Tales from the Academy

Chapter 24

"For conspicuous service during a planetary emergency, the Second Battalion of Cadets, Imperial Service Academy is hereby awarded the Imperial Unit Citation." Anny watched as the Adjutant stepped back and the Battalion Color Sergeant dipped the standard so that Emperor Gregor could attach a long red, blue, and gold ribbon to the flag pole just below the finial.

She'd been wrong: there would be honors and medals for the battle that had been fought and won in the mountains. When the Emperor had declared the situation a planetary emergency that had brought in a whole new set of rules. She'd been told that eventually they'd all get a small ribbon they could wear on their tunics, but they hadn't arrived yet.

The award was quite an honor. It had only happened a few other times in the history of the Academy. The last had been forty years ago during the Vordarian Pretendership when the cadets had taken up arms to support the Regent.

She stood in front of her company on the huge Academy parade ground. All four battalions of the Regiment of Cadets were there. Each would be given this same award. The seniors in 1st battalion had already gotten theirs, now it was 2nd Battalion's turn. The Emperor finished and stepped back. The Color Sergeant brought up the flag and the order rang down the line: "Battalion! Present—Arms!" Six hundred white-gloved pairs of hands brought up their bayonet-tipped rifles with a slap and a crack. Anny and the other officers saluted with their swords and the Emperor saluted with his hand. They held it for a moment and then were ordered back to shoulder arms. The Emperor and his party—which included a very short man in brown and silver—turned and went down the line toward 3rd Battalion. The Color Sergeant returned to the ranks and the Color Company marched backward to take its place back in the line. It was smartly done.

A part of Anny still rankled that C Company wasn't the Color Company anymore, but it was a very small part now. She had been right about one thing: there was a new spirit at the Academy. In the month since they'd returned it had been evident that the old feelings, that the other companies and the other battalions were rivals and competitors, had been replaced by a feeling of solidarity and comradeship. Instead of trading snubs they were trading stories. Instead of bullying plebes they were comparing battle scars. Some said it wouldn't last, but Anny wasn't so sure. To her it seemed that the fiery crucible of the Dendarii Mountains had done something to all of them. It had boiled away the lighter, volatile elements, burned off the impurities. The metal that remained was solid and strong. The petty things that had concerned them before seemed trivial now.

There had been some legendary classes at the Academy, classes who had produced admirals and generals and heroes out of all proportion to their numbers. Anny suspected that these four classes might produce some legends of their own.

The Emperor was repeating the ceremony with 3rd battalion now. There was already a ribbon on their flag—a black one. Cadet Hod Gatchell was by no means the first cadet to die in the line of duty while at the Academy, but he was the first in a while, the first while Anny had been here. The Academy had a lot of traditions, but the oldest was that it always took care of its own. Always. Gatchell had been posthumously commissioned an ensign, and his name was now inscribed on the marble wall of Memorial Hall. A memorial offering had been burned last week in the ancient bronze bowl that rested there.

Anny thoroughly approved, but she had to wonder what the other members of his company were feeling. What was the company commander feeling? She glanced back at her own company. Jer, Patric, Alby, all the rest. She'd sent them into the jaws of the monster and only by the Grace of God had she gotten them all back again. The fact that they'd volunteered to go didn't make it one bit easier. It came with the job description, she supposed, but someday, someday she might have to order men into a situation where it wasn't just a possibility that they'd be killed, but a certainty. What will you do then, girl? What will you do then?

She banished those gloomy thoughts as the Emperor moved down to the 4th Battalion. Awarding all four battalions individually had created a bit of a problem: 4th Battalion didn't have its colors yet. Didn't even have cadet officers or NCOs yet. Hell, they didn't even have their dress grays. From what Anny had heard, there had been a lot of head-scratching among the Academy staff and then a mad scramble to get ready for this ceremony. So, as a result, the battalion of plebes were getting their colors over six months ahead of schedule. The Emperor was handing them over right now. That hadn't ever happened before as far as Anny knew. She doubted that any class had ever presented themselves to an emperor wearing black fatigues, either. There had been no time to procure nine hundred sets of dress uniforms.

Well, there were a few other odd things about the ceremony, too. Six of them to be exact. 'Her girls' were back with their own companies which was only right and proper. While it had been a privilege and a blessing to have them during the crisis, it just wasn't right to strip them away from their comrades. They'd proved themselves to C Company—a dozen times over—but they needed to be given that same chance with their own companies. One of the first things Anny had done after getting out of the Infirmary was to collect Sergeant Major Szytko and pay a little visit to the girls' company commanders, their battalion commander—and the Commandant. She'd told them, told all of them, politely but firmly that it would not be necessary to do that again. They'd blushed, mumbled some incoherent replies, and then agreed.

Anny craned her neck to try and see down to 4th Battalion. As she did so she felt a tug and pinch on her neck and back. The synthetic skin they'd sprayed over her burns was being absorbed into her regrowing flesh, but the process wasn't quite complete. Another month or so the doctors said. They'd promised her there wouldn't be any scars. The hair on the back of her head was starting to grow back, too. The treatments hadn't been bad, really. Far more painful was being separated from her company. Despite her protests, they'd evacuated her and she hadn't been able to march out with the rest of them after they'd woken back up from a three-day nap. Of course, they'd been in no shape to march far, just a few klicks down to Three Pines where they were loaded into trucks. Lieutenant Fallon had led them and done a good job. Fallon was shaping up splendidly. His Vor status had gotten him the rank, but since then he'd grown into it. Even so, she wished she'd been there with them—especially when they drove through Red Rocks…

One unexpected result of her burns was pinned to her chest. She'd been awarded a Wound Medal. The emergency status allowed them to give out the medals for serious injuries. But in the mysterious ways of the military bureaucracy, the decision of what was considered serious seemed strangely arbitrary. Alby had gotten one for breaking his ankle, while Dom Gerhardt had not for breaking his wrist. Cadet Jerwood's smashed knee had rated one, but Andi Redman's lacerated thigh hadn't. All-in-all a dozen members of the company had the little medals pinned to their tunics—including Cadet Krasner who was much happier about having his toes pinned back on to his foot. When they got the unit citation ribbons they'd been promised and added that to their pins for winning the Howitzer Haul and the Pentathlon it would make a nice little collection. Not bad for third-year cadets.

'It is with baubles such as these by which men are led.'

The quote was from some history class Anny had taken. Who had said it? Napoleon, maybe. Well, whoever it had been, they were wrong. The battered, exhausted troopers of C Company hadn't followed her to Silvy Vale for medals. The twenty cadets who went with Lieutenant Fallon on the rescue mission hadn't been looking for them, either. Jer had only run with her into the inferno with one thing on his mind: saving his friends. No, medals didn't make heroes.

Still… they were kind of neat to have.

The Emperor finished up with 4th battalion and then the Regiment passed in review. The sun was shining, the band was playing, the flags fluttered proudly in a pleasantly cool breeze.

Life was good.

[Scene Break]

There weren't as many spectators as came for graduation, but there was still a fair crowd and when the formation was dismissed the cadets were free for the rest of the day. Most hung around the parade ground, looking for friends and family. The band stayed and played spritely tunes. Anny lingered in hopes that Lord Vorkosigan might seek her out. Sadly, Drou and the Commodore had not been able to come. One of their daughters was opening up their uterine replicator today and grandchildren came first. Jer and Patric kept her company but Alby ran off immediately.

Abigail. It was quite obvious they were attracted to each other and Anny wasn't quite sure what to do about it. On the one hand, Abigail's Vorish, take-no-shit attitude was probably exactly what Alby needed. But on the other hand it was totally against regulations and could lead to more trouble than she wanted to think about. She wasn't sure there was anything she could do about it if the pair was determined. The supposedly impregnable palm lock on the door between the barracks would stop Alby about as long as their first fire line had held the fire. Not that he even needed to use the door. The only thing she could think to do was to have a little talk with the both of them. Explain the consequences. Appeal to their good sense—not that Alby had ever had much of that…

"Anny! There you are!" She turned and smiled. Lord Vorkosigan and Lady Ekaterin had found her as she'd hoped.

"Good afternoon, My Lord," she said.

"What do I have to do to get you to call me 'Miles'?" he asked. "We're comrades now, Anny. And not in the same chain of command. No discipline problems."

"It just doesn't seem… right. Sir. I'll settle for sir. Sir."

Vorkosigan smiled and shook his head.

"It's all right, Anny," said Lady Ekaterin. "Miles was courting me for months and I was still calling him Lord Vorkosigan. Of course the fact that he hadn't told me he was courting me had quite a bit to do with that."

"Dear…" sighed the Lord Auditor. "All right, Anny. If you insist, sir will do."

"Thank you, sir." She smiled.

"No thank you. All of you," he turned to take in Jer and Patric, too. "I'm so glad I was able to get away for the ceremony today. The fires may be out, but there's an unbelievable mess that still needs to be cleaned up. Hundreds of people have lost their homes and livelihoods. Years of work to fix it up."

"This is the first day Miles has taken off since it all started," said his wife with a scolding look.

Vorkosigan shrugged but then his face took on an odd, almost shy expression. "Anny… I'd like… please let all of C Company know how… how personally grateful I am to them. Everyone worked so hard to save the whole district but… well… Silvy Vale is very important to me. Without you…" he trailed off.

"Of course, sir." She'd suspected that there was some special connection. Some of the things he'd said, the way he'd acted out on the line. "I'll let them all know, sir" He smiled, nodded, and an awkward silence dragged on. And on.

"Where are the children?" asked Anny desperately. "I had half expected to see little Helen cartwheeling across the parade ground."

"Back at the house," replied Lady Ekaterin, stepping into the gap. "We gave Pym the day off."

"Yeah," said Vorkosigan. "He's been mumbling about 'being too old for this sort of thing' ever since we got back. But in any case, I'm glad I was able to be here. And I'm truly glad the efforts of the cadets has been acknowledged. Without you, the damage would have been ten times worse."

"How are you feeling, Anny?" asked Lady Ekaterin. "I understand you were hurt."

"I'm fine, My Lady. Well, getting fine."

"Anny got the skin burned right off her back," said Jer.

"Glad you're doing better," said Vorkosigan. "You were looking pretty used up when they evacuated you. I see they gave you a 'bad luck charm' for it." He pointed at her wound medal.

"Miles has a box full of those," said Ekaterin. "I'll pray you don't get any more. Either of you."

Anny was trying to think of something to say when Jer nudged her and pointed. Alby was headed their way. Abigail was with him and so was… Good Lord…

"General Vorsworth," said Lord Vorkosigan turning to follow their gazes. "Good to see you again, sir."

Alby's father was walking slowly with the aid of a cane. Anny was startled. The old man looked much thinner than when she'd last seen him at Vorsworth House. He was almost gaunt and had dark circles under his eyes. "My Lord Auditor," he said and made a stiff half-bow. "Cadets." He nodded in their direction. Anny, Jer and Patric all saluted and he returned it.

"I was… I was just thanking the cadets for their efforts," said Vorkosigan. "But I'd like to thank you, too, General. The way you got things organized, whipped things into shape. It probably proved decisive, sir."

"Thirty years in Ops did teach me a thing or two even though I've never fought a battle quite like that one."

"No one has, sir."

"No, but now that we have we'll damn well make sure we're not caught flatfooted like this again. I've put your cousin, Major Vorpatril, to work coming up with some procedures."

"That's good to hear. I've already put in a proposal to the Council of Counts for some long-range, planet-wide, planning to meet future emergencies."

"Good. Good. But… excuse me, My Lord Auditor, that's not what I came to talk about." He turned toward Anny. "Cadet-Captain Payne, Cadet-Sergeant Naddel, I… I wanted to thank you for saving my son's life." Anny's mouth fell open. She couldn't force a sound to come out. "And, I wanted you to know that I've recommended both you for a decoration."

"I...sir," gurgled Anny. "That's… that's not necessary."

"I think it is."

"Anyone else in the company would have done the same thing, sir. For anyone else in the company."

"I know… I know. But you're the ones who did do it. And… and I'm glad you were there, Captain. I'm glad… I'm glad you're here." He held out his hand and pinned her with his eyes.

Anny stared back disbelievingly. Slowly her hand came up and took his. There wasn't much strength in it, but she shook it firmly. He released her, stepped back and saluted. Anny awkwardly returned it. "Thank you," he whispered and then turned away. No one made a sound as he slowly walked away. Alone.

Suddenly Alby whistled. "Well, I will be dipped in shit."

Jer and Patric snorted. Lady Ekaterin's hand came up to hide a smile. "Alby!" cried Anny. It was a hillsman expression. Where'd he pick that up? But then everyone laughed and she did, too, despite herself.

"Well put, Cadet," said Lord Vorkosigan, chuckling. But then his smile faded. "He's put in for retirement, you know. Effective the end of this year."

"Well, dip me again," said Alby, clearly surprised.

"It's not fair," said Anny. "About the medals, I mean."

"Welcome to Barrayar," said Jer, Patric and Alby in unison.

"Well, it's not," she insisted. "Everyone else worked just as hard, took the same risks."

"It's the way things work, Anny," said Jer, "And not just here. Every military I've ever read about, a unit does good and the medals go to the commanders. No getting around it. And frankly, I'm not turning it down! I need every good thing I can get on my record!" He smiled.

"He's right, Anny," said Vorkosigan. "And it's well-deserved. Very well deserved."

"I turned down a medal once," said Lady Ekaterin suddenly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Always sort of regretted it…"

"Dear! You did not! Did you? I mean I could talk to Gregor about it… I'm sure he could arrange something…" The Lord Auditor seemed very flustered for reasons Anny couldn't guess. But his wife just patted his shoulder.

"Never mind, never mind."

"Well!" said Vorkosigan, trying to regain his composure. "Anyone hungry? How about some food? A late lunch, early dinner, whatever. At the Officers' Club. My treat."

Anny automatically tried to refuse, but her comrades immediately agreed, so she was outvoted. In truth she was perfectly happy to spend some time with the Lord Auditor. He dragged them all off to the Officers' Club and in an amazingly short time they were seated around a large table sipping drinks and waiting for food. Anny, remembering the last time she'd been here, limited herself to a single glass of wine.

Vorkosigan, back in control again, kept the conversation going briskly. He told funny stories, hinted at adventures that he couldn't really talk about, chatted with Abigail about Sergyar and with Jer about Komarr. Lady Ekaterin chipped in with anecdotes about the children—and her husband. Alby had a fair store of jokes of his own and several glasses of wine had erased any trace of inhibitions about telling them. Patric didn't say much, but he rarely did and seemed to be enjoying himself, nonetheless.

But the conversation kept coming back, again and again, to the Great Fire. Anny suspected that the same thing was happening at all the other tables around them. What they had seen, what they had heard, what they had felt. The great adventure rehashed and retold from six different perspectives. Lady Ekaterin made all the appropriate oohs and ahhs at the right moments. Anny began to realize that no matter what might come later, this had been one of the great events of their lives.

"You know, Anny," said Vorkosigan at one point, "you never did tell me where you got that trick you used in the meadow."

"Oh. It was just something I'd read about. It's called a 'rescue fire'. It won't work in every situation, but this time it did."

"And mighty glad we are that it did!" said Alby, a bit too loudly.

"Yes!" added Jer. "I thought you had gone crazy and decided to immolate us like some pagan warrior-king, er, queen." The others laughed and Anny smiled.

"Well, it was damn clever," said Vorkosigan. "We'll have to make sure Ivan puts it in those new procedures he's working on. In fact, I think he should probably sit down and pick your brain sometime."

"I'd be happy to help out however I can, sir."

More food arrived and the conversation went on.

She, herself, didn't say a lot, although the others kept trying to draw her out. She really wanted to talk to Vorkosigan—alone. But there was no opportunity. The question she had asked herself back on the parade ground: What will you do then? kept nagging at her. The young people sitting around the table, back at the barracks, were more precious to her than any medal, any treasure. If someday her oath to the emperor demanded that she sacrifice one of them—or all of them, would she be able to do it? Officers are born for sacrifice. It said so right in the manual. Would she be able to do it?

But Vorkosigan… that look on his face back at Silvy Vale, some of the things he'd said there, those really… wild rumors about his early career, did he have an answer to her question? She suspected that maybe he did. If anyone did. Maybe there were no answers. Just decisions. And consequences. She'd have to ask. Maybe at Winterfaire. It seemed like he actually liked her. It might just be possible…

The late lunch merged into an early dinner and beyond, but eventually they had to call it to an end. Good-byes were said, hands were squeezed, Lady Ekaterin had a hug for each of them. The cadets weaved their way out of the Officers' Club and back toward their barracks. Alby could barely walk. Abigail helped hold him up. Yeah… really gotta do something about that…

The sun was just setting and halfway across the parade ground a lone bugle suddenly rang out. Retreat. The huge Imperial Flag on the tall, tall flagpole was being slowly lowered, just as it was every evening, day after day, year after year, to a bugle call as old as the hills. Everyone stopped, came to attention, faced the flag and saluted. Even Alby.

She loved this. Everything about it. As she stood there she realized she'd never been happier in her life. Friends, comrades, duty. What more could she want?

The last note died away, the flag was folded and carried off until the next dawn. Anny sighed and turned toward home.

The others were already laughing and joking again. She wouldn't want it any other way.

"Back to the grind tomorrow," griped Alby, leaning on Abigail.

"Five-D math," moaned Jer. "Dull, dull, dull!"

"Well," said Anny. "If you want excitement, I forgot to tell you: our live-fire exercise has been rescheduled for next month."

"Ha!" snorted Alby. "What's so exciting about that?"

"Yeah," said Jer. "Compared to what we've been through, that'll be a piece of cake!"

Anny smiled. They were right:

A piece of cake.

End of Book 3

Author's Note: I'm going to dedicate this story to all the firefighters, past and present, who work so hard and risk so much to keep us all safe. And especially to the men who died in Mann Gulch, Montana in 1949, who inspired the events in Chapter 23.