Chapter 15: The Centre Cannot Hold

A steady rain was falling when Grit arrived at Blue Moon's border military camp. Winter would be upon them in a matter of days, but the autumn had been mild, and as yet there was no sign of any approaching snowfall. For most of the past week there had been nothing but rain, a constant drizzle that doused any good cheer left to those below, and sapped whatever momentum the invasion force had not already lost. It was as if nature itself could see the folly of Blue Moon's war, Grit mused, and had done all in its power to hinder it.

He was slow to spot the encampment as his government sedan approached, catching a glimpse of dark blue tents and grey concrete only between the beat of the windscreen wipers. The view through the window was obscured by drops of water tracing tremulous patterns across the glass, and anything more distant was made indistinct by the rain. All appeared vague and faraway, almost like the periphery of a dream. Isolated from the waterlogged world and warm in the comfort of the car, Grit was almost able to forget that a bitter conflict was raging not far from here.

Almost, save for the unpleasant hunch that he would no longer be able to avoid it.

The car slowed as it turned off the road and onto the open ground. The earth had been churned by wheels and treads, and soaked by the rain until it was little more than a mass of mud and pooling water. Trying to drive through the field was a fool's errand. Grit winced as the engine groaned and the car came to a complete halt, wheels spinning uselessly as it became bogged down in the mire. The sedan was not built for conditions like these. With a shake of his head Grit signalled his driver to stop trying to break free, and got out of the car. Considering how wet the terrain had become, he'd make better time on foot.

Everything outside was hazy and grey. The unrelenting rain cloaked the scene in a veil of mist, leaving all it touched sodden and miserable. Grit could already feel the damp chill seeping beneath his coat as he squinted through the downpour, studying his surroundings. The camp stretched out in all directions, makeshift roads of grass and mud running between the tents, sheds, and rows of parked vehicles. Soldiers in blue were everywhere, marching back and forth as they carried out their duties. Most ignored him, focused on their tasks, but a few stood at attention and saluted before continuing on their way. Grit held up a hand to stop one young soldier and ask for directions.

"I'm lookin' for Olaf," Grit said. "Don't suppose you know where I might find him?"

The soldier swallowed and gestured over his shoulder, towards the centre of the camp. "That way, Commander, sir."

Grit nodded in thanks as the soldier retreated. He could not keep from frowning as he began to trudge through the mud, making his way through the maze of tents and roads. He did not like what he had seen in the young boy's eyes. It was a wary, frightened look, like an animal that knew it was being hunted, and so far as Grit could tell, the soldier he'd spoken to was not the only one feeling that way. Every face he saw was grim and forlorn, every pair of eyes downcast as if unwilling to see what lay ahead. There was little hope to be found here, Grit thought. The wounded huddled for shelter under their tents, waiting for transport to a hospital or clinic, and there were more damaged tanks brought back from the front than fresh ones to replace them. No matter where Grit looked, all he saw was despair. Their army's morale was visibly deteriorating, and he didn't know how much longer it could hold.

One thing was obvious: the war was not going according to plan. This camp was still the main staging point for the invasion of Orange Star, just as it had been before Blue Moon launched its attack. Either by neglect or by design, Grit was not privy to the war's most sensitive details, but it was clear to him that little progress had been made. Worse, judging by what he had seen of the border camp so far, any gains had come at a steep cost. Grit sighed. It was all such a waste.

He soon found himself in the middle of the camp, where a collection of sheds and prefabricated buildings had been erected around a short asphalt runway. At the end of the tarmac was a small hangar, and through its open doors Grit could see Olaf standing with his back turned to the outside world. The general was leaning over a table to inspect a map, and he was not alone. Ana stood at his side as she so often did these days, always there to offer her particular brand of misguided counsel. Grit's expression hardened as he watched the two of them working closely together. He had been ordered to report to Olaf so that he could receive new orders, and at the time, he had thought little of it. Now Grit found himself wondering just which of them had demanded his presence, and why. Something told him he would not like the answer.

Hands in his pockets Grit wandered up behind them and let out his breath in a puff. Whatever motive lay behind the summons, he was about to find out.

"You wanted to see me, boss?"

Olaf glanced briefly over his shoulder. "Ah, Grit. You're here. Good."

That was all he said before turning back to what he was doing, muttering under his breath as he studied the table. Grit raised an eyebrow. Olaf seemed to be completely preoccupied by other matters, and Ana was yet to acknowledge his presence at all. How long did they intend to keep him waiting?

"Somethin' on your mind, frosty?" Grit tried again.

"Yes," Olaf grunted. "We have a mission for you."

Neither of them had bothered to actually look at him. It irked Grit, but it hardly came as a surprise. For weeks now he had been locked out of the loop. Important news reached his ears hours, if not days after the fact, and he no longer had any input in what Blue Moon was planning. Conversations were cut short when he walked into the room, and there were even times when he could have sworn he was being followed. Much as Grit would have liked to reassure himself that he was only imagining things, he wasn't that naive. His years in Blue Moon had left him well acquainted with the way the country worked, and there was only one conclusion to be drawn.

His position in Blue Moon was rapidly becoming untenable.

Grit tapped his foot as he waited, wondering how long it would take for Olaf to get to the point. He'd hardly been expecting a warm reception, but this was ridiculous. Still neither Olaf nor Ana had even deigned to turn around. Was it some kind of petty test, or just a symptom of how far from grace he'd fallen? Grit rolled his eyes. Whatever they were playing at, he had no patience for it.

"Well, seein' as you're only showing me the back of your head, I can only think y'all are looking for a haircut," he said.

A low growl emanated from Olaf's rotund form as if ripped from the bowels of the earth. "I do not have the patience to deal with his insolent tongue," he said to Ana. "Not now, not with Orange Star putting up such fierce resistance."

Grit felt a flicker of unease. It was not lost on him that the war with Orange Star was going poorly. He had developed a knack for reading Olaf's moods over the years, and this seething frustration with the enemy was confirmation that Blue Moon was in a difficult position indeed. Perhaps that was the mission they had in mind for him. Had Olaf and Ana realised that they needed his skill with long range weaponry to crack open Orange Star's defences? It was not a comforting notion.

Grit had known all along it might come to this. Ever since Blue Moon and Orange Star had set out on this course towards war, he had known it might come to this. Had known he might once more find himself fighting against his home country. Grit had done so before, of course, following in the wake of Olaf's invasion four years ago. It hadn't much bothered him then, and he couldn't quite understand why things felt so different this time around. He'd always held nothing but contempt for the endless political games and self-serving schemes played out by those in power. As far as he was concerned, all governments and politicians were much alike, and as a result it didn't particularly matter which side he fought for. He'd held to that conviction all his life, but it no longer brought him any comfort.

"Walk with me," Ana commanded.

The intelligence officer had turned to face him, one hand resting on the pommel of her sheathed sword. Grit ignored her, waiting to see if Olaf would say anything further, but the man remained obstinate. Ana started on a path towards the runway, gesturing for him to follow. For a brief moment Grit considered trying one more time to speak with Olaf, but he knew there was no point. He'd already said all there was to say, and the leader of Blue Moon hadn't listened to a single word.

Grit closed his eyes. It seemed he had no choice but to go after Ana and hear what it was they wanted from him. His fate was out of his hands.

Ana had already stepped out onto the muddy asphalt strip by the time Grit finally began to follow her. He did not increase his pace to catch up to her, and she did not adjust hers to wait for him. Soon enough Grit came alongside Ana regardless; he was far taller, and his usual gait was noticeably faster.

"So what's this mission of yours, Yer Highness?" He spat.

Ana did not immediately answer. Her round eyes were gazing out over their surroundings, a faraway light in them as they looked over the churned mud and constant motion. Did she see the despair pervading the camp? Grit wondered. Or did she simply refuse to acknowledge it was there like she refused to recognise so much else? In Ana's view, finding fault with Blue Moon was tantamount to treason. Her reports had always possessed a tendency to say what her superiors wanted to hear, and to paint her country in the best possible light. They were traits that made for poor intelligence, something which had always frustrated Grit to no end. At first he had considered Ana to be an amusing buffoon, but his opinion of her had soured after her unreliable intel almost got Colin killed during the Second Great War. That the incident had been largely ignored, and Ana promoted to her current position shortly after, had not helped matters. Not for the first time Grit felt baffled that such a woman could become head of military intelligence. Sycophantic loyalty to one's country was a dangerous trait in someone whose job it was to uncover often unpalatable truths.

"You are to take command of the northern front," Ana said at last.

Grit's brow furrowed. "There ain't no northern front."

"Correct." The corner of Ana's lip curled into a faint smirk. "But we must be careful to keep it that way. If Orange Star perceives we are weak in the north and launches a counter offensive there, it could create… difficulties. Your orders are to guard the border and prevent any incursion onto Blue Moon soil."

"I thought we were pretendin' everything northwest of here was Blue Moon soil," Grit remarked.

Ana chose to ignore that comment. "The arrangements have already been made. Report to the sub-commander at the north perimeter of the camp, and you can be on your way."

Grit took a moment to digest this news. This was not the mission he had been expecting. In fact, as far as he could tell, this wasn't a mission at all. So far as he was aware, Orange Star had shown no inclination to launch a major offensive campaign. To date they had opted for a strategy of containment, steadily bleeding Blue Moon's ability to fight whilst conserving their own. Grit had heard rumours that Orange Star had struck a supply depot earlier in the week, but even that was a far cry from a full blown push into Blue Moon territory. The idea that they would launch a large scale attack so far from the focus of the current fighting was absurd, not when all their efforts were going towards defending the current front. Sending him off to the middle of nowhere made no strategic sense. That was exactly it, Grit realised; there was no military logic behind these orders at all. This was a political move. He was being shunted aside to a place where he could wield no influence and pose no threat.

It made perfect sense, but for one small problem: Olaf would surely never have considered him a threat.

At least, not by himself. Grit started as if stung and turned to look Ana directly in the eye, suddenly questioning just how much influence she wielded. This mess they were in was due in no small part to her biased reports, that much was clear. The real question was what motive lay behind them. Was Ana acting out of a zealous belief in Blue Moon's imperial right, or was there was something more insidious at play here?

Grit's eyes narrowed to slits as he saw the woman smile, a look of self-assured scorn that only grew as she observed his reaction. Perhaps Ana was even more dangerous than he'd suspected.

"Is there a problem?" She asked.

He shook his head in disbelief, still struggling to process this turn of events. "Oh, I reckon there's a whole bunch of problems 'round these parts."

"You are always so dramatic," Ana said in a snide tone. "A shame. I'd hoped you might see the wisdom in this."

"Possum spit!"

She tilted her head to one side as Grit cursed, some of her arrogance falling away as she regarded him with a more appraising eye. There was distrust in those big grey eyes, and a lingering trace of disdain, but there was something else as well. Wariness, perhaps. It was difficult to tell. Ana had never been one to let any weakness show.

Whatever it might have been, the strange look soon vanished. Ana's poise was perfect as she handed him a clipboard.

"These are the troops that have been assigned to your command," she said. "I expect the force is satisfactory?"

Grit quickly skimmed through the manifest of soldiers and vehicles. It was a short list. He let out a snort as he realised that he was being sent north with little more than a token force. If Orange Star did attack there, he would barely be able to slow them down. That was further proof of his suspicions. If either Ana or Olaf were seriously concerned about an Orange Star offensive, they would have at least given him the troops to hold one off until reinforcements could arrive. The pointlessness of the assignment was galling, but Grit knew there was no point in complaining about it. This decision was not up for debate.

"I suppose it'll have to be," he muttered.

"Good." Ana's smirk had returned. "I will expect a report once you are in position."

With that she pivoted neatly about and began walking back towards the hangar, no doubt on her way to whisper more poison into Olaf's ear. The thought provoked another surge of anger as what had just happened began to sink in. Ana had played him flawlessly. She'd taken full advantage of the situation with Lash to push him aside and take his place at Olaf's side.

Grit scowled and spat at his feet. He should have seen this coming. It rankled at him that he hadn't; he'd always considered himself wise to all the petty politics and power plays that went on in Blue Moon. His was the dispassionate eye of the outsider, unattached and unbiased. Or at least, that was what Grit had always told himself.

These new orders were a rude awakening, but thinking about it then and now, he realised that he had been left behind months ago. Every new escalation with Orange Star had shocked him, and not because Orange Star was his home country. Grit had never held any particular regard for this flag or that flag, or understood why it was so damn important that lines on a map were here and not there. No, what had shaken him was how easily everyone around him seemed able to ignore that the world was changing. Trying to go back to the way things were before Black Hole was impossible, and there was no point in pretending otherwise. He'd always known that Blue Moon had an unhealthy tendency to believe its own lies, but this was denial on another level entirely. The country was going to ruin its future over some perceived slights, too convinced of its own strength to see the danger it was in. Olaf was hurting too much to realise that he was destroying the very thing he loved most, and hardliners like Ana were doing all in their power to keep it that way. If there was any hope left of averting disaster, or even mitigating it, Grit could no longer see it.

Grit sighed, his anger cooling as it turned inward and became a sort of wretched self pity. He really should have seen this coming.

"Commander Grit?" A polite voice asked from behind him.

He blinked, startled at being spoken to. Few people chose to approach him these days. He was no longer someone who was safe to associate with, that much was clear. Grit crossed his arms as he turned to face this new arrival. He wasn't sure how many more unwelcome surprises he could take.

"What do you want, Sasha?" He snapped.

Sasha's brown eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the bite in his voice. She took a breath to steady herself and clasped her hands behind her back.

"I was wondering if you might have a minute to talk, Commander."

"I ain't in a talking mood," Grit said.

"Please." Sasha glanced around the camp, her eyes lingering on every passing soldier. "I have a favour to ask of you."

For a moment Grit resisted the urge to shout at Sasha and send her away. He was struggling just to come to terms with his own situation, and the thought of taking on someone else's burdens as well was overwhelming. Surely Sasha could see that. Grit sighed again, feeling the last of his anger finally ebb away, and with it any objection to hearing what the young woman wanted. He felt tired, so tired, and lost in this world gone mad, but there was something timid in Sasha's bearing that made him think that she needed his help, and that made all the difference. No matter how he felt, or how much trouble he might have been in, it wasn't in Grit's nature to turn away someone in need.

"Come on, then," he said.

Grit beckoned for Sasha to follow as he stepped off the runway, taking cover in a shed with a small canvas awning. It was hardly the most comfortable place to speak, but at least they were out of the rain.

"What's this all about, now?"

Sasha hesitated to answer, casting a furtive glance around the area to make sure they were alone. There was little need; she and Grit were surrounded by high stacks of crates and supplies, and well hidden from any prying eyes. Soon Sasha leaned in close and began to speak. Whatever was on her mind, she clearly didn't want to be overheard.

"Before the war began," she said in a quiet voice, "Colin and I spoke with Commanders Rachel and Max."

Grit studied Sasha as she spoke, his gaze softening in sympathy. "That can't have been easy."

"It was not." Sasha winced. "They were… quite upset."

"Upset?" Grit raised an eyebrow. "Somethin' tells me that ain't the half of it. I'll wager Max was angrier'n a raccoon that's been climbing a cactus with its paws tied together."

"Why would a racc-" Sasha cut herself off, staring at Grit in complete bewilderment. "Never mind."

She fell silent, visibly making an effort to reorder her thoughts. Soon she recovered her usual composure and returned to her point.

"Yes, Max was furious," she continued. "I've never seen him so angry before."

Grit nodded, feeling worse with every passing moment. It was one thing for Blue Moon's idiocy to make a shambles of his own life. That much he could handle. The impact it was surely having on those he cared about, on the other hand, was not a consequence Grit was eager to face.

"No doubt. Listen, Sasha…" Grit's brow creased as he struggled to find the right words. "This ain't personal, even if ol' Maxie thinks it is. We're all just caught up in something bigger than any of us. You can bet your horse Max will realise that, once he calms down a little. So you just try not to worry now, you hear?"

"It isn't me I'm worried about."

Grit frowned. "Oh? Who, then?"

Sasha looked him directly in the eye. "You."

"Me?" Grit forced himself to chuckle. "Darlin', this ain't my first rodeo. I can take care of myself."

"You don't understand," she said, her voice firm. "Max gave Colin and I a message. He said that he was coming for you, and that nothing was going to stand in his way."

Sasha stopped and looked briefly away. When she met his gaze again, there was a sadness in her brown eyes that had not been there before.

"He said to tell you that this time, there would be no forgiveness."

Grit leant back, reeling from what he had just heard. He knew Max better than most people, and he knew the man did not make idle threats. Was it possible that things had already gone too far, that they were past the point of no return? Grit did not like that idea one bit. No forgiveness, he thought with renewed despondency. If they weren't careful, that sentiment would be the end of everything.

"I know Max," he said. "Better than he knows himself, I reckon, and I'm tellin' you, he just needs a bit of time. You'll see."

Grit faltered. Was it Sasha he was trying to convince, or himself?

"I hope you are right." Sasha's gaze turned downcast again. "I was unhappy with how we left things. Which leads me the favour I wanted to ask of you."

Grit gave her a sceptical look. "From what you've told me, I ain't sure I'm the best man to be putting in a word on your behalf."

She held up a hand to stop him. "I don't need you to put in a word, only to deliver one."

Grit watched as Sasha pulled a letter from her pocket. So that was what this was all about. She held the letter close to her chest as if she was afraid to part with it, and could not keep from casting a wary glance around her. There was nothing there. Only the continuous beat of the rain against the canvas and metal, but that did not seem to reassure Sasha.

"If you could see that this letter reaches Commander Max safely, I would be most grateful," she whispered.

"Sasha…" Grit shook his head. "I don't see how I'll have any more luck delivering that there letter than you will."

Her lip twitched a little, more like the memory of a smile than a smile itself. "You are an intelligent and resourceful man, Commander Grit. I am sure you will find a way."

Grit sighed. All the reasons he could think of not to take the letter seemed to fall away from him. This was clearly something that Sasha couldn't – or wouldn't – do herself, and she needed his help. He had no idea how he was going to put the letter in Max's hands, but it didn't matter. He'd find a way somehow.

His decision made, Grit accepted the letter from Sasha and slipped it safely inside his coat.

"One way or another, I'll make sure Max gets this," he assured her. "Don't you worry about that."

"Thank you, Commander. I am in your debt."

Grit began to slowly nod. "Best be runnin' along now, before someone wonders what it is we've been talking 'bout."

"You're right, of course. I–" Her brow pinched as if pained. "I'm sorry things have come to this."

"This ain't your doing, Sasha," Grit said. "You've got nothing to apologise for. Colin neither."

She did not appear entirely convinced, and as she left, she could not quite bear to look at him, hurrying away with her head bowed. Grit's bearing was pensive as he watched her go, mildly surprised at how much one conversation had changed his perspective. At least now he had a mission that meant something, even if only to Sasha.

Grit ambled out from beneath the awning, glancing up towards the overcast sky and the still falling rain. Unlike others, he didn't mind the rain. To him, it always felt clean and fresh, like waking up from a good night's sleep. A chance to wash away what was no longer needed.

As Grit walked, he pulled his coat around him to ward off the cold, but it did not trouble him. If anything, he felt strangely at peace as he made his way through the camp. There was nothing left for him to decide, to the extent that there had ever been. The world would keep on turning whether he wished it or not, and Grit no longer had any power to change its course.

His part in deciding Blue Moon's fate was done.