Solomon's who had been unable to retreat to their own base and now milled about. The hospital was at overcapacity, with low priority wounded lying on the grass in rows. ORGASMATRON's crew disembarked and stretched cramped limbs, having been in their vehicle non-stop since lunchtime. They wasted no time resting, but instead began pulling tools from around the shop to work on their tank. Naota's offer of help was gladly accepted. He began stripping off his now excessive combat gear. Carrier halfway over his head, someone ran into the shop asking for him.

"Here, over here!" He got the vest and all its contents, especially the armor plates, off and felt both his spine decompress and his body feel a million pounds lighter. "What's up?"

"Follow me, quickly!" One of the medical team, up to his shoulders in blood and all down his front, gestured in near panic. "You've gotta come, now; right now!"

"Go on, go!" Johnny waved him off. "We'll be fine." Naota followed the medic through the field of wounded and into the sprawling hospital tents and buildings; all slowly becoming one giant complex. He asked several times what he was doing there but the medic just pulled him along faster. They rounded a corner to a quiet ward. No operating tables, groaning or crying out wounded here. A sudden weight settled on him, heavier than any armor plate. This was wrong, very wrong, something terrible was waiting for him at the last cot in the row. Why would he be brought into the hospital except for…no that couldn't be, no, this wasn't happening…

"So good to see you." Kamon stepped out from the curtains obscuring the last bed. He wrapped Naota in a breath-squeezing hug and looked him over. "It looks like you're all in one piece, are you okay otherwise?"

"As okay as can be; considering. You look the same; in one piece. What's going on?" Kamon answered him in a lowered voice.

"Gramps, he uh, he's had a severe heart attack. I'll let him explain if he can, but he's very weak right now. Doctor Heyward, Rita, and Canti, they've all done the best they can, but say he probably doesn't have much time left. The strain he put on himself was too much for him to recover from, so… So, here we are. Are you ready?" Natoa nodded he was, and both stepped around the curtain.

"There you are, what kept'cha?" Shigekuni's voice came out as a strained, hoarse whisper.

"I had some errands to run." They sat at Shigekuni's side. "Went down to Osceola Mills, up to the Uni-Mart, stopped in at the Y, went on a ride through town with some friends… you know how it goes."

"Look at you, out and about, and having adventures. Whatever happened to that quiet, serious boy I used to know? He must have grown up."

"He has, just not in the way I thought. What about you, how'd you end up here? I don't see any hot nurses for you to ogle."

"My ambitions outran my abilities." Shigekuni sighed heavily and coughed with a body wracking rasp. "A man needs to remember his limitations. Ah, let's see… I was sitting with the guys, following the fight on the radio…"

. . .

We started by taking off the remaining sandbags and dumping those in buckets and a wood wagon; still managing to get sand all over the shop floor. Leaving tomorrow's problems to tomorrow us. Then the brackets for the sandbags came off, and once that was done, checking of the hull and turret integrity started. Cracks, chips, splinters, any sign that the armor was weakened and would need patching over and the spall liner inside replaced. That done to satisfaction, we split up and one group looked over the electronics, optics, countermeasures and so forth. The other focused on mechanics: tracks, their links and tension, the bogies and suspension, powerpack, transmission and other some such for leaks, breaks, anything that had rattled or been shaken loose… all of this was fitting to take several hours. Before I could get too invested, Kitsurubami pulled me aside.

"Yes, Lieutenant, I do have a moment…" I wondered what in the worlds this was about. "What's on your mind?"

She did not waste time. "Sergeant Carson, you need to find that Mister Bragg and apologize to him; and as soon, and as publicly, as possible."

"I need to do what now?" There was not time for this. We had to do our maintenance, fix anything broken fast as possible, debrief and submit our reports for the day, get versed on what was to be done next, resupply, rearm and refuel, and this said nothing about a shower, shit, shave, and shovel food into our mouths. Having said all this, she shook her head. "No? What do you mean no; we've got all this to do yet."

"It's about priorities, and the priorities of those under you always come before your own." Her entire demeanor had changed from the few days ago when I had first met her. Her eyes were sharp, piercing and inescapable, posture resilient, and voice clipped, precise and iron in her words. Anyone assuming she was a mere desk jockey by default of her being in the I.I.B. would have to be dumb, deaf, blind, and willfully stupid.

"I understand, ma'am, but this needs doing now rather…"

"No, Sergeant, you do not understand." She nodded out the shop door at the guys from Solomon's that had wound up here with us instead of making it back to their mine. "If I followed Captain Carson's summarization correctly, these men are not professionals. Some of them may have been soldiers, sailors, before in previous occupations but until a few months ago, they were normal people. Miners, welders, truckers, pipefitters, surveyors, linesmen, blasting techs, machine operators. We, that meaning especially you, brought them into this war, convinced them to upset their entire lives by putting down shovels and picking up rifles. And today…"

"Ma'am, respectfully, I understand that but…"

"If you are interrupting me, you do not."

I bit my tongue, felt the skin pop and tasted blood; but held it. "My apologies. Please continue." She must have done some tongue biting of her own and took a hard nose sigh before going on.

"And today, you left a squad of them behind." I must have made a face because she added: "It does not matter if there was nothing you could do. I fully agree that we did not have time nor equipment; nor forehand knowledge that we would have to deal with trapped people. But that does, not, matter. You saw how Bragg reacted. You are the professional. You are one of the people they are trusting to lead them. And that means you must go, find Bragg and his men, apologize and accept responsibility for their lost squad, and make amends as best you can."

"Accept responsibility for Bragg not telling me ahead of time… that we should have brought a backhoe, bulldozer, shovels, prybars, and a diamond blade saw along with us, because of part of the school caved in; something far beyond any of our ability to control?"

"Yes. I think you have it now." She didn't smile. I knew she wasn't kidding with this, but that visual cue of utter seriousness made the gears in my skull finally start turning. "Sergeant, I have been doing this just a few years longer than you and have seen a thing or two. I have run the gamut of fighting with and against militia units. Do you know what is one of the fastest ways to utterly cripple a unit of citizen-soldiers?"

I had several ideas, but probably none were what she was thinking. "…No."

"Destroy their trust in their leadership. Especially their non-commissioned officers. If they cannot trust that those in charge, again especially those in command of squads and fireteams who they must operate on a more personal level by necessity, then the binding of the entire organization falls apart. At best, your men will desert, disappear while on night watch or go on patrol and never come back. At worst, they will turn on you and you will have either a mutiny or they will abandon you to the mercy of your enemy. Does that sound at all appealing, Sergeant?"

"No, ma'am."

"You are starting to understand. Now go find Bragg. The tank is not going anywhere, and I can turn a wrench as well as the next best amateur mechanic; or at least I won't do too much damage."

"Aye, ma'am." I snapped to, saluted. She did the same. I turned, heart rising to an uncomfortable lump in my throat, and went to get this over with.

"Sergeant, one last thing."

"Yes?"

"It will not be easy. But it will be worth it." Despite the crowd of mixed and ragtag units, Bragg wasn't hard to find. Quite the opposite. In fact, he was looking for me.

"CARSON!" Oh Christ, here we go. I heard the yell from behind me and turned; bracing for anything coming my way. It still wasn't enough for the drop punch, the follow-up tackle, or the stream of cursing as we went to ground. Down on my back, Bragg grabbed the straps of my vest and started slamming me up and down into the dirt. "You left them there to die you fucking heartless bastard!"

"Get him off me." Obviously, a crowd was forming.

"I'd promised them I'd get to them, and now they're all dead because of you! We could have gotten them out! You're just a goddamn coward!"

"Get him off me!"

"Is that all we are to you Carson, are we just fucking disposable?!"

"Get him off me!"

"Those were good men! You left them behind without a fucking thought, like they were nothing! Is this a sick game for you people?!"

"Get him off me or he's getting shot!" I can only take so many times having my head whacked against the gravel. There's a lot I will put up with, but I was starting to feel a concussion coming on. Several pairs of hands decided I'd had enough and pulled Bragg off me. Finally separated, I stood up and we squared off. Before me was one of the hardest and ugliest things to witness: a strong man with a heart broken and in deep sorrow. I had no idea what to say to a man who looked so conflicted he might fly apart; grieving, furious, anguished, and frustrated to no end all at once. "Bragg… Mister Bragg, I…"

"Oh, don't 'Mister Bragg' me! What are you going to…?" Bragg's face twisted in both loss and rage but stopped as someone broke into the circle.

"Gentlemen! What is this?!" Tommy stepped forward after pushing through the crowd. "Staff Sergeant, Mister Bragg, what is happening here?"

"…Mister Bragg was voicing his, disappointment and frustration, with my leadership involving those under his command; several of who I had made myself responsible for." This was not Bragg's fault and there was no point trying to, not even throw under, or even nudge near the bus anyone instead of myself.

"Is Staff Sergeant Carson being truthful, Mister Bragg?"

Bragg thought it over, having had a moment to take some steadying breaths. "…He is. That's not wrong."

Tommy looked back to me. Completely stone faced, no favors given for family relations. "Elaborate, Sergeant."

"Mister Bragg's platoon was trapped and surrounded at the elementary school and had put out a call for assistance. I responded with my tank, acquired several gun trucks to assist, and promised our help. Given the suddenness of the mission and urgency of Bragg's position, I decided after conferring with my escorts there was inadequate time to properly plan a rescue or inquire further information. We began a breakthrough of the enemy line and informed Bragg we would be on site for three minutes; no longer. Anyone that was not out of the building in three minutes would be on their own, lest everyone involved, and all our equipment be cutoff and surrounded. Upon arrival, Bragg informed me a fireteam was trapped in a section of the school that had collapsed. I had not brought any equipment to dig out trapped people, nor had I asked if it would be needed; assuming Bragg and his people were ready to go. As such, Bragg rightfully protested. I overruled him and I made the decision we were to leave without the seven men; getting thirty men out for sure. Those seven men, unknown if they were still alive at the time of my leaving, have been left to the mercy of our enemy. And…" Talking all this out and now away from the heat of the moment, my mind started one of its favorite habits: torturing me. Maybe we could have gotten that fireteam out? Maybe there had been time? They said 'caved in' but that could mean anything; the drop ceiling and some light panels fell, a breaching grenade blew out a wall, or something similarly benign. Panic and combat makes people exaggerate, after all… Oh…what had I done?

"And?" Tommy pressed me, seeing I had hesitated. I steeled myself, resisting the rising ball of guilt in my stomach, and forced myself to look Bragg in the eyes.

"And I am fully responsible for their deaths, or short of that any harm done to them. I made a promise to get everyone out, and Mister Bragg, I failed. You did the best you could, and I let you down. I will not pretend there is anything I can say or do that will make up for this, except for begging your understanding and saying I am truly sorry. You don't have to forget, forgive, or ever let this go if that will help lighten the loss you're feeling."

"I, I just…I don't know what to…" Bragg dabbed at his eyes and tried to hide his face by rubbing it with his hands. In front of everyone he was doing his best to hold himself together. "Two of them were groomsmen in my wedding, and now they're gone, just, just like…"

"Greene and Sonnier, right?"

"Right…and they're gone, or having done, only God knows what to them, and there's nothing I can do; to make it stop, to have them back. And I don't know how to… how to tell their families what happened to them, and why their husband's and father's graves are going to be empty…" A sneeze of the smallest and meekest church mouse could have broken the fragile silence that followed. All the air felt sucked away from the area and no one dared even breathe. I could not leave things as they were, even though it felt like time had stopped. We had to carry on, someway; somehow. I couldn't stop my hands from shaking so everyone saw the tremors as I stepped forward anyway and placed them on Bragg's shoulders. Finding my voice, I told him what I felt was the truth.

"You will tell them the reasons we asked you to join and follow us. Those reasons are why they died fighting, and what they loved: their family, their homes, culture and way of life, their planet, and the continued existence of the Human Race. And, without men like them all of that is as good as lost."

"You don't really believe all that, do you?"

"I believe it all with every beat of my heart, breath in my lungs, and fiber of my being. I would not be here otherwise." Unable to keep himself locked in any longer, Bragg fell against me and screamed out his anguish for all to hear. I held him up and would for as long as he needed. The crowd parted again, and Solomon entered the circle. Bragg stood tall again, faced with his boss. He started to explain but Solomon waved his hand.

"I heard everything but did not want to interfere." He must have been hanging back, waiting to see how things fell out. "Bragg, I have lost to Mother Earth a total of twenty-eight men over my lifetime career. And I remember all their names, all their stories. The day they were hired, the names of their families, how they carried themselves doing their duties, the day they were taken from us, and the circumstances of those twenty-eight tragedies. Today I don't know how many more I will add to this tally but will do my part to remember them all. I cannot say that time will make your loss any less severe, or that you will somehow forget this, and you will stop second guessing your every decision today. I have tried and found only suffering."

"Then what can I do?"

"Do as I. Remember them and tell their story. If the memory of them survives, if tales of their deeds are still spoken, they will live on in our words and our hearts. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, I…I do." Solomon turned to me, dark soul-searching eyes.

"Young Mister Carson, you still have much learning and growing ahead of you. As does everyone for all years of their life, if they are honest with themselves. But today you can take pride for having admitted your faults and failures before your peers, for all to hear. That is a difficult task for any man, and some never manage it." The hurt ebbed away just a bit, enough so that I felt vaguely human again. "But if there is one thing I know with certainty in events such as these, it is that it never bodes well to linger on them. Not while there are tasks to be done, while there are others depending on us, while we still breathe life ourselves. So, let us pray for those we already miss so much." Hats and helmets were removed, heads bowed, and solemn reverence snuffed out all sound. Solomon then spoke as if to an old friend.

"O God, we pray for the safe passage of those souls departing us; as always too soon. Please see to caring for Misters Greene, Sonnier, Sutton, Watkins, Vaughn, Kelley, and Banks, so that they do not worry for us and the others they leave behind. They have done their parts above and beyond what was asked of them and earned their place in your great hall. We ask as humble, mere flawed Men the strength to carry their memory, the wisdom to learn from their example, and the joy from cultivating their legacy. To these tasks we pledge our sacred honor, and your blessing we seek. Amen."

"Amen."

. . .

Shigekuni was fading. Kamon and Naota both knew it, so they stayed at his bedside. They all told each other about their day, and what they had done. Naota and his duel with Canti and saving Shifty. Shigekuni and his lifting, then firing the anti-tank gun and unknowingly saving the base. Kamon first running ammunition, then driving an ambulance, then driving supplies down to reinforce fight on the Yamaha Trail, recalled to defend the airfield, and then volunteering at the hospital. For the trio, it was all in a day's work.

"This wasn't what I had in mind, dying in a field hospital." Shigekuni must have known he was nearing his end. "Once upon a time, I thought I would; but that was a lifetime ago."

"What did you have in mind for dying?" Kamon asked. "I think I have a guess."

"Go ahead and guess."

"A belly full of sake, and a young woman with her mouth full of you."

"You really are my son; you know me so well." Shigekuni laughed and gave himself a small coughing fit. Recovering, he went on. "But I think this will do. Boys, my son, my grandson. I realize and regret it, that I never told you even half as much as I should have, that I am proud of you both. Going off to war, then coming home and running the bakery, I never lived the dream life I'd wanted: famous baseball player. Being here and retired with time to think, talking with the V.F.W. guys, and maybe it's this mountain air, but I've realized I tried to push my own dreams off onto you. With Tasuku I got lucky, with you two I'm blessed that we only disagreed and never fell apart. Kamon, you did your best in raising two outstanding sons by yourself and certainly no favors from me. And before this whole nonsense kicked off, seeing you finally get that proper editor position you'd always wanted; I think that's the happiest, and at your best, I have ever seen you."

"I had a feeling you would come around to see things my way." Kamon said. "I'm sure I'll have years' worth of material to work with from this fight, plenty to keep busy and making a name for myself."

"As you should." Shigekuni took a break to gather his energy again. Talking was getting difficult. "I must say, Naota, you remind me a little of myself at roughly your age."

"How's that?"

"Terrible and amazing events are happening to and all around you, pretty much all of them you wanted nothing to do with, and it feels like you have no control over anything, it feels like the world is ending, and at the end of the day you wanted was to get laid and go home. Sound familiar?"

"Rings a bell. How did you manage to get through it all?"

"Dumb luck, mostly. I'm not sure I'm sold on this N.O. or whatever, but there might be something there. I realized there were only so many things I control in life, and the rest was beyond me, like getting carried down a fast river; or a flow of the N.O. nonsense. Just like you probably feel, swept away in a river. But that doesn't mean you to hit every tree and rock in the river on the way down, just let bad things happen to you. You may not be able to get out of the water, or away from this N.O. in your head, but you have a say on where in the river you are. Make sense, or am I going crazy at the end?"

"No, it makes sense. It has been a struggle, learning that and what I can and cannot change."

"You will find your own understanding, in due time. Just like you will with your N.O., and you have already with your guitars. I will be honest, I have never, what's the word, got these American electric guitars. I've always been more of a shamisen guy. But I have a feeling you and that guitar of yours are going to do great things; and that's not me stroking your ego. I really do mean it."

"I will be sure to make that prediction come true. Is there anything you want us to pass onto Tasuku; or anyone else?"

"Yes. First tell Tasuku I am proud and happy for him, that the best anyone can hope for their progeny is that they all do what they love best and also find a way make a living at it. In that respect, he has succeeded beyond anyone's expectations. Do ask him though, from me, that he considers returning to Japan. It doesn't have to be permanent I suppose, or even to his hometown if it's too backwater for him now. But at least come back once in a while and work with the kids there, train up the next generation in his image; if he really wants to make his name that'll be how."

"I will get in touch with him." Naota promised. "Anyone else?"

"If you should get in contact with Mamimi Samejima, tell her I'm sorry for holding such a grudge against her. I thought she was only using Tasuku as a crutch for her own problems at home, and she would be a drag on him. You know, distract him from baseball and pull him down to her level. What I really should have done was see if I could have helped at all instead of trying to push her away from Tasuku. What happened with her parents wasn't her fault, after all. I suspect all she would have wanted out of me was a chance to prove herself, and I wouldn't even give her that. Offer her a part time job or something. Maybe she would have been really good at making bread? Now I'll never know, karma for only seeing the possible worst in her, I suppose. I wouldn't...huuack-hack-whuah-hack... fuck me... huuuuhhh...just secon'..."

"Take your time. Don't feel like you have to push yourself."

"Uhhggg... damn, this sucks. Anyway, I wouldn't expect her to forgive me. But at least let her know that I truly am sorry, and hope that whatever she's doing, she's happy."

"It has been four years." Kamon cautioned. "But if she is still working as a photographer, I will find her. Anyone else?"

"Yeah...Naota, if you ever see that Haruko again..."

"You're not telling me to forgive her and find peace and love between us...are you?"

"Oh, no! No, no-no-no-no-no...no, she's a lunatic. That bitch is crazy and needs to go down. Just, if you do happen to run into her, first smack her ass once for me. Then tell her to grow up. Nothing lasts forever, no one lives forever; not even weird, space pirate, phoenix... things. What she's after is something she'll never get, and the sooner she wises up to that, the better off she'll be."

"Well Gramps, that is the only thing I cannot promise to, but I will do my best." Naota compromised.

"Fine by me." Shigekuni's voice was faltering now and his breathing had slowed by half. He suddenly looked exhausted and looked like he was ready for a nap on the back porch. "One last, thing... for both of you."

"We're here." They leant in close to hear.

"I know... that there are a thousand... things that makes life... right now look bad; you're short... on everything... except enemies. Half my... waking hours on Rabul... was the same way. I was certain... I was never making... it off that island... alive. My only options... appeared to be dying... in disgrace, just walking... onto... the beach... and waiting... for someone to... shoot me. Or, I could... die fighting... fighting so hard... they would... have... to... bomb the island... into an atoll... to get rid... of me. And that's... that's what... you have to... do... if you're... going to make... good... on all these...prom... promises... you've made... to... me. I've... seen the... same... crazed dog... fight in... you... as I... had once. You... have to... get... get... that crazed... dog... fight out... and use... it. Other... wise... you've given... up... and already... lost. That's... that's just... the... way... it... is. If noth... ing... else... at all... promise me, swear... to... me... that!" Shigekuni gathered all his energy for one last bust. Kamon and Naota each took a hand and held tight.

"I will, I swear it!" Both affirmed, drawing out a smile of a man at peace.

"Then... you... can... not... fail... Even... if... you... die... now... you... have... ready... won."

. . .

By his final return to Port Matilda for a cleaned and stitched wound, a field shower from what looked like a garden hose hung on a frame, then a hot and a cot, Patrolman Hynen's head felt like it was being split with a railroad spike; straight through his brain. And a quick glance around showed he wasn't the only one. Regular cops, deputies, troopers and mercenaries alike shuffled along in grumbling, foul moods like a camp of bad-tempered and heavily armed zombies. Next door was the relocated facility and staff of Geisinger Hospital, and the horrific racket their patients were making didn't help. In his own agony Hynen laid on a cot while trucks and vehicles continued running, people came and went at all hours, the spotlights outside the squad sized tent never dimmed, and the wounded next door never stopped screaming. All the while his body had collapsed with exhaustion, but his mind's flywheel had spun up; making him dead tired and incapable of moving but denied a minute of desperately needed sleep.

While getting his leg stitched closed, he had been walked past the burn ward. There lay dying, with no means to save or comfort them, the charred and burnt remains of what his pattern recognition assured him were Humans. From head to toe they were charred crumbling black and seared through, flesh sloughing off in patches. All hair was singed off, uniforms and equipment fused into skin, eyes blinded, every point of contact unstoppable agony. This wing of the ward he had the misfortune to glimpse was full of a platoon that had been caught in a flame fougasse trap. Hundreds of gallons worth of sticky solution had been doused on their team when the point man had caught his foot on a trip wire. A split second later the entire mess ignited. If it could be called lucky, their marching route was along a river and these survivors were the ones that had made it to the water; and then not drowned once their flames were out. So now they suffered, keeping Patrolman Hynen awake in a sweating, chills, and daydreamt nightmares while they desperately waited to finally die.

At some point he had passed out. Reveille played on a loudspeaker on the other side of the base, but it might as well have been astride his ears. Everything hurt a magnitude of ten worse now, especially his head. His throat was full of cotton balls, mouth sandpaper, and tongue felt dead between his teeth, all for want and lack of water. Every movement hurt, every bone and joint ached, and his right leg was stiff as a board. Closer to half dead than when he had made it back the night before, he and others all staggered into morning formation; the ones that could move anyway. His platoon was missing half its number; dead, wounded, borrowed by another unit and still in the field, or simply unable to get out of their tents. Unsure what to do with such a shot-up unit and having no immediate orders, Sergeant Simmons bade them to wait while he found someone with some clue as to what was going on. Meanwhile they all sat in the grass next to the basketball court. Hynen himself had nearly fallen asleep properly while basking in the morning sun, when he was rudely awoken again by a commotion punctuated by hoarse shouting.

"Where is he?! WHERE?!" Captain Chojnacki, appearing unwashed, unshaven and still in his field uniform, stormed by with his one eye roving and wild. The other, shot blind by Cole Kauffman, was no longer bandaged but under a more dignified black eyepatch. Several other officers, lieutenants and aides, followed trying to calm him down. "Where is that sonovabitch?! He's got to answer for what he's done!"

"Captain, please; not in front of everyone like this!"

"Sir, you can't raise a hand against him!"

"AND WHY NOT?!" As the man turned, Hynen saw Chojnacki had his sidearm drawn.

"Because… because, you-know-who will have all our heads if you do!"

"Then damn them bo…" Chojnacki trailed off as a scruffy, morning cigarette smoking, Caleb Kauffman rounded the corner. "THERE YOU ARE."

"I duh-who-dah-what?" Caleb didn't seem fully awake either and wondered why he was on the receiving of such screaming at this preposterously early hour. "Ohhh, Captain Chojnacki, good morn-HOLY SHIT!" Before his entourage could react, Chojnacki drew up his H&K USP-45 and leveled it on Caleb. In a burst of common sense, Caleb popped back around the corner from whence he'd come and ran as fast as he could. Chojnacki made to pursue but was finally gang-tackled by his lieutenants. His roars to be released were not obeyed until he'd lost his energy to continue struggling. By now other heads of branches had heard and arrived. First was Sheriff Wilson.

"Captain, what is the meaning of this?!" He gestured for Chojnacki to be allowed to stand. "I'm trying to get breakfast and I hear you're stalking around camp with your gun out like a madman; looking for Caleb Kauffman? What gives?"

"What gives?! Look around!" In his still not-quite-with-it state, Patrolman Hynen followed the instruction too and swung his head left and right. "What do they all look like?! They look like meth junkies, staggering around like they're coming down off a weeklong bender. This is Kauffman's doing; I know it."

"Listen, Captain, we all had a long day yesterday…" Chief Strong desperately glanced side to side. He and the rest of the chiefs wanted this scene Chojnacki was making over with before people took notice. "You're just tired, need some rest, a shower and shave will do you right. Come, come on and we'll talk about this…"

"Oh, I suppose we will. Let's have a talk right now…" Chojnacki grabbed Strong's suspenders and jerked him close to make sure he couldn't look away. Hynen strained to hear but the wind was right to catch Chojnacki's words. "You might think of your men as no better than cannon fodder, but I actually give a good goddamn about them." He let go of Strong and addressed the rest of the chiefs. "I don't know what was in those pills yesterday, but it was not worth…this. We will be having no more of this medical flunky nonsense. Not one more man gets issued a single pill. Our trial of being Caleb's guinea pigs ends now. And if I catch any, any of you signing off on further issuance of pills, I will have you court martialed for sabotage, and aiding and abetting the enemy. Does anyone find this confusing?"

"N-no, Captain…" Chief Warburg mustered his nerve. "But…shouldn't we, you know…"

"But what? No, I don't know. Tell me Warburg. Speak up, come on now; use your big boy words."

"Shouldn't we run this by The Man first?"

"I will personally go to Roman's today and make our position on the matter clear. The rest of you have more important things to do. Take care of your wounded, rearm and resupply the rest, and lock down tight all ground we have gained. Those are your priorities first and last. Understand?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then get to it! Dismissed, all of you; get out of my sight!"

'That's interesting…and explains so much.' Hynen thought as the little group scattered to the winds. Chojnacki composed himself, holstered his pistol, and stormed off; entourage in tow. Hynen reached into his left shirt pocket and pressed the button to stop his phone recording. He probably wasn't close enough to pick up most of the audio, but someone who could read lips, or something might be able to figure out the rest. What he was going to with this footage he wasn't sure. Something would present itself, an opportunity or inspiration of sorts. For now, he would go along to get along, and stay away from the wrong end of a firing squad. Sergeant Simmons was back. Terrific, wonderful, beautiful news. They were going to breakfast at the D.R.S. run mess hall. Powdered scrambled eggs, thick slab cut bacon, biscuits and sausage gravy, freeze-dried tomatoes, onions and bell peppers, home fried potatoes, and choice of powdered milk or coffee. At least this day wouldn't be all bad. Still plenty time for it to get a whole lot worse… but in the meantime there was hot breakfast; and that could make all the difference.

. . .


All is not well in just about all the kingdoms. The police may have technically won the battle, having taken both towns, split the defenders, and pinned a great number of them on top of a mountain. But at what cost did they win? Was drugging up your fighting men worth it? For the police officer's sake, they'd best hope that math shakes out in their favor; or they'll have bigger problems than I.P.A. sniper fire. As I said at the top, this was hard to write. Big battle scenes, lovey-dovey stuff, or geeking out over lore is relatively easy. Writing death of characters, and dealing with death of friends and family, is harder; both as a writer and a person. This one took a week to do. Hopefully I did it justice.