The Purpose of Conflict: Chapter Thirteen- Operation Gooseberry I
08/11/1924/ Parisii, Francois Republic / Francois High Command, General De Lugo's Office / 10:08
Major General Pierre-Michel de Lugo lit his fag from the balcony of his office, dismayed for once that the sky above him was bright and sunny. There were no rain or wind conditions blowing westward towards the capital that could threaten his expensive tobacco. If only it could, it might remove the anger within him and the man partially responsible for that emotion from his presence.
It was not all bad, however. De Lugo knew his grievances were against his country's war council overruling him as Vice-Minister of both Defense and the Armed Forces. The man leaning next to him on the railing was only a symptom of the disease.
He even made up for it by giving him the fags. De Lugo could taste the premium value on the first puff. Not harsh or resulting in a film-forming over his tongue; better than the quantities they rationed to the troops.
"Where does the Unitary get such high-value brands when near-everything is state-owned Mr. John? I assumed the Commonwealth would close off to its plantations to you."
"These were a gift from the Unified States. They are the Unitary's closest trading partner outside of Europa after all. To each other, we are a new land of opportunity and potential. You would be surprised what they will give away to diplomats such as myself."
Consul Arcand did enjoy presenting the image of a Utopia upon the islands. A booming economy, clean cities and smiling citizenry are all behind their state. De Lugo saw why many in Europa held admiration for the new power. Personal prejudice lingered, embedded in more than ideological differences against the Fasces movement.
When others preached of a new world, what did it mean for the old?
"Beneficiarius Commander Hawkins has requested a lease on a building in the capital if we are to remain in any operation capacity."
"Now we are landlords?" De Lugo chuckled at his lazy joke. "The radical hardliners will be frustrated with that fact. One more argument to be had in the Senate." De Lugo tapped away some ash forming on his fag, turning to talk to the man directly. "Why do you need a building in Parisii? The Unitary has multiple intelligence outposts closer to the front?"
Mr. John cleared his throat, appearing to grow in his three-piece suit as he spoke.
"That is the regular army and spies. Commander Hawkins wants one exclusively for the paramilitary elites of the Unitary. It will be a functional hub I am told. The heart that beats blood out to the rest of our cells in the Republic."
Mr. John went on to address the nature of it being a political symbol alongside a practical one. "The best of the Unitary need the best treatment" among other bits of flattery detail. He did concede in confidence that it was also a matter of pride for the commander, an unnecessary but charming detail.
It was a reasonable concession regardless of the Unitary's odd nature. If it helped end this war on favourable Francois terms then it was worth any cost.
"I will approve it, but the President's cabinet will want to have their input first."
"Never let a chance to feel important go amiss." Mr. John expected and received no laugh from his tacky wit.
"It will be a standard office building. No special requests at this point. It won't be good for the plausible deniability if your men are constantly marching around in their black uniforms or driving tanks up the street."
"The Unitary appreciates the generosity of the Republic."
"We will need reports, however, daily." De Lugo looked to his side again, directly at the man. Mr. John for his part looking straight ahead at the skyline of the capital. "There needs to be transparency. The public or government won't tolerate any such shadow-state secrecy that you Albions keep in the Congo."
Mr. John puffed out a cloud of smoke. The comment blew away with it.
There was little chance intriguing facts would be revealed from a spy of all people. The Congo's border along Francois Equatorial Afrikan border seemed to have more troops during peace than the Rhine front. It made De Lugo uneasy to think about. Countries were entitled to secrets yet none in the world had one so large and well kept. The Akitsushiman's Oriental Empire was controversial but that was the point. There were news reports of corporal punishments or labour camps; they even promoted a racial caste system openly to the world. There was no such equivalent to the Unitary's colony. The landmass ceased to exist, its populace transformed into guards, guard towers and razor wire-topped walls.
It was an empty hole was within the centre of the continent, the black heart of Afrika.
"The Unitary earned ownership of the colony from the Flemish Kingdom as compensation for their loyalty to the old regime. I will not say it was a fair deal, but they have continued independence and neutrality." Mr. John expertly spoke; De Lugo almost did not notice his point had been ignored.
"That's more than some can vouch for."
They smoked in silence for another minute until Mr. John reignited conversation among them.
"I understand you disapprove of the coming offensive." The Albion cut to the point immediately. Forthcoming with further details once the thesis was out of the way. "The last we spoke I was sitting in your office bragging about our weapons shipments to Dacia, but I can tell your melancholy is not because of their capitulation or my presence."
"Not the offensive or the situation of our allies. It is the means in which we partake it." De Lugo dragged his fag longer than necessary. "I helped plan Operation Groseilliers along the Northern Rhine breakthrough for months. There is not one ammunition stockpile or tank division there that I did not approve of. The latest change my colleagues and the president have approved of this wretched idea is what concerns me. I mean no offence of course."
The Albion paused for a moment to chuckle, smoking and laughing to himself irrespective of who heard him. "Old Gooseberry." Clearing his throat to return to the previous subject matter.
De Lugo stifled any comment on an intentional mispronunciation. He should have suspected the old Albion would fall back to his innate nature and call the old Francois figure a comedic name. Such was the respect to the old explorer that operated when the nation once held Aquilonia as its colony. Private complaints would need to be kept as such however, Mr. John was here on business.
"None taken Major General. As an Albion, I will do my duty for my country." Mr. John glanced over to De Lugo, displaying as much sympathy one could expect to see from a spy. "That doesn't mean I enjoy the present subject. I can sympathise, I too would be rather cross if my work had been…tampered with."
"Is that all you see it as? Tampering?" De Lugo did not have it in him to be angry, frustrated but nothing so vulgar as anger.
"Truthfully General." Mr. John inhaled the last of his fag in a single take, dabbing the ash over the railing to disappear into the east-blowing winds.
"I view myself as an actor. The world is the stage and my superiors are the writers. I may not enjoy my lines or think they are wrong, but that is not my purpose. I only orientate what I am told and as well as I possibly can. Because I don't need to convince myself or my fellow actors they are good, only the audience."
"I see." De Lugo was humbled by the honesty. An admission of guilt and sympathy. Rarely did spies tell their secrets, rarer to someone Mr. John might classify as an audience member "Who would be the producers in your analogy?"
Mr. John hummed, either stalling for his audience or unsure of the answer. De Lugo desired to offer his hypothesis.
"The Lord above possibly? He controls everything." De Lugo faintly remembered someone stating that to him recently, a young officer or maybe a priest during the Vatican Conference.
"I think not." Mr. John straightened back up. "Producers oversee everything, from the actors to the writers. They are invested in the show continuing indefinitely to turn a profit. I would say men like Arcand or your President, even the Germanic Kaiser and Albion Queen. Those who oversee this world and treat it like a stage are the producers of this play we must put on."
08/11/1924/ 10 KM East of Arene, Germanic Empire / Officers Train Car / 10:04
The alleged benefits of Gabriel's birth had become evident once again. The Commonwealth's contribution to the Rhine front was underway by rail. A supply train laden with manpower and equipment, the valuable elite officers share a reserved car with the privilege of privacy. The crown prince of Albion the highest man there being the same one who pulled Gabriel away from his unit.
It was good James could manage the logistics and get the necessary resources where they needed to go; but why did he have to join him? From what he knew, the 27th were not due to arrive for another day, so his presence here was rendered worthless.
Gabriel's analysis was proven correct by his isolation, neglected to a booth where he could work on his papers. The esteem officers and crown prince meanwhile mulling over maps and forums, trying to solve their next assignment of breaking through the Rhine front. To cut into the Republic and enact the justice deserved by those who struck the Commonwealth.
How they did it was above him; James might let him grace the presence of his betters but that did not permit his opinions to be shared. At least James permitted Peggie to come along. It was most likely to keep him preoccupied.
"Are we going to talk about the thing Gabriel?" Peggie leaned closer to make her hushed voice louder. The prince looked up from the note he was writing, seeing the scowl directed at him. Why was she mad? It was her idea to play dumb.
"I don't know what you mean Lieutenant." Maybe addressing her by rank would stop this topic.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Apparently not.
Peggie had been quiet from the train station so she must have been at her limit. Remaining silent failed to stop her from doing what she wanted. "Well, I want to talk about it."
"There's nothing to talk about."
Gabriel crossed out the note, tarring away the attempt to start anew.
"Really?" Peggie continued her persistence, her tone becoming louder as it was emphasized. Gabriel eyed her to sit back down in her seat.
"Because I am pretty sure I remember you murdering someone a few days ago."
"A child abuser." Gabriel whispered in the same manner as Peggie; lest the gentleman's gentleman or a petty officer become interested in their argument.
Now Gabriel leaned in closer, met by Peggie in the middle.
"So, what if I did do something I don't feel sorry for?" That exchange was more aggressive than he intended. A glance at the others to see if they were still isolated. He met a stare from his brother for a half-second before he went back to his maps. Peggie retreated to a normal posture, silent until Gabriel did the same.
"That's real Christian of you, Gabriel. All the talk of righteousness and proper decree has led to this. I could live with giving someone a kick in their private parts, no problem. It ain't right but neither is letting Toth get away with it."
Peggie crossed her arms, unwilling to hide her true feelings on this matter.
"But you're making me live this. Me, Vooren and the Muscavian girl. An accident maybe but...I don't know what to say."
She shook her head, expressing her emotions through inconsistent hand motions. Loudly sighing when she became lost for words.
"I never thought the boy I met in the woods could do something like this."
She pushed herself up and out of the booth, pacing out to another train car. Gabriel stared, hanging on the final words he was left to hang on.
Gabriel shook his head, just because Peggie could cite the Church of Rome but that did not mean she was right. Thou were to not murder, which meant he was justified in his retaliation. It was unplanned but that should not negate the results.
It was better not to dwell on that, it was a waste of efforts to assign value to swine that harm children.
Gabriel tapped the paper with his pen. Who was Vooren?
"Girl trouble?" The voice of James lording overhead ruined another calligraphy attempt. The general received no answer, Gabriel neglecting that in favour of writing a new note. James lowered himself into the vacated seat.
"Try not to let whatever it goes unaddressed, if you let it build up it might become a breaking point."
"I appreciate the advice." Gabriel looked up from the safety of the paper to speak.
"Do you?" James was hesitant. "Gabriel, mind if I ask what this is about?"
There was no sequence of events where Gabriel felt inclined to risk Peggie or the Imperials by telling the Crown Prince. But that did not mean the calm man would tolerate dissent.
"It is nothing important." That was true. "It is a sore spot. A few weeks ago, she almost got killed by a Greenshirt."
"That's it?" Gabriel nodded, after a moment to think James joined in on the action.
"Good. Good. Try and get it settled then. I mean it, alright?" The abrupt change to kindness made Gabriel look across to meet the black eyes begot to the Stuart dynasty. James appeared to be portraying his stern politician persona.
"Take care of it. You and that girl have been like Damon and Pythias for years, I don't want to see that disappear because of some mistake. The Wing or Major Hanover don't need to be informed, just put the matter to rest and handle it as best you can."
Gabriel hid his confusion; fearful it would set off the crown prince. Had he not explained the incident thoroughly? The incident report had already been filed. It was not the best-kept secret or one necessary to be kept.
James asked if he understood and received a positive answer. Ending the topic with a hollow joke.
"I'm your brother Gabriel. If you ever need to talk about it, or anything for that matter, you can confide in me."
A lie if Gabriel ever heard one. "Your brother." A reason to stay silent indefinitely.
"Now then, what's this you're working on?" James poked at one of the discarded papers. The project had been Gabriel's focus after ploughing through the backlog of accumulated reports with Peggie. The motive to lie again was present but counterproductive for this deed.
"A member of Major Degurechaff's unit asked me to handle a letter. She speculates it would otherwise become lost in the Empire's mail system. She expressed their potential concerns with the Dacian campaign." Gabriel felt compelled to justify it on a personal level. "I see no problem in fulfilling the request."
"And you were going to strap on some mage gear and fly over?" James unwrapped and read one do the notes. It somehow felt as if Gabriel's privacy was invaded. Author for strangers but not his blood relative.
"The address is in Kiel. I was hoping to send it to Rachel so she could take care of it."
"So, you heard about your big sister then?" James folded and closed the note he was readings. "The Empire doesn't know what they're getting into. I almost feel sorry for them, she'll be a thorn in their side for the next month."
James hummed as his thoughts went away from the regal sailor. "Not bad otherwise. But the notes?"
"I think it would be proper to explain the letters sudden arrival and safety of their daughter." A novel idea, just one he could not execute.
"Daughter?"
James raised an eyebrow, conveying his sentiment while reading the first few lines from Gabriel's last attempt.
"It is an honour to carry the safety of Second Lieutenant Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov and her thoughts contained within this handwritten letter." James glared across the table; his judgment told by his eyes before his mouth. "This is terrible."
"I want it to sound nice."
"It sounds more aggrandizing. If I was this girl's father I would assume someone is trying to get into her corset."
"That's not my intention."
"Better not," James smiled. "You have Regina to think of. As Mother says: Duty above all else."
Gabriel nodded again, agreeing wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, his duty was to manifest in such ways. That thought conveniently led to James' next criticism.
"You didn't sign His Royal Highness."
"I assumed it best to omit regal connections."
"Said while using such connections to great privileges." James seemed more amused than critical of Gabriel's behaviour. James produced his pen and grabbed an unspoiled sheet of paper.
"Are you friends with this girl? Like that half-pint mage of yours."
"We're..." Gabriel truthfully was unsure of the answer, including the version he had to give the general. Miss Serebryakov was not equivalent to Major "half-pint" Degurechaff. "We're friendly."
"Must be if she gave you a letter. There's some trust that you won't open it." James hurriedly scribbled his note. "Especially if she's putting that trust in a boy."
There was no overt cynicism in the tone, but Gabriel understood what James meant. No matter what happened, he was just "a boy." A child that could not be expected to deliver. In direct contrast to the literal child in his company that was leading her men with valour.
Why did Visha trust him? She must not have seen reality yet.
"Right." James finished his note and extended an empty hand. "Now give me the letter and I'll let Rachel take care of it."
"What about the note?"
'It's not for you, is it? Now."
It was a crude agreement but what was the alternative? Antagonize James further and the Serebryakov residence would receive nothing at all. Gabriel took the letter from his tunic. It was uncomfortable, to part with such a personal item entrusted to him. That was expected of him however, Visha wanted it to leave his possession at some point. Such was its fate as it disappeared into the pocket of the crown prince. Sealed with thanks and a smile.
"I heard about what you did in Dacia." Gabriel's chest tightened as the crown prince continued. "Remarkable work with the peace talks."
It seemed the Lord protected him for a moment longer. James did not seem to notice the abrupt pause in his subordinates breathing.
"I simply did as I prescribed by those above myself."
"Well, you can look at it like that if you want. Then I will say you are remarkably skilled at doing what you're told with minimal oversight." James smiled slightly at the conclusion, unmatched by the lieutenant sitting opposite him. It almost sounded like a compliment when phrased like that.
"Now, I have something I want to ask of you. Now that you finished your reports." James laid each word out cautiously. Seeming hesitant or uncertain of his own decision making. That was more unnerving than he prospects James wanted something from him; what could achieve such a feat?
"What is it?" Gabriel guessed the answer to both questions would be one of the same. James leaned down slightly to propose his question.
Favour for a favour. Gabriel should have expected there would be a trade.
"The train stopping at Arene. Lucky for us the Empire is garrisoning the place."
James chuckled slightly for his amusement. "You can tell the city once belonged to the Franks if the crime rate wasn't proof enough the Imperials carting off people attacking our forces passing through."
"Anyways," James returned to the present topic. Smiling wildly in anticipation for the proposition he had prepared for that moment.
"I was wondering if you wanted a position on my staff?"
"What for?"
James laughed aloud. "Very funny."
The expression changed when he realised the Lieutenant's humour was unintentional.
"You are aware why I wanted you here correct?" James proceeded to palindrome his stance. "We are expecting some sort of attack from the Republic in the coming days. Information is sketchy at best, but the troops here have been put on caution. Hopefully, nothing happens but if it does me and Commander Curry will be busy. And I want you to help me."
"Why? You have your staff. I would be better used with the 27th."
"You may think that but there is a number of officers that can fill in for Major Hanover's second. However, I don't think I could have anyone else substitute for you."
Gabriel remained silent while James leaned back in his seat, relaxing for his next line of rapid-fire questioning.
"How many men are we permitted to deploy Gabriel?"
"Two hundred thousand."
"And how many divisions do we have here?"
Gabriel looked down to the booth's table, tracing out numbers onto the paper as they were muttered to himself.
"Twelve hundred infantry. Four thousand artillery and machine gunners. Then there is transportation and communication. Just under twenty thousand a division. Ten total." Gabriel drew the number but hesitated to give that as the answer. The Commonwealth's strength was always the sea, the land army could not spare so many soldiers at once. A soldier along the Rhine was one away from Afrika, Bharat, New Cambria or Aquilonia. Their fellow countrymen in Southern Asia needed that manpower the most to protect them from the anarchy of warlords that beset the region and threatened the Dominion's existence. Then it had to be a matter of appropriate positioning to deter Republican forces with superior quality.
"I would hypothesise between six or eight divisions. Anymore and might compromise other areas of the Commonwealth." Gabriel looked to James's at the answer.
"Eight divisions total." James remained pleased.
"Last question: How many documents have you seen?"
Gabriel paused, uncertain where he miss-stepped.
"I have not seen any."
"And here you like to pretend you're not clever." Gabriel was admittedly surprised he had accidentally given the correct answer. It felt unusual but pleasant to be characterised as such, by his brother too.
"What do you say? You and I, brother and brother, taking the political scene by storm."
Gabriel could not imagine a less enticing offer. If he wanted to be reminded of his worthless nature then he would have accepted the offer all those years ago when they invaded South Afrika. "I believe the next few days will be enough for now."
James huffed out, not appearing frustrated but rather apathetic to the answers. For an unknown reason, this was his will, consequences usually followed when those accustomed to getting what they wanted were denied such.
"It's because of that girl isn't it?" He nodded toward the door of the carriage. Gabriel looked to the location and saw the redcoat in question standing in the area, patiently waiting for the conversation to end. James was correct, if intentionally vague on the reasoning. Gabriel could do nothing more than nod conformation.
"Right then." James looked out the carriage window onto the city he allegedly despised. Men were already running around the platform fulfilling their private business. "Run on, enjoy some free time with that girlfriend of yours."
Part of the sentiment infuriated Gabriel, perpetuated by that carefree smile James wore. How could he say such things? To think Peggie would ever settle for someone like him. Her friendship was a gift from God, to go further than that was unimaginable.
"I am confident Miss Pierre can find someone more fitting to her character than myself."
That admission brought more grief than Gabriel anticipated. Starting with James hitting the table with his fist to then glare at the offending party.
"You have an Imperial Princess waiting in Berun for you and that's how you decide to talk. You are a member of a prestigious dynasty; I suggest you start acting like it for once in your life." Other members of the train car took notice of the small commotion but ignored their superior. Gabriel wished he had that luxury at the moment. Instead, he had to listen to the cruel reality of his situation in life. "We have guided the Kingdom for centuries and you think so little of it. It's an insult to everything we're doing here, to me, and our mother."
Once again, Gabriel regretfully agreed with his brother.
"I agree, sir. However, I can only speak as I understand the available information, sir." Gabriel never knew how he was to address the crown prince in the best of situations. When he apparently made a mistake the natural default was to adhere to rank. It was the natural order of the world they lived in.
"Do whatever you interpret to be best for the Commonwealth Lieutenant Stuart." Spoken with a tired tone, exhausted with the challenge of communicating with the family's mistake.
James stood up, assuming a posture of intimidation his occupation naturally projected. Speaking firmly as he looked down at Gabriel.
"If you're smart you will think over my offer. Report to the town hall by seventeen hundred hours, I have a speech I want you to do. Dismissed."
"But-"
"Dismissed Lieutenant!" Gabriel wanted to protest further, better judgment persisted, however, and he turned around. To be a greater pest would only incur equal punishments onto him.
08/11/1924/ Norden Territory, Germanic Empire / 3KM above Kraggana Supply Depot / 11:27
Tanya readjusted her rifle to aim ahead of the Entente planes, adjusting for her movement as well that as the enemy. The ski styled flying gear of the enemy could be manoeuvrable if used properly, this was not such an occasion. She smiled at the ease it took to put this dog down.
The enemy remained fixated on their escape, common sense finally setting in after she made an example of the formation leaders' aircraft by throwing a hand grenade into the cockpit. Tanya knew she could manage the above-average altitude and subsequent conditions due to her bestowed abilities and experimental Type 95, but the number of targets would be too numerous for normal conditions.
"Easier than hitting fixed gun emplacements." With a sigh, Tanya resigned herself to another bout of insanity. A green display materialised at her will, slowly targeting each of the targets with a red diamond. Why must she need to continuously prove herself?
"Lord hear my prayer. I am in need of your miracles. Swing your heavenly sword so they may taste your heavenly judgment." Being X pounced on her request and her mind phased out.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God."
"Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
"Blessed are you when they insult you and persecute you and utter every kind of evil against you falsely because of me."
"Rejoice and be glad, for your reward will be great in heaven. Thus they persecuted the prophets who were before you."
"You are the salt of the earth. But if salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned? It is no longer good for anything but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot."
When her mind returned to her mortal being Tanya was floating in the air. Physical pain alluded her, but a weight had set in to squander any future will to act.
"Curse you Being X."
The icy air where this war originally started struck against her face. The sweat created from the battle now caused her exposed skin to sting in the cold. To think only a day ago she was eating Swiss rolls with a monarch while discussing politics. It was cruel to tempt her with the life she strived for. If only she was born an Albion, then she could tell Gabriel to get her behind a desk. But Being X would not make it easy, it was a guarantee. She would still be a starving orphan in the Unitary or penniless refugee in Aquilonia, no doubt a stranger to prince and queen alike. It was best if she could count her blessings now rather than ponder on hypothetical scenarios, that sounds like something Gabriel would say.
Tanya jolted back. Grabbing at her face to try and force reason to return. She could not let that cursed object warp her mind as that monster wanted.
She felt for her computation orb for an update to the rest of the battle. The battalion was finishing off its prey and communicating in the same manner. This battle was nearing its end, thankfully, and not a moment too soon.
They had been put to work the minute their plane touched down. Back into the air with their rifles pressed into their shoulders, tasked with defending the Kraggana supply depot. The largest stockpile of supplies was to last the Northern army through the winter. Tanya was already frustrated with the below-average weather, protecting their winter coats was more important than any consequences to her career.
"Wings Two, Three and Four." Tanya welcomed the warmth of the mana trickle through her chest as she activated the communication formula. It aided in her efforts to force the corrupted exhaustion of that deity's influence out of her. "Purse the retreating mages. Make sure they don't think about turning around to waste any more of our time. Keep in mind the lowest score is paying for the crate of liquor I ordered."
A sympathy of "yes ma'am" and "sir" rang through the air. Some breaking with the standard conformation to announce, "for the Empire" or "for the emperor," some assigning tribute to herself before they sped off in pursuit "for the Major." It was a confusing jest for her. She sent them forward for the purpose of protecting herself, why would they want to bring her along in spirit?
She thought it worth further investigation as she flew back down to her company.
"Lieutenant Serebryakov." Tanya called for her adjutant once she was in earshot of her regrouped unit, transitioning into a hovering posture level to Visha's head.
If only Being X made her taller.
"Major. Good work taking down that bomber." Visha opened up the topic with awe that was shared by the company.
Only she could easily use the multi-shot spell to that magnitude on that many targets, not to include the height requirements. A necessary final kick in the rear to entice them not to fire back and hopefully prevent their immediate use. She would rather not risk herself or her human resources like that again.
It was a shame none of them crashed, it would be ideal to have a prisoner for interrogation. It had gotten them those maps back in Dacia; if only the rest of the war could be that simple.
"If only we didn't let the Commonwealth fly off to the Rhine. I can think of some friends that would have been rather useful today." Tanya talked to her men at large. The sarcasm was well received and chuckled at, Private Kropp whispering something to the man next to him. It was of no consequence, however, since Visha was the one to respond.
"It was excellent work. That computation jewel really is special. The rest of us could never climb that high."
"Scared these Scandinavians might get a lucky shot in. Are we Lieutenant?"
It was a trick question: admit to lacklustre abilities or disinterest in her commanding officer. Tanya failed to be surprised that Visha was able to navigate her way out of the matter.
"I just don't think Commander Weiss could do as good a job as you do ma'am."
"Well said, Lieutenant. That would be a shame."
That matter should be put aside for the moment, the trivial discrepancy weighing on her mind more than it had any right to. The next words out of her mouth questioned why the wings were attributing their accomplishment to the emperor or herself.
Visha pondered the question, visibly perking up when she realized what exactly was being asked of her. The proverbial switch activated to let her think. Tanya thoughts she could only make it so clear for the half Germanic girl.
"I think Lieutenant Weiss and some of the other officers think we need a battle cry; like the one the Invicta Pact uses."
It took all of Tanya's available strength not to roll her eyes. Must Being X provoke her with every cliché?
It should not be surprising to hear her band of merry killers wanted to celebrate their carnal desires further. Only the most crazed would volunteer for the battalion in the first place, it stood to reason the worst of them would continue after her Slovakian mountain training. The lieutenant she spoke to did seem to have most of her wits about her, however, so the working theory might not be foolproof.
"I don't know if I should fault them for their vanity or unoriginality."
"Major?" Visha thankfully seemed ignorant to the plethora of criticisms her superior kept private.
"I don't desire to be overbearing in my presence, but they shouldn't feel the need to glorify me with such actions."
Everyone seemed to watch her with a nervous tick. Perhaps hoping for her approval of their silly games feather than the reality she brought into the situation.
"Remind me to tell the officers to take my name off their list."
The last thing Tanya needed was to become associated with sociopathic bloodlust. Let them cry the name of some other fool. They did not need her permission to make fools of themselves.
"Yes, Major." Visha positioned her rifle into one hand, the other going to her neck to apparently tug on a necklace of some kind. Tanya made a note to ask about it later, small details such as that usually did not pass by the Salaryman or herself without notice.
"Now, let's get back to base. We can determine who's paying for our wine when we touch down."
08/11/1924/ Arene, Germanic Empire / Ypres Styled Coffee House Patio / 11:21
Gabriel watched another lorry full of soldiers drive down the street, the steel helmets poking out the truck bed. The best of the remaining units they could field being sent to the next noble battle. Once more onto the breach.
The soldiers passed by without consequence. Despite the setting joyful comments could be heard from within the truck bed. Gabriel noted they were too occupied to notice him at the café, their pitiable prince drinking tea while they were ready to risk their lives.
"I did not know the Empire loaned us trucks." Gabriel spoke again in hopes that Peggie would cease her silent treatment. She occupied herself by pretending to read a newspaper while sipping on her beverage. One of her boots rested on the flight gear they were commissioned to carry when not stationary.
Gabriel sighed, drinking his tea in the silence. Other patrons of the restaurant native to the city occasionally glared at the pair with disdain. It was preferable to be viewed as the disgusting foreigner than a disappointment of a royal. The Frankish-Imperial citizens at least were ignorant to his identity, their expectations were minimal at best. He could tolerate their silent disgust easily, but the silent treatment from his friend was disheartening.
"For a drink this expensive, it is not too good. How is your coffee?" It was expected that a coffee house would not specialise in tea, but then why have it on the menu? It was the restaurant Peggie sat down at, so Gabriel simply followed. He suspected they were victims of price gouging but was more offended at their lousy tea.
"I gather I have done something recently to offend you, Peggie." Gabriel paused as he considered the interoperability of the chosen words. "Disregarding the obvious point of contention."
Peggie made a display of folding the paper to place it down on the table. Harrumphing before locking eyes with Gabriel and clarifying her position of dissatisfaction.
"You insulted me in front of your brother and didn't hesitate."
"Is that it?" Gabriel's honest question seemed to cause more frustration than sympathy.
"Don't worry General Stuart." Peggie artificially deepened her voice to mimic her friend. "Peggie can find someone better than me, a prince, she's a lowly peasant after all."
"I am mindful of what I said, but that was not what I said to my brother." Gabriel felt more anxious than he let on. "
"You said you're too good for me." Peggie snapped back, crossing her arms and legs in her chair.
"I certainly do not believe that." Peggie maintained her temperament through Gabriel's confession. "If I knew that was what you interpreted then I would have picked my words more carefully. Describing you in that manner is the last thing I would want to do, irrelevant to who I was speaking to. I apologise regardless. The last thing I would want is to intentionally insult you in that manner."
Peggie stayed still, gradually nodding in a display of acceptance while she hugged herself. The desire to be angry was outweighed by the one to forgive, inspired by the subject of both emotions. Another person and the commitment to be embittered could survive indefinitely.
"By the way, who is Vooren?"
"Lieutenant Vorran Grantz." Peggie answered sheepishly. Whispering the final part of her sentences to avoid confessing the reality openly. "The blonde one that, I'm talking with."
"Just talking?" She shrugged for a response, remarking how he was to turn eighteen in the spring. Gabriel probed further cautiously. "Because you have a habit of talking and acting"
"I thought you didn't want to hear about stuff like that." Peggie transitioned quickly from a defensive nature to humour to hide behind. "If you're going to get jealous you had your chance over a decade ago."
"You already know my stance on that matter. Just…" Gabriel knew his words had to be carefully chosen, even if he had not annoyed Peggie once today.
"Make sure he treats you right. Not like the last guy."
"Thank you. But promise me, it won't be you shooting him in the back and not some Dacian farmer?"
"I pride myself on shooting exactly zero of your former lovers Peggie." Gabriel intentionally skirted around committing to any such promises. Only God knew what the future held, that and his child Gabriel kept a service revolver at arms reach.
There was silence after they settled the matter. Neither sure how else they were to proceed with the topic. Gabriel knew the day would come when Peggie would listen to him and cease running into the arms of bidding men. That day was yet to come since the conversation was rerouted to one completely removed from the subject of love.
"You think we can actually change things here?" Peggie asked while bending down to rest her elbows on her knees.
"I am doubtful. I might need to write to Leah once again to send me more Qing tea to make up for this." They quietly laughed at the intentional misunderstanding. "I might as well enjoy it since I can tell Major Degurechaff does not like it."
"Her loss." Peggie forced herself into a state of tranquillity to address her original point. "But seriously Gabriel. You've seen the photos; do you think the 27th will change the tide of battle in our favour? Because it's a bit silly to think we can arrive to roll back the front like a carpet."
"You must have talked with Miss Serebryakov." Gabriel smirked for a moment, recalling the Imperial squirming about this topic in the back of Peggie's plane. The smile faded when he returned to the conversation. "We will have to see what we are up against. But I am confident we can do our duty."
"That's all well and good but I don't plan on getting killed out there."
"I doubt many of us do." Gabriel hesitated after giving his answer. It was an uncomfortable theory and not one he wanted to give more thought to. Unfortunately, Peggie was already prepared to seize on the opportunity to service her curiosity.
"Have you written to Rushworth's family yet?"
"I do not wish to talk about this Peggie."
"It's this or the other thing you don't want to talk about." Peggie leaned backwards in her chair, reluctantly satisfied with her ultimatum. The unmentioned other could not be spoken of in public and was settled from Gabriel's perspective. The artificiality of choice was made.
"Major Hanover said he would handle them. I honestly despise the idea of thinking about it."
"I noticed you have not cut your hair, Peggie." Gabriel made a face as he finished the cup of tea, overly sour than the ersatz style he had tolerated for years. It was aboriginal tradition to do a small ritual for funerals. "Can we even get sweetgrass in Europa?"
"I'm not cutting it. I wasn't close to either of them. I don't need to grieve" Peggie primitively answered the inevitable "why" Gabriel would propose.
"And if you don't mind me saying, Gabriel." She finished her coffee to give Gabriel the opportunity to speak. Not passed by the Lieutenant who saw the inevitability of the discussion.
"But that rarely stops you from talking." He was proved right immediately.
"You're acting pretentious with your grief."
"Elaborate."
They both sat up straight in their chairs, Peggie crossing one leg over the other while the anticipation for her explanation.
"I won't say it isn't sad. I'm not that much of a cow. For most of us, it's just our reputation that has been wounded. We don't miss the two of them, just their plane and the fact we have had our first combat deaths."
"What did you know about Rushworth? I think I've seen you speak to him maybe ten times over the past few years; none of those was personal. Do you even know the name of the pilot that died? I bet it's just the callsign and plane number you keep for the reports."
The first name was John, it at least started with a J, but the rest eluded Gabriel. He was responsible for two men's death and lacked the courtesy to remember the man's name. He had to do better going forward, both for relating to his countrymen and preserving their mortality. He was a prince; he served the people and the Lord. The former always sounded more terrifying, at least with the church he could achieve what was expected of him. The only thing he assumed he knew how to do for the 27th was ways to keep them alive, and that was evidently flawed.
"It's terrible that they died Gabriel, but I don't think everyone is realising why they are upset. We are down a plane, not two friends."
"What is your point, Peggie?"
"I'm saying that you're not upset that Rushworth is dead. There's no point in acting otherwise, so let's all stop pretending we lost a lifetime friend or loved one."
"You are rather harsh Peggie."
"Maybe, but I prefer that to lying about it."
"I still feel like it could have been prevented. We need to learn from whatever hit us; this never happens again." They were supposed to be the best of the Commonwealth; if Gabriel let them start dying in droves the consequences would reach beyond family members and the war effort. Friends or not, there were two more deaths he felt responsible for.
Peggie signalled for their waitress to come while her companion was consumed by his conscience, asking for the bill to then aggravate Gabriel out of his state.
"Hey." She kicked his shin underneath the table, startling Gabriel back to life. "Bills coming."
"I am the one paying then?" A question tradition answered, Gabriel already reached for his wallet. Two facts existed as mutual knowledge: Gabriel indirectly had the wealth of nations due to his family on top of his officers pay, and Peggie abused said coffers for minor gain. Nevermore than a meal or drink she told him to buy for her. Simultaneously justified through means of repentance.
"You did insult me in front of your brother, so we can call it even afterwards."
Gabriel shook his head but smirked throughout, it might not be fair, but neither was it despised. He only needed to say no, and the tab would be picked up by another, such as the mark of respectful extortion.
"Hello, again Miss." Gabriel switched to the language the natives of Arene were accented with. Most likely the best use of the Frankish language he knew outside of imagining profanities for the enemy. The defining clue the coffee house was family-owned was the staff. Most children boarding on young adults with a sour face would not be continuously employed otherwise.
"Was everything to your liking?" The youth put down the slip of paper detailing the final price before taking away the empty cups. Gabriel found it amusing that the culturally Francois city still pinned for the Imperial Mark. Greedy for it judging by the enormous cost for a single cup of watery tea.
"My companion enjoyed her coffee."
"Then you didn't like the tea?" The waitress was blunt, Gabriel accepted the acquisition at face value in what he hoped was a polite manner.
"I am merely homesick."
"It is a coffee house, sir. I can get you another coffee if you would like." The waitress suggested what she thought to be their best products; stepping away from the expectations of waitstaff by informing them of what was to be avoided on the menu. If not for today then the next time they came to visit.
"Thank you, but I am not a coffee drinker."
"This isn't the best decision in restaurants, is it sir."
The girl became livelier as she engaged in idle conversation. The gloom of her aura faded away to a happy young girl that enjoyed existing at the moment. Gabriel imagined this would be the image of Major Degurechaff when she grew older. A fair-haired girl that knew how to be happy instead of miserable.
"Genevieve!" A tall woman clad in an apron emerged from the café's interior and walked to their table. A copy of the bill held up to her daughter followed by unveiled frustration. "What is the meaning of this?"
The young girl's resolve broke immediately, clever enough to scheme but not brave enough to resist consequences.
"You said we needed the money, so I thought." The girl clutched her hands to her chest, immediately made meek by the presence of her angry mother.
"You can't price gouge, you stupid child!" The hand that held the bill became a flat surface brought down on the cheek she birthed. The other patrons ignored the display of parental violence, indifferent or desensitised to the act. Gabriel only realised he was the only one reacting by the time he was standing with clenched fists.
"What are you doing?" The surprise of an Albion speaking Francois came from the business owner and observing customers. The abrupt anger in the tone noticed by all Peggie shifted upwards in her seat behind Gabriel, edging her equipment and rifle closer to her person as the crowd began to turn on them.
"The Imperial dog can talk." The barista stepped forward, equal to Gabriel's height but staring down her nose at him. The woman appeared invigorated at the prospect of conflict between herself and the incorrectly assigned Albion. Gabriel knew his skills in conversing were subpar but suspected asserting his nationality would be tonally moot. Resolving to stand his ground against this cruel breed of humanity.
"Mama." Young Genevieve tried to defuse the situation from behind her mother, one hand resting on her assaulting cheek, promptly being told to "shut it" and to go inside immediately. She obeyed without hesitation, muttering an apology out behind saddened eyes.
"I run my family and my business how I please, so don't ask questions you're not entitled to. Your waitress should have told you; this is a Francois establishment." The woman forcefully poked Gabriel in the chest to the amusement of the crowd, the unaltered bill and total due visible between her fingers. Some shouting out for further insults and displays of strength. "Now, Imperial. Pay your bill and get out."
The idea of challenging the cruelty was persistent in Gabriel's mind. Why it was the perfect setting to point out the equality of the Lord's children that overshadowed her prejudices. Intertwined with a reminder that those who persecuted or unjustly slapped the innocent were not free from divine judgment. If that was impossibly not enough, then the economic drawback of such a policy would be a fitting conclusion. Before he could open his mouth Gabriel felt the eyes of Peggie on the back of his skull warding him off from his current course.
"It's not worth it Gabriel." His companion hummed out, well established within his head, warding off evil spirits that told him to violently wipe the smug smirk off the woman's face.
Gabriel backed away, throwing the money onto the table, and escaping onto the sidewalk with his gear and Peggie in tow. The small crowd of patriots celebrated their departure and wished for them to not return. The rifle strap felt heavier, trying to remind its owner that it was present and a solution to the most stubborn of problems. While faintly tempting, he knew the risk in entertaining an impure thought, lest it led to sin.
"So, what now?" Peggie inquired as they distanced themselves from the angry voices of the café dissipated behind them. It was a fair question; they were here to win a war regardless of the doubts of those around them.
Gabriel remembered the parting words Tanya gave him back in Dacia. "Don't do anything too drastic once you're there…No one expects anything like that from you or your unit." At least she did not hide her true feelings, that was commendable. Rather join the coalition that thought they would fail along the Rhine.
If everyone saw it fit to think lowly of them, then it presented the two options. Either acknowledge their negligible status or rage against their opponents. They were the best of the Commonwealth, though evidently not invincible they had to behave like they were.
May the Lord protect them, for Gabriel knew the idea that crept into his mind would not be without consequences. If it got them one step closer to Albion it was necessary, all-in service to the Church.
"You alright Gabriel?" Peggie provoked the Lieutenant to abandon his internal thought, startled for a moment until he formulated the plan on how to secure the safety of their unit.
"I was told to do what was best for the Commonwealth. I believe it is my responsibility as second-in-command to survey the terrain we will be fighting on."
"And to get out of a speech or something." Peggie muttered loud enough to speak over their surroundings. Intimidating the minor voice of desire in the back of Gabriel's mind.
"Not at all, we're just following orders."
"I didn't realize I volunteered to go along." Peggie smiled despite her protest, both know that one would not act without the other.
"If you do not come then I will tell Lieutenant Grantz of your cowardliness."
"Do that and I'll tell that Major you called her Sulla."
"Then tell her. "No greater friend, no greater enemy." You may realize that is a compliment, Peggie."
Peggie took the lead in securing their ride from the street. Gabriel put on his scarf and helmet stowed away on his kit to prevent the unlikely scenario of someone recognising the queen's youngest son. Three more trucks passed without incident, another slowing to shout "bloody mage" at them before speeding off. Luck would finally strike them with the next truck, its human cargo concealed under a canvas cover.
Peggie stuck her hand out for the next truck to pass them. The driver honked the horn to motivate her out of the way but stopped before he passed the pair at risk of breaking Peggie's arm. Then committed to haggling for them to move out of the way.
"Can I help you, ladies?"
"How charming," Peggie hoisted herself up to the driver's window, balancing her mage gear on her back. "Not only are you seeing double, but you also think I'm a lady."
The lorry driver seemed amused by the confrontation being matched and returned. Gabriel knew he had to bite his tongue on the self-deprecation of Peggie, or else risk losing their ride.
That she could defend her feminine status moments ago when he unintentionally implied their absence was noticeable.
"We need a ride. You got any room in the back of this?"
"Aren't you mages? Flying around is just about the only thing you're any good at."
The lorry jolted forward again to try and pressure the mage off of the vehicle. Peggie maintained her ground on the side of the door.
"How long of a drive is it to the front?" Gabriel inquired the nagging question.
"Couple hours." The driver looked past Peggie down to what he accused of being the second lady. "Most of the trains are reserved for transporting supplies so they make the soldiers walk or drive it from here."
"Lucky us then." Gabriel made eye contact with the driver; a man who looked too disinterested to drag out the matter any further.
"Right, if you can find room get in. Don't expect any cushy seating or boot polish you two."
Peggie thanked him and climbed down from the window, quickly scurrying to the entrance of the truck before the driver changed his mind. She was throwing in her flight gear and rifle by the time Gabriel caught up, pushing her up and into view of the soldiers.
"Looks like we're dying up there." One soldier quipped as the first redcoat pulled Gabriel up into their seats.
"Gracing the underbelly. We should be honoured." Another voice spoke under his breath, made anonymous by the crowd as did the followers. More complaints were hurled privately or whispered privately to one another.
"That's us sorted then."
"Here I thought we would be lucky."
"Aren't these guys supposed to be watching Jerusalem burn?"
The last comment received the most approval from the small group of infantrymen that quipped to one another, only just heard apart from the murmurs of the crowd.
"You have a problem with magic users?" Peggie asked to the answer of collective silence. Everyone aside from her pretended to have said nothing.
"No one here does." A man, boy rather, sitting across answered. Not the highest rank present but speaking for the collective consensus. "We're happy to see mages. We like doing the leg work and take the blame if someone else cocks it up."
Gabriel pushed his shoulder into Peggie's side, telling her to keep stowed whatever witty retort she no doubt had primed. There was nothing to gain from antagonising their countrymen when they already had convinced themselves of their biases. A feeling uncomfortably familiar to him. She could learn to tolerate judges of character for the hours-long ride they had ahead of them; she could be content in the fact that they were false when lobbed at her.
There was a thumping from the carriage to signal the driver to continue, lurching the vehicle forward with the momentum of the lorry. Prompting the young man across from them to mutter out for the amusement of no one.
"Welcome aboard the night bus to God knows where."
08/11/1924/ Londinium. Unitary of Albion / St James Park, pound / 12:20
"You don't want to do that."
Robert Arcand crouched next to the offending party, a small boy no older than four.
"You'll make the ducks sick." He pointed at the slice of bread in the child's grip. Held out of reach from the cohort of aquatic birds that swam on the edge of the pound of St James Park.
In the odd untranslatable language of toddlers, the boy sounded surprised at the revelation. Arcand could understand the sentiment and respond accordingly.
"I'm afraid so. It can get stuck in their tummies and make them poorly. You don't want that to happen?"
The boy said as much in his way, apologising in what Arcand understood to be a plea of ignorance. At least the child was raised well. Most were too stubborn and unwilling to admit others knew better. Such was the reality of life.
"It's alright son. I know you don't wasn't to hurt the "duckies."
Arcand got the boy to smile when he used the same term for the birds.
"They don't know any better, they would eat it all up without knowing what is good for them. That's why we need to be careful what we do."
Arcand reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the prepared small paper bag of birdseed kept on standby for these walks. Handing it off to the boy while explaining the improvement in food.
"Here. They can eat this without getting poorly."
Arcand had the lad point to his parents on a picnic blanket a small distance away. Now relieved the child was not abandoned he could continue his lunch break stroll. Ruffling the boy's hair and groaning slightly as he stood back up. Getting old was starting to have its annoying drawbacks.
The parents might have noticed their Consul's presence as he walked back to the footpath; he felt no need for any interruption or condescending lesson on acceptable bird food. Better to let them enjoy their downtime, he would do the same.
Chief Construction Minister Walter Spenceley waited in the same spot Arcand departed from. Never a visibly calm man he kept to the standard as he fidgeted in place.
"Everything alright, sir?"
"Quite Mr. Spenceley. Just inspecting the next generation of soldiers. Now, where were we?"
They carried on with their walk through the premises in relative privacy. Although no one would hear them, each man knew what topics required a secluded space buried deep underground. This was not one such instance and they could banter freely.
"The former Dacian Prime Minister Horváth, sir." Spenceley touched the matter as one would a dangerous animal's snout; ready to flinch away at the slightest movement.
"Yes, I remember. You contest my position." Arcand scratched his beard. He did not know if he liked being the rabid beast in his analogy. The construction minister was the most vocal opposition within his inner circle. Ultimately loyal and rational to make him trustworthy and competent to ensure his usefulness. The differing viewpoints were necessary to keep everyone critical of themselves and their ideology.
How could they achieve their plans if they blindly followed whoever spoke the loudest? Their ambitions were too grand for such mistakes.
Hawkins might have detested criticism to his ideals, but Arcand relished in it. That was what made him the party leader.
"So, tell me. Why have I made a poor decision in sending Horváth's wife to the Congo?"
"We told him nothing would happen to his family if he followed our orders. We still don't know what exactly happened to Marshal Tóth."
"You read the report Spenceley. The authorities had him under lock and key, then they let him drink to a stupider, and walk out the front door of the prison. A gunshot follows and he is now missing, suspected dead."
"Yes, only suspected." Spenceley fidgeted slightly, poking at his tie but otherwise visibly confident in his position. "We remain uncertain if he is dead. It would be a political opportunity wasted if we went back on our word. There is still time before Mrs. Horváth arrives at the port. We can reverse the decision."
"That is why we left the son in the Republic. We can still use the instance as an example for the future. One lives because Horváth did as we said, the other works because he failed to do the job properly. Let the women breed new workers and toil in the factories and let the young men train and develop a passionate hatred for the Empire. As far as he knows they killed both of his parents. We cannot waste such emotions by making him slave away in the mines."
Arcand knew Spenceley was reluctant on their Afrikan workforce programs, called a necessary evil rather than simply necessary. He sought to remind him of the priorities they had to work towards.
"Each is used to their full effectiveness. As they should be."
They were silent momentarily as the architect digested the information. Arcand could assume the man still disagreed - at least for now. However, he relented and conceded the argument to the consul. Claiming understanding to the motive.
"That is fair, sir. I will not pretend that I like the veracity of our methods, but I understand.
"Our method is the only way forward for genuine human and technological progress. The alternative is the cave." Arcand dug into his dramatic flair slightly. "Our coffers are full because of what we have done. Ten times the cobalt since we took over from the Flemish Kingdom. Three times the diamond and gold, twice the tin. Not to mention all our under the table projects the workers provide the state with." Arcand lowered his voice towards the end of his ramble but raised it back to normal volume afterwards.
"We must have the resources and tools to defend our island, our ideology and our mission. Time is not on our side, so we have to enact these measures. History likes to forget that sentimentality often grows to assault true progress when the backward and mediocre feel left out of it."
Spenceley looked down at his shoes while this was the topic of discussion. He was like that when he was commissioned to build the infrastructure for the mines. It took the same pragmatic reasoning to convince him during the early years of the Unitary.
"I understand sir. Shall we move onto the final matter before we return to the Chancery?" He hinted at the final topic they planned for as they stopped before the pound. Arcand glanced across the water and found the boy on the opposite side throwing seeds at the birds joyfully.
They looked around, the park still held the average occupants of mid-day lunch; none near or watching them. The secrecy of their conversation could be assured. Unless the ducks were working on behalf of the Empire.
"We shall Walter. Have you heard from the Republic on the Blackwing?"
"The acting Frankish general has displayed they can use the gas containers correctly and they have proper facilities for storage and accidents. They will have full effectiveness against the Commonwealth tomorrow."
"Perfect." Arcand crowed with a smile. The victory was in their grasp. Whether the Republic rolled back the Rhine front with this offensive or not was secondary. The Unitary's war did not concern itself with how much Germanic land the Republic held by the day.
"All they have to do is kick at our old enemy and they might pull out entirely. Their public support will shrivel up when they see their fathers and sons choking on their own blood."
"As you say, sir." Spenceley smirked mightily, outdone by his conversation partner. "Such is the problem with giving them a voice."
Their spies had watched the buildup of loyalist forces and equipment while the Empire ate up Dacia. By losing such stores of material and experienced manpower they could cripple their army for years.
"Remind me to talk with Hawkins when we are in the bunker. We need to see precisely how we can sabotage Imperial-Commonwealth relations after tomorrows battle. If we are lucky the Empire might send them back into Hellas and Anatolia for us."
"Does that mean we should forget all the times you told us to never rely on luck, sir?"
Arcand chuckled at the dry wit of his fellow Albion. "No no, I could never love that cruel mistress. I must be in a good mood."
The master of war could subdue an enemy without fighting. Arcand thought the Unitary could achieve the next level by making others fight for them while simultaneously indenting themselves. Time and their careful planning would have to
Every detail was tested, and all diplomacy was upheld. Now they could enjoy themselves as the outcome unfolded.
"Few things are genuinely better for your ego than realizing those aligned against you are subhuman. I've learned to process this as proof of the validity of my beliefs."
Arcand grabbed his colleague on the shoulder, shaking it in pre-emptive celebration for their success.
"By this time tomorrow Mr. Spenceley, we should have rid ourselves of the meddlesome Commonwealth."
A/N:
Bible passages are from the Sermon on the Mount in case anyone is curious. It felt the most appropriate that the words of Christ enter into Tanya rather than any psalm or letter.
I still need to set up the battle of Arene despite being a fan story since it was not done in canon. Perhaps it is not technically necessary to do because of that, however, I usually cave to writing rules. What is one more Chekov's gun at this point? It was fun regardless to get a ground look at the city, let us hope nothing that could be comparable to the Warsaw uprising can happen...
I am aware the audience will not be upset about Rushworth's death and it is fundamentally a motivation device. While not recommended in most writing rules, I wanted to play with the idea a bit hence why Peggie points out Gabriel is not really upset for the right reason. Planned to mirror the reader's reaction to the same events and characters. I am aware it is a bit of a risk and I hope it plays off well.
Fair warning, the next chapter will be heavily focused on the Commonwealth for what should be obvious reasons (attempt number two to make this story rated M). I am aware this is still a story on Youjo Senki, meaning you are here for Tanya and not my name. Regardless, I will maintain that chapter will be of the usual quality. If it is not of interest to you, I understand, no hard feelings. Tanya will be back in her deserved spotlight in chapter fifteen.
Thank you all for reading.