The Purpose of Conflict: Chapter Fifteen- Send in the Zombies I
09/11/1924 / Northern Rhine Front, Germanic Empire / Forward Trench / 12:36
It had been an eventful day in the Republic front lines for Second Lieutenant Gervais Beaufort. His post was to direct the radio messages and try deciphering information beyond his comprehension. This was his first stint of time on the front and if it was always this chaotic, hopefully, his last.
The local captain had already sent the third wave into the gas cloud to attack the Commonwealth line. The last he heard from any reliable source was a squadron of men retreated and were cut down by their own machine gun nest. Everyone was on edge, Beaufort included for different reasons.
They had rules and expectations in the army, and each was being chipped away. New plans whipped up abruptly on the introduction of a new and untested weapon. The hatchet on his belt was one minor but prevalently irritating example. Officers were supposed to have swords, not woodcutting material. The quartermaster that issued the tool dismissively claimed it was a "sword-like weapon," the arrogant fool. Beaufort wondered if he was the only one that cared for the traditions of the army? They were supposed to use artillery and mages, not rely on chemical weapons and face masks that tightened the windpipe. The generals promised a quick breakthrough with the production and implementation of this gas. He expected those words to be upheld. A stagnant line and confused offensive was the opposite.
Another explosion emerged from the entrance of the dugout, the wind carrying in dust and the fearful warnings of their countrymen. Beaufort understood what that meant, the other two men with him showed the fear with the same realisation. The Commonwealth had breached their lines.
"God help us." Beaufort hoped his prayer would find their Father.
One of the radio operators said something about contacting the rear. What good would that do any of them? The enemy was here and shooting down anyone who ran past their little door. The only defence available was their issued small arms and a useless hatchet. No, they had to hide, they might survive the day. The operators valued the advice and went to conceal themselves among the furniture and equipment.
Soon enough, a threat came in to inspect the dugout. A soldier dressed in a red tunic, panting heavily with his rifle and bayonet ready for use. He lacked a gas mask. He must have been a mage; they were able to use magic or something like that to survive the cloud the man just charged through.
The term "boy" might have been more appropriate. Beaufort had a clear view of his face from his hiding spot. He had a daughter at home that was at least half his age. What had this war done that the most innocent among them had to fight and die for it?
He wanted to protect his nation and people, not hurt children that had no business in this war. He wanted to be back home with his family, to say he loved them, to walk with them to church on Sundays and teach his baby girl how to play the piano like her papa.
The first of his countrymen to hide jolted upward, he got a shot in but was killed and pushed back into the tables quickly. The second man pounced from his hiding space but was cut down as quickly with a bayonet taking his life.
Beaufort stood up last, his gun and hatchet equipped. The boy in red must have been reeling from defending himself and might turn away at a slight push. He just had to scare the kid away, then they would be alive, and he could go back home to his wife and child. He aimed in Albion's direction and pulled the trigger in the hopes the noise would get rid of the poor boy. The gunshots were deafening in the enclosed space but for a moment Beaufort thought they might have worked.
The force of a horse kicked his chest and Beaufort was thrown back onto the ground. The force and pain equal from the injury implied something terrible had happened. He cried out for no determinate reason, pain, mercy, assistance. Moaning and complaining while grabbing his chest was the only rational thing he could imagine. He could not breathe in his mask on and peeled it away, in time for his unrestricted vision to become occupied by the boy climbing on top of him.
Beaufort wanted to say something, anything of consequence in the moment. An apology for doing the only thing his cowardly brain could imagine. The pain shifted to his face as the redcoat tried to dislodge the teeth from his mouth. The boy muttered words Beaufort could not decipher struck him repeatedly. Proceeding to strike his face repeatedly while inciting increasingly indiscriminate sounds and grunts that only mimicked human language.
Then the boy picked up the hatchet and held it above his head, smiling. Not only curling his lips upward but overtly gleeful at the new weapon and a method to test it. Beaufort realised quickly that the target was him.
Beaufort knew his sins were numerous and his killer was no better than he was. If he was to die here then it was final, he knew right from wrong. That included the happiness his killer took as he raised the hatchet into a striking position. He just wanted to say he was sorry, to God, to his family, to the boy who was about to kill him. Even if the vengeful eyes were the last thing he saw before the world was stricken black and the pain became unbearable.
09/11/1924 / Northern Rhine Front, Germanic Empire / Saint Raphael's Field Hospital, Doctors Office / 17:07
James heard everything aside from the messenger's voice. He anticipated his little brother would turn up, just not on the casualties list.
Commander Curry permitted his leave and he dwelled on the words that he never heard since. He followed the trail of field hospitals overflowing with wounded and choking men to find Gabriel's destination. He knew the political reception benefits in visiting the injured but that was secondary to finding his brother.
James failed to hear the doctor's words either, Gabriel was in surgery, more importantly, alive. The same was true for hundreds if not thousands of men on their section of the front. It was this one casualty that selfishly made him feel numb to the world.
He had to become king one day, what emotion was he supposed to feel and for who? The lieutenant that infuriated him and disregarded a direct order to play soldier, or the men whose sons he would guide into the future? Anger, sorrow, pity, the overwhelming desire to lock the door to the doctor's office he borrowed, and resist crying was the option James decided on.
James ran his hands down his face, the bristles of his moustache scratched his fingers. He hated this thing. All traditions and expectations were met, and he could not spare his brother from bodily harm. It should be him in that room being picked at by butchers and seamstresses.
It reminded James of when he first met Gabriel, he could have only been thirteen at the time. Mother was still recovering from the birth and father alternated between her and his sisters. Miss Ketchener sat him down and handed him a bundle of blankets. The baby was a small sickly thing. Something that was not expected to live a minute outside of the womb. It made sense why Gabriel was so faithful, his survival was proof of divine intervention. Why James had to continuously disregard the Lord after he witnessed a miracle. It showed how much of a fool he was.
He made a promise there in front of Miss Ketchener, so far he failed to protect the recipient of that vow from anything in this wretched world.
James sat down in the desk chair. He refused to cry; it would never be the right time. Too much rested on his title for him to break down. His hand slammed into the desk, picking up insignificant books to throw across the small room. All items bounced off the wall harmlessly.
This was all Gabriel's fault. The selfish child wanted to be the next Indie of Arabia and did not care how it happened. James knew he should have forced that idiot into a desk job before they retook Afrika; to hell with what he or that Aquilonain girl wanted.
James picked up a phone and raised it to whip it. The weakness throughout his body brought sense back to him. This was simply how the world worked: reliant on the change as much as God, if less at incomprehensible times.
James placed the phone back down and began to dial the number for their embassy in Berun. It would take some time to get through, the codes and security protocols were nearly as ingrained as the traditional facial hair we wore. He managed to calm himself by the time he got through to one of the maids, taking another minute until the queen was on the other end.
"Mother." James cleared his throat, unaware of the previous tightness in it.
"Yes, it was gas. Curry ordered we bite and hold what we have. Mother, listen, please." The queen stopped her continuous questions to listen, a rare change in James' experience.
"It's Gabriel, he's-" The sensation to cry was back, to say it had left was inaccurate, but James wanted to tell himself he could master these emotions. His voice hitched but composure was otherwise maintained. "Gabriel's been hurt. He was at the front when it happened. No, he's in surgery right now. Left-arm, melanise shrapnel, I don't know. Just-"
Mother broke her promised silence to extract the desired information she wanted. Not seeming to care if it cut off an answer she demanded. It irked James, he barely kept it together while mother continued to be at her best.
"No, I don't know. Major Hanover came in with him but he's running around with the medical mages, so I haven't asked yet. Yes, yes, I already gave them what they wanted."
James rubbed that sore spot on his arm where they stuck the needle in to drain him of blood. The things he did for that boy, the sight of the needle alone nearly made him faint.
"I don't know, what do you mean by that?" James straightened his posture from the unnoticed hunched he had. "You're coming down to see him. Because he's your son!" James ignored the prescribed wisdom to lower his voice, instead of raising it. "Then drag the Imperial here for your meeting, I don't care what else is going on in the world."
James listened to the excuses tacked off by his mother, each one invalid in his opinion. Not that it would change her mind. Mother always had a plan or scheme for every action regardless of its size and implications. To think Rachel called him stubborn.
"Tomorrow then. Do as you see fit mother, it's not me you need to explain yourself to."
10/11/1924 / Northern Rhine Front, Germanic Empire / Saint Raphael's Field Hospital, Courtyard / 10:14
Sergeant-Major Walter Hyll shuttered as he heard Queen Annabelle V call for him atop her horse after her speech. "Sergeant-Major Walter Hyll step forward." The voice bellowed out before the crowd, all eyes from the soldiers, the medical personnel or anything else landed on her. The fact those same people would be looking at him made was nerve-racking.
Hyll was told of this prematurely. He and his men were only back in the rear for an hour before some of the royal maids whisked him away for an interview that felt more like an interrogation.
Those girls that worked for the royal family were an odd bunch. The Stuarts upheld a charity program that recruited intelligent girls from struggling families and gave them a chance for a stable income. A way to encourage studying among a demographic that might otherwise be drawn to petty crime to pass the day. Whatever testing they put them through it made them remarkably intimidating women. He had charged into a cloud of toxic air but three girls in black and white dresses combing through his entire life was more suspenseful.
They told him where to stand and how to look for this speech. So good did come from the interrogation, knowing what to do did not make the queen any less intimidating.
Hyll approached the mounted woman, the courtyard organised squares of soldiers in marching formation transitioned to him. A hundred more faces filling every window of the hospital, cameras must have been somewhere to preserve the day. The fact the woman dressed in red tolerated these conditions was remarkable, that she led with them was inspiring.
He saluted and bowed for Queen Annabelle V, she acknowledged his presence with a smile and nod. It must have been the early morning light and colour scheme that made her eyes appear red in person.
"When one hundred men of the 23rd mounted rifles charged into the hordes unleashed by the Republic. It was you who was first over the top."
Hyll felt a lump in his throat. This was not planned; did he have to repeat what she said? No, he could not lie to the queen of all people. The truth would get out eventually if he said nothing.
"No, Your Majesty." The world paused as he waited for clarification. Hyll repeated himself louder. "No, ma'am. That would be Prince Gabriel. Many of my men saw it and can testify."
Some of those eyewitnesses in the crowd backed the statement. The queen observed these from her saddle without indication of an opinion. She raised a hand and the low murmuring ceased. She appeared to gain strength from all the attention fixated on her rather than shy away, shown as confidence that conquered mortal hubris.
"In one day, the Commonwealth has taken more ground than the Empire or Republic has in one year. I believe part of that is because of good men as the Sergeant-Major here. You followed one Stuart, Sergeant Major. Will you follow me to a new era of our people?"
"I will, Your Majesty I will.." Hyll said it twice, once in the normal manner of a conversation and the second elevated for the crowd.
"Sergeant-Major Hyll is with me. Now are you all with me?" Her Majesty called out to the crowd and was met with a war cry for confirmation. At that moment they all had total commitment to their goals. Hyll among them, it could be heaven or hell; at that moment he was willing to go with Queen Annabelle V all the way to Tokyo.
Her Majesty dismounted her horse as the spectators roared around them. The chatter gradually dwindled as the queen approached, physically smaller than himself but dominant over his entire person. Hyll tried to maintain a fixed position as the hints of panic broke through. Queen Annabelle must have noticed yet took no visible offence or conveyed the sentiment with her words.
"This must be frightful. A scary old lady brought every camera in the Commonwealth to see you."
"Your Majesty, my cowardice is my own, not inspired by you. Neither should you be considered "old," ma'am."
"That is a wise answer, Sergeant Major." The queen's smile grew, her chuckle permitting and motivating Hyll to join in. her lighthearted tone remained when the queen shifted to criticism. "I wonder how that smart head of yours decided to bypass the chain of command."
"The officers were dead, ma'am. I do not intend to neglect responsibility, but I followed Prince Gabriel's example to countercharge. It might not have been a legal order since His Highness is part of the air force, I stand by my decision."
"And my girls tell me he intended to go over the top alone." She was blunt while kind in her retort. Hyll stood by his decisions but already felt as if he had lost a larger point.
"I understand, Hyll my darling. It was a confusing moment and despite the errors, you behaved appropriately for your unit and the Commonwealth. That is why I am rewarding you for your efforts with more than a medal and recommendation. If you keep your work ethic, I can see you becoming an officer; my recommendation can get you a long way in training."
Hyll's mind ran faster, his mind and body froze as she procured a medal from one of her guards and attempted to secure it to his dress uniform.
"I refuse to let a good deed go unrewarded, or talent left wasted. Do you understand?"
Hyll instinctively nodded. Conflicted with the knowledge she invested in him.
"Splendid." The queen affixed the brass cross to his uniform, a new smile materialising beneath her red eyes. "Now we can be reassured our officer corps that direct the fights can rely on sturdy and reliable NCOs. If you feel inclined for a promotion, you need only ask." She let Hyll come to him for the opportunity instead of bestowing it when it might be unwanted.
"I, I appreciate the offer, Your Majesty. But I feel best suited for my current position in life." Hyll fumbled his words
"Write to me if you have a change of heart. I want to see my people succeed."
The queen quickly moved around her point before the weight of her sentences could register to him at the moment.
"Are you married, Sergeant Major?"
"Yes ma'am."
"A lucky woman no doubt. With children?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well then." Queen Annabelle V smile sharpened with a cunning flair. "I will arrange your leave and vacation for you and your wife in the Kingdom of Ildoa. I hear the Alps in winter can be a romantic setting for couples. Why don't you change that answer to a yes for me?"
"Yes ma'am." Hyll felt an odd sense of security and fear from the suggestion. A vacation paid for by the crown and a chance to see his beloved after all these years. He had better use it appropriately or incur possible unknown consequences – positive or negative.
"And if you have a girl, might I suggest you dedicate her name to the woman that made her daddy a proud captain?" The red eyes of the queen spelt out her request more than the words made by her tongue. Hyll felt conflicted to protest the woman that led their corner of the world but was honoured bond to prior commitments.
"Pardon me, Your Majesty. My wife wanted to name our first daughter after her mother, it means a lot to her."
"It is best you have twins in that case. Understood?" The queen did not miss a beat on her counter demand. Rational as much as it was uncompromising. The attitudes one could expect and want from a self-willed woman.
"Yes ma'am."
11/11/1924 / Parisii, Francois Republic / Beneficiarius Regional Headquarters / 10:23
General Pierre-Michel de Lugo was welcomed personally when he entered the boardroom by one of the most relevant members of the Unitary. Beneficiarius Commander and Unitary Security Minister: Herbert Hawkins. The original provider and creator of the Blackwing chemical weapon De Lugo loathed.
He maintained his composure despite the awkwardness of the setting. The Republic permitted the Beneficiarius to operate out of a building in the nation's capital. That charity did not mean that her Vice Minister of Defence and the armed forces; along with a cohort of generals could enter without a strict escort, search or constant guard. In the boardroom the stone-faced men were on each wall, two on the side of Minister Hawkins and his silent adjacent transcribing the meeting. Hawkins and his men sat alone on one side of the long table and postured silent control of the room. They were able to dictate terms since the Republic and De Lugo insisted the meeting be held here at the earliest possibility.
De Lugo shook Hawkin's hand last. It had a strong but cold grip to it, mimicking the tone of the room they all found themselves in.
"Please, sit down." De Lugo followed the request but kept his eyes on Mr. Hawkins.
The man was an odd creature; tall and thin but not ugly. Everything about the man from the black uniform to his smooth hair and moustache was pristine. Perhaps that was what inspired the uneasy aura about the man. Outwardly projected as perfect and said in each sentence without stating the term.
De Lugo felt the effects of the persona in unusual ways. Hawkin's eyes physically crawled along the skin. They dug underneath the surface to inspect the veins and muscle tissue of the Francois generals opposite him at the table. If they stared long enough maybe the Albion would blink sideways or make his irises change colour.
All men had their quirks or flaws, only the Lord was perfect. So, Hawkins must have been an alien creature that merely blended into humanity. Best to approach this meeting like such.
"Let's skip to the pressing matter Minister Hawkins." The other Francois present mimicked approval for De Lugo's bluntness. They did shift for his use of Albion rather than their natural tongue. He might care if their decision making had not ruined Operation Groseilliers and lost a strategic position. He felt more anger at his supposed colleagues than the Martian who encouraged and supplied the Republic with the Blackwing chemical agent.
"I admire the business focus General. I believe it can be said an elephant does exist in this room."
"The Unitary promised us the gas would work!" One of the generals burst out. The alien remained unphased by the anger that quickly emerged from the man of the Republic. De Lugo had to remind his man of his place before others aired their resentment.
"Mind your tone. The Unitary has no official involvement in this war or Operation Groseilliers. Regardless of what some of you no-doubt believe, my government fulfilled every obligation and more."
The Republican side of the table grumbled. De Lugo stepped in again to remind them not to disobey the Republic, or himself more importantly.
The unnaturally calm alien asked for a secretary, the only use the Unitary seemed to have for the fairer sex in government. A polite woman entered with several folders pressed against her bosom. The pile was given to the Minister, a black folder bound with string on top. That one was passed on to Hawkins valet contrary to what De Lugo expected.
If it was relevant information they were hiding any goodwill between the two nations had would evaporate.
"Something we should be privy to, Minister Hawkins?"
Hawkins gave a final look over the non-confidential folders, then directed the secretary passed them out to the foreign gentlemen. The Albion did not look up from his paper while giving the lazy answer.
"Each country is entitled to its classified information, General."
"Not in our damn country." Another Francois general quipped with the emotion Hawkins lacked. The Albion was quick with his retort devoid of anything but bureaucratic threats.
"Do we have your permission to investigate your embassy in Londinium?"
"Minister? Are you implying this building the Republic loaned you is equal to an embassy?" De Lugo had to step in, it was his nation being challenged rather than the pride of his vain colleagues. Hawkins barely batted an eye in his response.
"Wherever the Beneficiarius finds itself becomes the highest station of life." The Martian focused on De Ludo directly. "For all intents and purposes, this building is more sacred than the Vatican. Now."
Hawkins already moved back to the original topic, the polluted air lingered with the man's hubris. De Lugo scathed to the attitude but had to bide his time.
"It is unfortunate the push did not achieve the desired outcome. However, myself, the Beneficiarius and the Unitary reject any accusations that our chemical weapons were at fault." This caused a small grumble among the Republicans, kept in line by the self-restraint, Lugo's presence and the armed men in black uniforms on each side of the meeting room. Hawkins continued his debriefing steadily. "Internal reports we procured from public and private Commonwealth sources show casualties with anticipated results. Death is at one hundred per cent without a respirator. Contact to the Blackwing gas through exposed tissue or the bloodstream has moderate to severe poisoning, dependent on the exposure time and the scale of the wound. Current figures show the mortality rate is approximately twenty-five per cent in extreme cases. The remaining manpower is expected to recover but will be a drain on morale and equipment in the process. With appropriate measures, the effect among civilians and Imperial war support can be exploited, A project my men will lead from this very building."
De Lugo had a suspicion that the familiar non-existent acquaintance of Mr. John would be involved in that endeavour. It was irrelevant to the discussion, but it was odd to imagine the spy took orders from the lanky creature before him. At least it would keep the man out of his office for a while.
The folders were passed out by the secretary while Minister Hawkins delivered his thesis. Each page broke down the points made by the Albion with eye-watering detail. Completed with graphs, charts, and images of the outcome. De Lugo purposefully ignored the last option; the needless cruelty of the weapon was his primary objection to its use. He should be spared from the results.
"The Beneficiarius will act to create an indefinite environment where the Commonwealth and Empire are afraid to fight on the Republic's terms. The enemy only needs to know of the concept of Blackwing to be a recipient of it. The possibility of the weapon itself is critically damaging to the enemy."
One would think Minister Hawkins was providing a sales pitch to the angel of death. That idea made De Lugo pity that himself and the Republic were the harbingers of tragedy in that analogy. He did not quarrel providing the critical response that idea earned.
"We will not accept a hypothesis on fear-mongering as compensation for several dead men and lost equipment. The public opinion in the Republic will not be satisfied by your rhetoric."
"If you wish to assign blame to a source, general, I suggest looking inward to your state and army. The Beneficiarius are never at fault."
"Never!" Another general stood up from the table. Hawkins failed to flinch. Whatever De Lugo thought of the alien, the air of certainty was admirable. It was a soured evaluation due to the calm nature the leader of the Beneficiarius took to disposing of human life.
"The Beneficiarius does not make mistakes, sir. Irrelevant of the field or outcome, we are immune to such imperfections. That is why we will carry out our mission, regardless of what you or the people of the Republic think."
11/11/1924 / Norden Territory, Germanic Empire / Temporary Imperial Rear Head Quarters, Greenhouse / 08:12
"Welcome back Sergeant Rinehart."
The previously injured mage saluted his Major perched in her chair. Tanya could hardly tell this was the same fool who got shot in the back by a Dacian farmer. She let the man enter a resting stance for the remainder of their reintroduction. The thin-haired, beady-eyed soldier kept his professional wits.
"I'm pleased to inform you that Lieutenant Neumann has kept your radio clean for your turn." The man nodded along and apologised for his honest carelessness. "It can happen to the best of us Sergeant, just don't let it happen again. I won't be thrilled if your next injury is another bullet in the back."
"I'm eager to get back into it, ma'am."
"I see. A month back home has not made you any softer has it?" Tanya put down the book she was reading to focus on the man. She knew to expect nothing less from the maniacs she grouped together. The benefit was their keenness when she outsourced risk to them without the danger of resentment against her. It was better to be certain of it before she sent Rinehart out in her place.
Rinehart smiled, his earnest attempt at a positive expression conveying a warped version of happiness.
"Prague is a beautiful ma'am, but I would rather be here. The Empire can't be protected from a hospital bed. I'm happy I could recover quickly."
It was a gift and a curse of this world's science that that magic could do more than destroy. The field of medicine was decades ahead and at times comparable to the Salaryman's world. Artificially increasing the bodies natural regeneration process while assisting in the process and even reducing or negating physical therapy. The consequence was a revolving door of human resources from the hospitals to the front. Her stay in one might have lasted a year or more without magic. Rinehart in front of her would certainly need more than a month.
Tanya knew she could be strict but was not that petty. It was better to accept the new variable than waste more human resources to this pointless war.
If Being X wanted to be useful her Type 95 computation orb could perform miracles to clone limbs or organs instead of obliterating her opponents. A rear position and honorary doctorate would be guaranteed with that ability. If only, she knew by now not to give that monster new ideas.
Tanya extracted herself from her wandering thoughts, her hatred could wait until her job was done.
"On a personal topic sergeant. I make an effort to not interfere with the private lives of my men. However, I feel I should weigh in when if it could interfere with the battalion."
Rinehart shifted slightly but remained firm in the heat of the greenhouse. As would a well-trained soldier, he asked for permission to speak in his defence.
"Is this because of my political attachment to the Vaterland Front, ma'am?"
Tanya shook her head. Visha told her of that development in a casual one-sided discussion that they had a member of the Empire's Fasces Party in their ranks. It caused a contradiction in her strict rules. The man should do as he pleased with his free will, even if it was uncomfortably close to the old fanatics she knew.
The Empire teetered between a neutral and accepting stance of the ideology, for now, she would have to accept potentially controversial men. She lacked an extent to his views and if they were remotely dangerous. If she systematically confirms Rinehart could impact her reputation then there would be a redirection order to a pillbox if necessary.
For now, that was not her priority.
"I have been made aware of a possible rumour involving yourself and a companion of Prince Gabriel."
"Why is there a rumour involving myself and Princess Regina?"
"Second Lieutenant Pierre, Rinehart." Tanya did not bother hiding her sigh. "Your choice of women is nothing I concern myself with. As you have returned, pleased resist the urge to talk about that girl in a negative light; an exaggerated one at least. She appears to be important to His Highness. It would be wise not to paint her in a bad light. Understood?"
"Yes ma'am." Rinehart appeared committed to his answer. "I apologise for unintended results."
Tanya was not about to absolve him of his responsibilities. It was best to be resentful for a week and see if the man could still perform to standard without hiring another girl or making Prince Gabriel look a fool. This was her meal ticket after all; she was not going to let her reputation be sullied by being the leader of whoremongers.
"Be more careful going forward. Now," She pointed towards their temporary supply depot through the glass walls of the structure. "I'm not letting you get another sick leave from frostbite so get a coat issued. Neumann's Company is going on patrol in thirty minutes so make sure you have one so you're not walking around in your flight suit tonight. Dismissed."
The sergeant saluted and exited the humid box of glass. Leaving Tanya alone with her thoughts and battalion reports. A little girl or a Salaryman, paperwork was continuous in her life. It was better than constantly engaging in frivolous debates and stories with her subordinates or risking her person in combat. It was preferable to stow away in a greenhouse left abandoned by the retreating Entente forces and perform her boring duties. She was not a tyrant, unlike a supposed deity she knew, she allowed anyone to come in and disrupt her if it was part of their job.
Vice Commander Weiss proved that standard to be true when he came in ten minutes after Rinehart's departure. "Good morning Major." The ever pleasant First Lieutenant was slightly urgent in his speech. Portrayed with a slight shake in his step and fidgeting with a newspaper in his hand. He was still in his flight suit and only lacked the mechanical gear, so this must have been a recent development of some kind.
"Good morning Lieutenant Weiss." Tanya put away the report, she suspected it would be time for frivolous talking. Weiss performed his formalities then waited for her to let him rest in his stance. In times of apparent anxiety, the Vice Commander knew how to behave. "You look troubled, haven't had a casualty have we?"
It was his Company that took off at first light. It would be the last thing she needed today. Weiss luckily denied her inquiry.
"No ma'am. It's about the rumours that have been going around lately."
Tanya groaned slightly. She trusted the legitimacy of Weiss' concern but assumed it would be from a realistic source. She had not taken him to be so impressionable. "There is always something happening on the Rhine front Weiss. I wouldn't trust word of mouth from the infantry; they are bound to miss or exaggerate details."
"I know ma'am. But it seems they have been confirmed in the morning edition of Das Reich." Weiss handed her the paper, letting her take it and folded it open to the first page. In bold letters, the proclaimed title made her question what she was reading. "The Dead Attack!" Underneath was a photo of three Commonwealth soldiers in gas masks from the battle, two of them bloodied and bandaged but all committed in the battle they were in.
"What on earth?" Tanya started skimming the article for an answer to her multitude of questions. The General Staff worked overtime since the war started, meaning security concerns resulted in a censored version of what she read. The Republic deployed poisonous gas along the north of the Rhine, exact name undisclosed. An inherently foul tactic but made wretched when it violated multiple treaties. It was one thing to be shot, you had a chance of recovery and the resources that went into the weapon were reasonable. A machine gun or artillery usually slaughtered those fools who failed to take obvious precautions. Gas punished human resources for the crime of proximity, you could not simply wish yourself to stop breathing. The Republic must have been a rotten state-operated by fools to break so many rules. They had to work within treaties, not tear them up when it was convenient. It was now fair game for each side to escalate the unproductive destruction of this war.
Tanya continued prowling the paper for a bright side to this catastrophe. Half listening to Weiss relay what the 203rd already knew. "The emperor announced in a public address yesterday that the Empire will not dedicate to retaliatory strikes with chemical weapons at this time. There is no interest among the government in the annulment of conventional rules of warfare." That was her silver lining. She did not need the battalion or herself to be a proxy to poisonous gas attacks. It was politically hazardous in times of war and would cripple her during the peace. She noticed Weiss continued his shivering as she familiarised herself with the recent news.
"Is something on your mind Weiss?"
"It's well…"
"Out with-it man. I always try to reserve judgment until the end." Tanya put the paper down to commit her attention to the subordinate. It was what a good boss was expected to do.
"It's the gas ma'am, it makes me uncomfortable. I still remember stories from its first use in the Sino-Albion-Akitsushiman war. If the Republic used it to try and break the stalemate what will stop them from using it again? What's to stop the Entente from using it again, especially now that we have pushed the enemy out of our Norden territory?" The man raised fair points, not dissimilar from her own. The mark of an intellectual; if one less experienced than herself.
"You have valid reasons Weiss, unfortunately, I share them. Let's be content we can recycle oxygen with magic, so we don't need to worry ourselves with masks."
"Yes, thank the Lord." Weiss smiled while Tanya bit her tongue. Now was not the time to become occupied with her hatred for that topic.
"Regardless, we are entering into winter so the enemy will have to wait until spring to use illegal weapons against us. If we are lucky they will deploy them now and have them freeze into useless chemicals." Slowly she mirrored Weiss' smile. It was a mark of competence that he saw her reasoning and found most of it on his own. An ideal second in command on paper.
It was then when two intruders entered their sanctuary of warm green plants, both familiar and not without their irritating features. Lieutenant Serebryakov opened the door to the little den for the recognizable black and white dress of a maid. A guarantee the day's plans were being undermined by the welcomed influences of the Stuarts.
"Good morning Major." Visha saluted from the door, talking in a chipper voice with one hand on a red metal tin wrapped in purple ribbon. "You appear to have a visitor." It was those observation skills that made Visha a reliable human resource. Sarcastic remarks would have to be kept private in front of the maid that acted as eyes for Queen Annabelle.
"Good morning Miss, Canvel, is it?" There were strategies of selectively forgetting underling's names. Tanya preferred the leadership that gave lip service to those associated with her. The maid's profession was more memorable than her bored face or name.
"Correct Miss Degurechaff." It continued to pester her that a maid of all people neglected her rank. The maid bowed her head in greeting. Snow lodged on her hair and her coat fell and melted onto the ground. "You seem to have found an oasis in this tundra. Miss Serebryakov." The maid spun on her heels, taking the tin while breathing out orders. "Can you pack Miss Degurechaff an overnight bag?"
"What do I pack?" A perplexed Visha asked the bored face of the Albion, whose simplicity nearly took an air of insulting tone.
"A change of clothes, pyjamas, toothbrush, hair care and beauty products, extra socks, a book."
"The Major doesn't use beauty products," Visha replied, still on edge for her assignment. Tanya wanted to remind her adjutant that she already kept an overnight bag for such occasions. The girl should know better than to forget information important to Tanya's well-being The maid took away the opportunity to speak.
"Then you will have less to pack."
Canvel's dry exclamation was enough for Tanya. Some Albion servant was not about to order her soldier around in front of her or her second in command.
"Hold it." All eyes were on her, Visha and Weiss curious ones and the empty orbs of Canvel. "What impression do you have of the Empire's military? You cannot order my men around like you were their commanding officer. What is the meaning of this?"
"Her Majesty and my Domina Annabelle V requests your presence at the Aquilonain Embassy in Berun, Miss Degurechaff. It is with her authority I make a harmless request of your adjutant."
The room all reacted in positive variations. Wiess, breaking his solitary silence being the one in the state of awe; believing this was her first meeting with the queen. Visha was present for the occasion in Dacia but still a pleasant shock on her face. Tanya for her part felt like she was moving up in the world. Canvel jumped on the silence to provide context that, by intent or not, shifted the tone and Tanya's thoughts.
"Prince Gabriel participated in the recent battle on the Rhine front. It was not flawless, however."
Tanya traded the newspaper away for the red tin at Canvel's polite motion. She flipped through several pages to find and display a full-page black and white photo. Enwrapping the interest of the three Imperials. It depicted the chaos of the final stage of the battle, a makeshift ridgeline in the slant of a hill populated by a section of Aquilonain soldiers preparing to go over the top. The maid's finger drew their eyes to a prince in a grayscale red tunic. His left arm was stained in blood although it made no visible impact on him.
"His Highness' condition is stable; however, I imagine the matter is related to your summons Miss Degurechaff. Her Majesty had him relocated to the capital yesterday while she was visiting the troops."
Tanya felt more dread from this revelation than the gas. A glance at Visha revealed the same thought was going through her head. Their mutual friend of important standing nearly dropped dead in a muddy field. One lucky shot and Tanya's greatest connection to her upper-class desires would be crippled indefinitely.
How had that fool survived three years without her guidance? The variety of factors in play and a fully trained made to allow this to happen was astonishing. Perhaps her summons was to retrain Gabriel in magic and common sense.
Tanya permitted Visha to fetch her overnight bag once she recovered from her shock. Canvel encouraged swiftness before expressing the same to her.
"We have a train in less than an hour. Please settle all matters immediately, I need to make a telegram."
The maid turned to walk away with the half-Imperial. There was one more matter Tanya wanted to settle before she began drilling Weiss on the necessary responsibilities and patrols of the day. If there were to be casualties again she needed a scapegoat to protect her interests.
"What is this?" Tanya held up the red tin to the maid looking back into the greenhouse.
"It is for you Miss Degurechaff. It is in part why I came in-person to relay the information." The maid closed the door to the greenhouse before another word could be put in by either party.
Weiss appeared interested in the gift-wrapped box as much as herself. Although he doubted the sincerity of her joke answer to it being a gasmask. Unwrapping the ribbon proved his guess of ammunition or spare socks to be incorrect too. It was a bundle of Swiss rolls, coated in a thin layer of chocolate and still warm in their container. Tanya recognised it as the same treats crafted by Annabelle for their first meeting that never happened. An incentive of some kind to draw her into the meeting, or a message? Tanya judged the queen to be too intelligent to devote the labour to this small item for it to be a mere act of kindness; she could not be that inconsiderate.
She put the lid back on and tucked the tin away into her coat. She did hold Lieutenant Weiss in high respect, but it would take more for her to forfeit her red cream-filled treasure.
A/N:
Welcome to another round of "Guess which character is inspired by a high-ranking Nazi?" lol. Lock in your vote and anyone that says Tanya and Visha are disqualified. It is fun in an odd way to portray such men in new ways. There seems to be an inability to write evil creatures/actions or people in popular media and it's fun to try my hand at it. Although illegal chemical weapons is a clear moral black no matter ones perspective.
Were back to Tanya and her influences for the most part. I will confess I intended to have her in this more but that is shifting to the next chapter.
This chapter was originally one half of a full chapter, but I was persuaded by wise council. That same voice of reason and my other beta readers were pleased with this version, so I believe it was the best decision. I state this for clarity and to explain why the word count is relatively smaller than usual with a longer pause in between uploads. It did let me get in the minor scenes I wanted and their character revelations.
A friendly reminder of the Deviant art page for the art of the story and Saint of Letzenbourg can be found on my profile.
Thank you for reading. I hope you all enjoyed it.