Important!
HI guys, so the last few days, I have been unable to write anything good. I'm a software developer by day, so that means I'm on the computer at least 8 hours and then write this at night. I think my eyes need a break and I also have a massive brain fog. I'm going to take a break for a week and sleep and do other things.

See you guys in a week or so. Kisses until then.

Soldier keep on marching on
Head down till the work is done
Waiting on that morning sun
Soldier keep on marching on

Head in the dust, feet in the fire
Labour on that midnight wire
Listening for that angel choir
You got nowhere to run

Soldier by Fleurie

Chapter 19 - The Puppet-Master

Charles had been in the army for 25 years, ever since he was 18 years old.

He was a soldier through and through.

However, nothing prepared him for the mission he had to embark on. The world had been plunged into darkness almost overnight by a deadly virus that had wiped out more than half of the planet's population in a blink of an eye, and just like that, chaos reigned supreme.

One last mission, he had told himself, one last duty to fulfill- to fly to Iraq and rescue a doctor named Alice Hart, who had been stranded there since the virus hit. When the coordination to her location came, he had taken this as one-man task, not to put anyone else at risk in a foreign land. Just him and the autopiloted Hell-Harrie.

Far from the US military base in Iraq, Charles followed the coordinates into the desert mountains, feeling the weight of the mission heavy on his shoulders. He knew he had not been chosen for this assignment because of his expertise in rescue missions, but simply because he was the only one willing.

However, something told him this mission would be different. Perhaps it was a misplaced hope, an attempt to hold onto something as the world crumbled around him. As he flew over the burning cities and witnessed the overwhelming devastation and loss of life, he hoped Alice would still be alive when he found her. If he found her at all…

'Well, I'll be damned.' Was the only thought that came to mind.

To his surprise, Alice was not only alive, but also thriving.

She had taken Jamie and his entire army squadron under her wings, became their leader when others fell apart. She had raided the army base and stolen all the food, weapons, and ammunition they could carry on the military jeeps. She had sent her location using Morse code when all systems were down, before she moved herself and her soldiers to the mountains, where they could hunt for Capran aegagrus, the famous Iraqi wild goats for sustenance.

And then he saw her, and what a sight it was... Alice was standing in the middle of a makeshift barricade made of sandbags, surrounded by well-armed soldiers. She was dressed in a full tactical gear from head to toe, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin held high. The wind from Hell-Harrie blew her long, dark hair back, and her face conveyed that she was not someone to be trifled with. Charles was not one for the whole love at first sight bullshit, but goddamn, if his heart didn't skip a beat.

"I'm here to take you home, Doctor." He had said to her with a salute. When Alice smiled at him, he knew they would get through this together. Charles had never been a believer in fate either, but in that moment, he knew he had been brought to Iraq for a reason: to find Alice and help her save the world.

Alice was brilliant in more ways than one. She never disappointed and was always quick on her feet. What she lacked in physical strength, Charles made up for it. Despite their short acquaintance, it was as though she could read his mind. Charles had always been professional and never let his feelings interfere with his missions, but he hadn't planned for Alice. She had swept him off his feet and dropped him on his ass. He couldn't help stealing glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking, admiring the way she handled herself under pressure and thought everything through.

At night, they would sit in their respective bunk beds at Fort Benning military base and play chess, and talk for hours about everything and anything, sharing stories, hopes, and dreams. Soon, Charles realized he was in love with the way her mind worked, even more so with the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. Despite his growing feelings, he was hesitant to act on them. He didn't want to risk their partnership or put their mission in jeopardy. But when Fort Benning military base fell, he vowed to get her to DC, only then, he would finally place his heart in her safe hands.

But then… Daryl Dixon happened.

Charles felt a knot form in his stomach the moment he saw Alice's gaze rest on Daryl… Despite his best efforts to push his feelings aside, Charles found himself becoming increasingly irritable with the redneck hunter. He tried to remind himself that he had no right to feel this way, but he could not shake off the feeling of jealousy that was consuming him. He thought about being honest with her, however he didn't want to risk ruining their working relationship, or potentially losing her altogether in the process.

So here he is now, fighting a war that has nothing to do with him.

"Rick, we are soldiers, we do not negotiate with terrorists," Charles firmly tells the group.

Earlier that morning, a blonde woman named Andrea had arrived. Charles learned that she had previously been part of Rick's group and had somehow ended up with the governor. She requested to set up a table for negotiation and made her case to Rick. As far as Andrea was concerned, Rick was still the leader of the group.

When Charles looked towards the doctor, she shook her head at him, already understanding where his thoughts were going. So, he hanged back as the Doctor silently observed instead, trying to reassess the governor's next move. After all, the ball was in his court. He had the guns and the manpower, so why not just take over instead of negotiating? That's what Charles would do if the roles were reversed.

After Andrea leaves, they all turn to the doctor. "No," she says firmly. "It's a trap." Charles nods, relieved that she is on the same page as him.

"We have to try. Anything to avoid conflict," Hershel pleads. "We have to give people chances. Who knows what could come from this."

"Dr. Hershel, I have been discussing with Merle, learning all I could about this Governor," Charles states, hoping to stress the importance of understanding the Governor's ego and his need for power. Merle had shared some of the tactics the Governor uses, how he catches people off guard. He even had done it to trained soldiers, killing them before they can blink, and allowing him to possess their weapons. "This is a strategy he uses. It's best we play the mystery card."

"We're not soldiers, Charles. We don't have the liberty to play tactics," Hershel responds, placing a fatherly hand on Charles's shoulder. "We have to do better than our enemy and have hope." Charles recognizes that Hershel is a kind and generous man who still reads the Bible, and he hopes the world doesn't break him. Unfortunately, the world is no longer forgiving, and survival of the fittest is the norm.

"Alright, we'll give it a shot," Dr. Hart speaks, addressing Rick and Hershel. "But first, you said you know where we can get some guns. Make sure you take Jamie with you for backup." Rick nods in agreement.

She then turns to the rest of the group, who had been hovering and listening to the discussion. "We will continue to plan as if that woman never showed up. Our backup plans need to have backup plans. We keep it tight; this doesn't change anything." The group disperses to their daily tasks, which include fixing the broken gate.

Charles approaches the doctor, placing his hand on her back, whispering, "You know this is not going to work, right. He can turn on them anytime he wants. It could be months after we leave."

"Of course, I do," she whispers back. Even if the Governor agrees to cooperate today, it doesn't mean he won't turn on them when they least expect it. "We'll let Rick play politics. But this doesn't change anything for us. We'll continue as before." Charles nods, admiring her strength.

Another part he adores about her, is the fact that she is not a weak woman.

Ever since your conversation with Daryl, you've been seeing him everywhere, - outside when you're outside, inside, when you're inside. You can feel his eyes on you constantly, making it almost impossible to concentrate. So, you stay in your infirmary cell, counting inventory, doing anything to keep busy and clear your mind.

As your hands work mechanically though, your thoughts are far from the task at hand, far from being clear. You were told he just wanted a closure, but now you're not sure what he wants from you. You refuse to give into a false hope, not wanting to go through the pain and rejection again.

You've decided to bury all the pain, fear, and hope deep in your bones and give him the friendship he deserves. But he's not making it easy - with just a look, he pulls you right back in.

A knock on the cell gate brings you back to reality, and you let out a sigh when you see who it was: another one of the Dixon's who has been hovering around you. Merle understands that he isn't wanted by the group, so he sticks with the soldiers or with you. As you suspect, Charles is working around Merle's quirks. You saw them kneeling on the ground this morning, with some chalk in hand, Merle helping Charles draw a map of Woodbury, and discussing all the ins and outs of the place.

"Yesss," you drag out your voice with an exasperated sigh.

"I was wondering if you still had some of that crack-cream, the stuff you put on my hand? It ain't never felt more better." He lifts his prosthetic arm, and you know he is talking about the pain relief cream. You motion for him to come in, and he sits on the bed as you pull out your medical bag.

You pull your chair closer, and he locks eyes with you. As you put on your gloves and get the cream, he undresses his arm. "Once we deal with the Governor, you and I will redesign your prosthetic arm," you tell him, breaking the silence as you massage his stump again. With a little tweaking, you know you could make the prosthetic both functional and comfortable. He hums as he looks at you and fidget in his seat, shifting. Only then do you realize that he isn't just here for the arm. There is something else he wants to discuss.

"So," he began, "since you asked me to join you and all that jazz... I just wanna be clear that we're good here." Your hands pause in mid-stroke, and you look up at him. You can't help the chuckle that escapes you at his audacity. You know he is the type of man who struggles with admitting when he is wrong, and this time is no different.

"Are you here to confirm that I've forgiven you?" you raise your eyebrow at him, your voice cool and distant.

"Yes. We'll let bygones be bygones. Why else would you ask me to join ya?" One trait of the Dixon family is that saying sorry feels like an admission of weakness to them. But at the same time, in the two days since Merle has been here, you haven't seen Daryl speaking to him.

"Is this about Daryl not speaking to you, right?" you ask, removing your glove and tossing it onto your makeshift table. Leaning back in your chair with your legs crossed, you continue, "Do you think he'll forgive you if I do?" Your voice is stern, hoping to convey a sense of disapproval. He huffs and looks away, seemingly unwilling to apologize.

"Why did you ask me to join you, then? Were you just talkin out of your ass?" he asks, furrowing his brow.

"I did it for Daryl. He deserves to have his brother back," you respond, grinding your teeth at him. "As for your question, no, I haven't forgiven you. I don't need your sorry-ass words, but you need to earn your brother's trust again." You're exhausted from dealing with him.

"As for why I asked you to join me..." You pause, recalling the last time you spoke with this man, someone was eavesdropping. Putting your medical bag back in its place, you stand up and say, "Come." Confused, Merle follows you out. As you walk down the hallway, you feel Daryl's eyes on both of you.

Once outside, you casually stroll across the grassy area. The cool air and warm sun creating a pleasant atmosphere. After reaching a safe distance, you turn to face him. "I asked you to join me because I never intended for you to come with me," you explain, watching as his brows pinch in confusion, unreadable expression displaying on his face. "My goal is for you to stay here with your brother."

"You heard them. ain't nobody wants me here. They look at me like I'm the devil," he grumbles, snorting in frustration.

"I have a plan for that," you whisper, even though there's no one else in sight. "By the time we're done with them, they'll accept you with open arms."

"You're always talking about plans and shit. People don't like me. It's always been that way." He retorts, his shoulders stiff and his chin held high. "Ain't no plannin can fix that." To Merle, life has always been a testament to the brutality of the world, even before the zombies invaded. He's never truly belonged anywhere; the world has always been against him.

"That's because you're an asshole. Nobody wants to deal with your bullshit anymore, and if you keep going down this path, you'll eventually lose Daryl too," you lecture, frustrated. You know he has the ability to fashion himself into whatever his environment needs him to be, as he did with the Governor. "I'm going out of my way to make a five-step plan for you, but it will only work if you're willing to change. We all need each other now, so put on your big boy pants and actually make some effort. If not for yourself, do it for your brother."

You watch him as he stares out into the open field, his lips downturned. He's contemplating his options, perhaps even rethinking his life choices too.

"Well, let's hear the plan then," he asks, weariness evident in his voice after a moment's hesitation.

"Believe it or not, we're already on step three," you respond, and he looks to you with raised eyebrows, his arms crossed, unconvinced.

"I'm happy to break it down for you if you like, but try to keep up," you add, taking a deep breath and trying to keep your frustration in check.

"The first step was to show them your side of the story, give a possible excuse for what you did to Glenn, and tie it in with the loss of your arm and your subsequent retaliation," you explain, watching as he slowly uncrosses his arms.

"The second step was to demonstrate your redeemable qualities, and all the skills you could bring to the table, highlighting how you could benefit the team," you continue, aware that the group want Daryl not because of his personality, or his gentle soul underneath the rough exterior, but because of his usefulness to the team - skills mostly taught to him by Merle.

"I knew Rick was going to say no to you joining the team, but it was too late by then, you see, because we had already planted the seeds, the idea of you. So, the third step was to find a way for you to stay temporarily, which is why I asked you to join my team," you say, noticing the smirk on his face grow with each step.

"I know you're not stupid. You played your role with the governor, and now you must do the same here," you advise, and you can tell he is listening. "There is value in being the 'good guy,' even if it doesn't pay off right-away. The fourth step is for you to play your new role, 'the good guy.' Carry your weight, step up, and go hunt. Do what Rick needs you to do, and keep your fuckin mouth shut while you're doing it," you add, seeing him huff in frustration at the idea of being ordered around by Rick.

"I know you don't like it, but you must. You'll get your brother, a roof over your head, food, and a group. The payoff will be worth it," you encourage him, reaching for his intact hand, and holding it reassuringly.

"Which brings us to the fifth and final step," you say lowering your voice. "Have a heroic moment. Danger is everywhere and Something is bound to happen. And when it does, save someone, preferably one of the Greens. If I were you, I'd keep my eyes on Maggie. She's your golden ticket. That will solidify your place among the team," you finish, seeing the huge smile on his face and the light in his eyes.

"Ooh-wee, doc, you're quite the puppet-master, ain't you?" he cackles with glee. "I like it!" You recoil and drop his hand as if it burned you. The word "puppet-master" is one you despise, as it reminds you of your father.

"Listen here, you ugly bastard, do what you want. But I just gave you a fuckin map to Narnia, okay? The rest is up to you," you grunt with annoyance, turning on your heel and walking away from the man.

"I'm just jokin', come back!" he hollers after you, his high-pitch laugh echoing across the field. It grates on your nerves, and you stop, turning back to him with fiery eyes.

"One more thing, so you don't say I didn't warn you," you say, pressing your finger hard into his chest and locking eyes with him. "While you're here, things between you and Daryl will not go back to the way they were. He's doing well, exceptionally well, and if you mess with that, with him..." Leaning in closer to his ear, you deliver your threat in a low, menacing tone. "I will slit your throat where you sleep, and you will never see it coming. Like you said, my father was a dangerous man. But as they say, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." With that, you make your final exit, leaving him behind. Although you don't witness it, you can feel his eyes on you and the smirk on his face as he watches you leave.

With chalk in hand, you draw a chessboard on the ground consisting of eight rows and columns, totaling sixty-four squares. You pace around the board, carefully studying each square. In your mind, you play a game of chess, imagining invisible pieces moving strategically from one square to another. You may not consider yourself a seasoned strategist like your father, but you possess the cleverness and intuition to understand the game of power. Time is of the essence, and you need a solid plan to overcome the challenges that lie ahead. The situation is rapidly evolving, and you must act quickly.

Life is full of risks and rewards, where every decision is a win or lose, a give or take.

By some miracle, Rick had delivered on his promise and found a substantial amount of guns. You recalled Jamie walking in with a big grin on his face, "Ho, Ho, Ho, black Santa Claus in the house," he had exclaimed, carrying large duffle bags. It was a massive relief to know you weren't empty-handed. The men had flocked to the bags, pulling out gun after gun, and you watched them, feeling a sense of deja vu from your first day here, when Charles had unloaded the weapons you guys carried.

However, with that win, there was also a loss. You knew from the beginning that this was a game, and you had allowed Rick to make his move. The Governor wanted Michonne in exchange for peace, a sticky situation if there ever was one. Rick had pulled you and Charles aside to share the news in private, and you could immediately see the struggle in his eyes.

As Rick explained the situation, you saw the conflict etched on his face. He wanted you to hand Michonne over to the Governor, but he didn't want to be the one pulling the trigger. Charles gave you a knowing look, and you nodded in agreement.

It was sundown when you and Charles made your way into the prison.

"Everyone, gather around," Charles calls out, and you take a seat in the common area, waiting for the others to join. Soon, the room is filled with people, all displaying fear and uncertainty. You understood their concerns, as all of your plans and ideas had the potential for massive casualties. What is the point of taking over if you can't protect and help the people you are fighting for? You need to be able to save everyone.

"The Governor wants Michonne," Charles announce, and you remain planless, refusing to play Rick's game. As he spoke, you could see Michonne tense up, ready to fight if needed.

"Even if I were to knock her out and hand her over to him personally, it still wouldn't solve our problem," Charles continues, speaking directly to Michonne. You made a mental note to never let Charles make this type of announcement again. With a sigh, you stand up from your chair.

"What he means is," you say, trying to soften Charles' approach, "the Governor's only interest in negotiating is to get Michonne. He doesn't care about how we die, but he does care about how she dies, which is slow and painful. Once he has her, he'll burn this place down with us in it." You walk around the room, keeping your voice steady as you spoke.

"We have two options," you declare, scanning the room. "We can either pack up and leave right now, or we stay and fight." You know that this decision must be made as a group, and everyone's input is vital.

There is a moment of silence… and then…

Little Carl speaks up with unwavering conviction, "We fight. This is our home now. Judith needs somewhere safe, so we fight." His words are courageous, and you can see Rick beaming with pride. The mood in the room shifts, and the courage of a child does wonders for the morale of the group.

"Alright," you nod in agreement, smiling as well, and Charles steps forward to present his plan.

"Our best bet is to take the fight to them. They won't be expecting us, and Merle has drawn us a map of all the access points." Charles opens the floor for discussion, but you walk over to your chessboard on the ground, tuning out their voices.

While Charles is a skilled strategist with many years of experience, he thinks like a soldier, and his plan doesn't guarantee the safety of your team. There may still be casualties, and you can't risk losing people.

You contemplate the Governor, trying to envision his mindset. As you recall the discussion between Merle and Charles, you try to form a clearer understanding of him. Initially, you thought he may be similar to your father, a shrewd mastermind manipulating those around him with cold-hearted efficiency. However, you come to the realization that he is merely a façade.

You bet prior to the outbreak, he was most likely a feeble-minded individual, a beta-male similar to those your father used to belittle. A yes-sir man. He probably gained his current power through a combination of borrowed charisma and intimidation tactics. Deep down, he is weak and mentally unstable, unfit to play the game of power.

So, instead of trying to understand the Governor, you decide to channel your father's mindset and strategize accordingly. You continue to pace around your imaginary chessboard, deep in thought.

What would your father do in this scenario.

Glenn interrupts your contemplation with his suggestion, "…we can lead the walkers right to them. They'll have walkers on their ass one-side, and they got us on the other. We close them in." You acknowledge that his idea has potential, and you are starting to notice Glenn is a bright young man.

But then, you recall one of your father's teachings, 'There is no problem someone in the past hasn't solved already.' History often repeats itself.

Suddenly, you stop pacing as a metaphorical lightbulb lights up in your head, an idea taking shape.

With excitement coursing through your veins, you let out a triumphant shout. "We play Russia!" The group stares at you, taken aback by your sudden outburst, but you pay them no mind. "French versus Russia!" You exclaim, breathing hard, your chest heaving up and down.

"What's going on now?" Rick asks, looking confused, his expression mirrored by the others.

"You got something up your sleeve, don't you?" Charles grins, and you can sense the confidence radiating from him.

Taking center stage, you begin to speak. "My father used to say that history repeats itself," you say, chuckling. "History can show us what might happen, predict the future, give us clues and lessons." You pace the room, holding everyone's attention.

"They called it the Napoleonic invasion of Russia. In 1812, Napoleon, on behalf of the French emperor, raised a massive army of troops from all over Europe to conquer Russia. The Russians were completely outnumbered and outmatched, much like our group in this room. Napoleon swiftly advanced his army through Western Russia with hopes of engaging the Russian army in battle, because he knew he would win with just sheer numbers alone. But instead, the Russians withdrew deeper into their land, burning their crops to prevent them from falling into the French's hands. The more Napoleon pushed, the farther the Russians retreated."

You pause, allowing the weight of your words to sink in. "Napoleon was narcissistic and egotistical, much like our Governor. He thought he had them by the balls, an easy win. Eventually, Napoleon's army reached to Moscow, but the city was destroyed and abandoned by its own people. Nothing but rubble and bare land."

Silence hangs heavy in the air, the group listening intently to your every word. "You see, it was all part of a plan, a tactic. Napoleon failed to prepare for Russia's harsh winter. The Russians knew their land better than anyone, what it takes to endure, to survive. Less than a month after his occupation of the city, winter set in. With the farmland scorched and no supplies to reach them, Napoleon's army was devastated, starved and frozen to death. He had estimated six hundred thousand soldiers when he entered Russia, and barely a hundred thousand made it out alive."

Jamie is the first to speak. "Doc, as interesting as that history lesson was, how is this going to help us?"

You understand the validity of his question. "Because we have our own winter right here in this prison - the walkers. We know this place better than anyone, what lies inside, what it takes to endure, to survive. All we got to do is-"

"We bring the Governor here, lead him inside," Glenn interrupts, a bright gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face. "We play Russia."

You return his smile, perhaps this is a way to mend your relationship with Glenn, after the whole Merle fiasco. "Yes, exactly. He's expecting us to hand over Michonne tomorrow, but instead, we'll attack. He thinks he has us figured out, so he won't see us coming. The goal is to be quick and efficient. We'll stick together in teams of two and we push. And if he's anything like Napoleon, he'll follow us out of anger, bringing his entire army with him too."

You flash them a diabolical smirk, interlocking your fingers, "After all, we are a generous and hospitable group, so when they knock, we will welcome them, invite them right inside."

"Yeah bitches," Jamie hoots, "winter is coming!" His enthusiasm illuminates the room.