Winter's next topic was General Lagune.
She stared at the first row, where the most senior officers of Atlas were exchanging comments on her exposition. Uncle James seems awfully pleased.
-"Before I continue my exposition on the mistakes of a long-dead general, could I impose on the assembled senior officers to share an event when they were caught flat-footed by something illogical? Irrational? Crazy?"
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The leftmost general murmured something and the bald gentleman sitting by her side facepalmed. He left a long-suffering sigh and raised his hand.
.
Winter recognized the Chief of Staff and ceded the podium.
He stood behind the microphone and addressed General Ironwood.
-"88' War games."
.
The composed and stern figure she knew, took his face in his hands and groaned.
The Chief of Staff addressed the auditorium and many that were relaxed, straightened in their seats.
-"In continuation with the highest traditions of the military since the dawn of time, I will address the esteemed audience with the same terms. I could assure you if Doctor Polendina were to create a time machine, and we traveled back in time when our ancestors lived in caves. Without an ounce of doubt, there would be the primeval fighters hunched over a fire, sharing tactics and hard earnt wisdom."
.
He paused and surveyed the audience, the auditorium was enraptured.
He eyed each and every one of us, directly in the eye. That was the same look a Mistralian Primus Pilus would have given to a Legionnare. The Legionnare would have recognized it. And obeyed.
.
Father, you were furious when I turned down my spot as heir. There is so much that I wouldn't have the opportunity to experience in our ivory tower.
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-"And one of them would say get this glint in the eye and say No shit, there I was…"
And like that the air changed. Where the previous example of military command exuded control, this one radiated leadership. But not the untouchable one, but one of the shared hardships. The crucible that forges ties between us.
-"Wargames. The stuff of nightmares for quartermasters. The slacker's dream or bane, all depends on your designated leader. When the Winter War Games rolled about, some smartass was gloating."
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Uncle J looks ready to burst into giggles.
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-"9 wins in a row. He was unpredictable, his tactics were lightning-fast and your company guidon one moment was there and the next you heard the Inspector ringing the bell. A given instant your leader was speaking to you and the next, a pop was heard and his uniform was painted to hell and back. I was the tenth opponent and the specifics of my doom were being bet upon. Ingenuity has never been my forte."
.
That self-deprecating humor earned some grins.
.
-"He raided our camp non-stop, then let us rest to raid us again. We were too disorganized to mount a counter-offensive. In a moment of utter exhaustion for sleep deprivation, I took a nap in the bed of a truck. Placed a tarp and some camo nets over to stave off the biting cold. One second I was catching some Zs and the next the truck was moving.
I heard two voices talking about another flawless raid.
The icy hand of despair gripped my heart.
When the truck stopped moving, I head a myriad of voices belonging to the Opposing Force. I reached for my paintball sidearm. Seven pellets. Had to make it count. At least I would go down fighting."
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James Ironwood doubled over clutching his ribs and tears slipped past.
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The Chief of Staff continued.
-"I chambered one paint pellet and waited for them to pull out the tarp.
I could hear back clappings.
Any moment now.
A bottle of some beverage going Pop.
Any moment.
.
.
And I stood still waiting for them to remove the cover and it never came.
When the fear gave way to incredulity, I took a peek from cover. And I saw it.
102th guidon.
The cloth standing proud among the snow.
And next to it.
The Opposing Force command post."
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General Ironwood added his two cents.
-"I was with the radio in my command post, passing my congratulations on another successful raid. Lighting a match for a smoke, when some son of a gun let open the tent. I was about to reprimand the soldier when I saw the orange tipped business end of a paintball pistol."
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The Chief continued.
-"I commandeered the radio and transmitted: Lord Murphy was displeased with your hubris and sent me to smite thee."