The Legacy of the 371st

by BlueChurch

Gallia lies in the shadow of three devastating wars. A general faces the monumental task of rebuilding the Gallian Army while haunted by the ghosts of his past. Through the general, he reads a recovered journal of a young officer in the Second Europan War. A connection between past and present, the young officer's recorded exploits in the war unfold.

10. The Footlocker

A Footlocker

Gallian Army Headquarters, Randgriz

The Gallian Army Quartermaster, Colonel Rhone convened a meeting with members of his staff concerning the upcoming maneuvers. Today's agenda was different, besides the staff balancing the weight of supply requests, and transportation movements, today's agenda carried a different kind of significance: outfitting the Archduchess herself. It had been some time since General De Graeft made it known to the staff that Cordelia intended on visiting the soldiers during the maneuvers, the task of providing her with the necessary fatigues fell on Colonel Rhone's staff. The meeting was to check on the progress of acquiring the required uniforms for Cordelia and arranging transportation to and from the Palace and the countryside. Since being notified the Quartermaster staff have been abuzz with debate on how to create something that was to be worn by the royalty of their country.

Several younger officers have arrived at the meeting room with Colonel Rhone already seated, one carrying what appears to be a soldier's footlocker. The younger officers hatched an idea during their discussions and sought to pitch it to their leader. The footlocker landed on the table with a low thud.

"What is this?" Colonel Rhone inquired, a brow perked as he watched his officers produce the footlocker before him with restrained intrigue,

Colonel Georg Rhone, Gallian Army Quartermaster, personally appointed by General Van De Graeft. He was a portly, yet stocky individual, his round gut could barely be contained in his officer's uniform and held together by one of the hardest working belts in the Army. Colonel Rhone was certainly of a larger build, square shoulders that could hold the weight of a truck. A logistics wizard who forged his reputation in personally loading munitions and speeding them to the trenches in the First Europan War, to 'acquiring' crucial supplies needed by front line forces. Colonel Rhone's personal estimates on what a soldier needs were becoming standard for rebuilding the Gallian Army. His ability to gauge the supply consumption from gallons of fuel burned to number of cigarettes smoked down to the hour based on a unit's size, location, and mission was a borderline savant talent. He leaned forward from his chair from the head of the table to inspect the footlocker a little closer with his bespectacled eyes.

The attending officers were also logisticians and aspiring supply officers, clearly of the next generation of Gallian officers. Five in total, though many more are a part of Colonel Rhone's staff as the rest were off in other critical tasks. A notably younger Captain Earl Halbrecht stepped forward, his hand placed atop the footlocker, though the rest of his body stood rigidly at attention with respect to their leader.

"A footlock—"

"Oh of course it is one, Earl! What does this footlocker have to do with Her Highness?" Colonel Rhone cut him off with a gruff, yet sarcastic voice, his hand gesturing to him to get on with his point.

Captain Halbrecht nearly flinched at his superior's sharp reply, he quickly swallowed and continued,

"It has everything to do with her, sir." He finished,

"We have requisitioned two sets of fatigues based off the specifications that the Royal Tailor and Clothier wired to our office, sir." An even younger lieutenant behind Halbrecht spoke up. As if on his cue, Captain Halbrecht leaned to unlatch the unassuming chest to lift the cover, quickly pulling out the shallow tray to access the larger compartment, he produced two pairs of trousers, and two field jackets before the Colonel. Freshly picked from the depot, the fatigues were still neatly pressed, its fabric still course after having sat in storage for some time. This was set was meant for a person of a far smaller build, according to Cordelia's size.

Colonel Rhone's brows perked just slightly in interest as he examined the fatigues, his dark eyes shooting back to the footlocker. Rhone certainly believed that his officers could accomplish any task they were given, but he had grown quick to understand how creative the newer generation of officers were becoming. He remained silent, but receptive now.

"And… We have discussed about how just two fatigues would not do for Her Highness, sir. If she were to be attending our exercises, we believe it fitting that she has the appropriate equipment." Halbrecht explained as his hands reached into the larger compartment to produce a dark blue, oiled poncho with a camouflage pattern, holding it as if he were presenting a work of art.

For a second, Rhone's expression softened slightly as he caught the spark of pride in Halbrecht's eyes presenting the most mundane of equipment. These were the next stewards of Gallia's Army, and they were eager to prove to the Archduchess through such objects.

"Umbrellas would never do in our environment, so a poncho will work just the same." Halbrecht said, neatly setting it down before the footlocker.

The other officers joined Halbrecht in unpacking the rest of the contents.

"Her Highness's visit is a historic first, sir. Nobles and especially royalty do not know how to attend such an event. So, we figured why not just give them something to go off of?" the younger lieutenant said, producing a bayonet from the footlocker and setting it aside.

"Right, and not to mention that from what we've known, sir. We expect the Royalty to bring their own baggage train and are likely to overpack. This includes Her Highness' entourage. I don't think it acceptable or appropriate to have her trucks clog up the roads meant for military traffic." Captain Halbrecht added,

Throughout, Colonel Rhone slowly nodded at each of his staff's points, a hand to stroke his thick, trimmed beard. His attentive eyes followed each of the items being laid before him. They were everyday items that a Gallian soldier was issued and are what they carry. The table was now full of these utilitarian items, from a simple stationary kit with pencils, to the canvass sleeping mat. The Colonel stood, leaning forward to bring closer a packed field ration, picking it up to read the label.

"You are right, Earl." Reflecting on his earlier statement,

"This footlocker has everything for Her Highness, but it appears to be something more." Setting down the ration, he walked along the table to pick up the helmet, turning it in his hands. For a moment, his dark eyes left an expression of memory and contemplation as his mind took him to his earlier years in the trenches, ferrying supplies between the lines on his back or on a truck. How the thing functioned so well as a cooking pot. For a few seconds his eyes softened as he imagined the helmet's hollow echoed the savory memory of stew shared in the trenches.

"This is her first impression of her soldiers. The objects they carry and use. I think it presents a far more compelling story than any of her private tutors could explain." Colonel Rhone commented, staring at the blank face of the steel helmet, almost making out his own reflection.

"No…I think this is excellent. I think it needs some refinement though, ladies and gentlemen. We aren't setting to dress her entourage like soldiers, but a balance must be struck. These are guests but are esteemed guests and deserve a mark of representation as they are among us." Setting down the helmet, he looks to his officers,

"Have we a design that designates royalty among our uniforms?"

"Ah, n-no sir. However, we have discussed the idea of having her family crest be made into a patch. I think it's something we can add to her uniform to distinguish her. Nothing outlandish but practical so she may be recognized." Earl Halbrecht responded, picking up one of the field jackets, thumbing over the imaginary spot on the breast that he envisioned it would be sewn onto.

"I think that be quite acceptable for Her Highness. Remember, she is our leader and does wish to step into our world. Does not mean we strip all her status for her to be a part of it. Balance, ladies and gents. Too much fuel to a tank division and you make it a larger target. And add in some personal things. Items that we all ourselves and our soldiers have taken into our footlockers." Colonel Rhone added to his suggestions, trusting that his officers could make it happen and accomplish it with distinction.

"Of course, sir. I think we can explore some of the ideas we chatted about earlier. A stash of tea and perhaps a popular book among our soldiers. Lieutenant Eden could work on the patch and sewing tomorrow." Halbrecht said, looking over his shoulder at the young lieutenant and flashing a quick smile of approval of their proposition taking form.

"I expected something to mail out tonight for the Palace, but I think they can afford two more days as you finalize this. I don't need another layout for this, but a typed list will do. Use the same receipts that our supply clerks use when issuing them to the recruits. Think it will be all put together by then?"

"Yes sir!" came the unison response,

"Anything else you need of me?" the Colonel asked, the response as a few nervous glances exchanged between the younger staff officers.

"General Van De Graeft…" Lieutenant Edna timidly spoke out his name as if the utterance would summon him.

"I don't expect you to report to him. I will take care of it. Continue putting this together, have it shipped in two days' time." Colonel Rhone responded quickly, knowing all well of "Mad Man Van's" reputation and occasional stubbornness. As their leader, Rhone understood all too well to be responsible for their actions and failures, even in a staff office.

"That is all for now. Captain Halbrecht, we can discuss the transportation requirements in my office."

"You sent her what?" The general asked with a brow perked,

"A packed footlocker sir. Here is the list." The Gallian Army Quartermaster leaned forward, slipping a piece of paper onto the general's desk which was still cluttered with other documents. The general eyed the list as if it were a cat staring at its prey, his hands quick to snatch it to examine.

Leaning back, the Quartermaster let out a soft sigh, resting his arms on the leather chair. Seated in the general's office.

Adjusting his spectacles, Quartermaster Rhone eyed the general with tension, himself all too familiar with his fire. Rhone took a risk by extending Van De Graeft's requirement beyond tailoring a set of fatigues for Cordelia. Flexing his jaw, he began to explain,

"My staff, being aware of Cordelia's intentions to join our exercises wanted to give her a little more than just a uniform set, sir. I will admit, my men and women were a little enthusiastic to put their personal touches to the footlocker, but it's all within military reason. The last we need is her entourage and her own train of 'necessities' clogging up our traffic and taking up a third of the encampment. Your adjutant is aware as well, and wired the Palace Staff ahead in time, apologies for not informing you sooner, sir."

"No no, that's fine… I'll just throw something at Major Zeiler…You really had to throw in your staff's photograph, Rhone?" De Graeft asked, a soft smirk coming across his face,

"That was my lieutenant's idea, sir." Rhone being quick to answer as if he was prepared for the defense of words,

"Like I said, sir. The staff were eager to put together something that represents our military directly to her highness. I thought it still reasonable." Rhone added,

"No, no, I agree with the additions." The general spoke as he flipped the inventory of the footlocker, he could not help but give a chuckle.

"I just wonder how the Palace staff are going to react when they get these. You're certainly not the Royal Clothier, Rhone."

"But good enough for our boys and girls in the field. You should have come by my office yesterday. When they were assembling the items, they felt like they were clothiers and tailors to Her Highness themselves." Rhone replied with a grin spreading across his face, holding his hands in front of his gut. The two senior officers exchanged a laugh together as both imagined how the Palace Staff and Cordelia no less would react to the simpler things that a soldier lives off.

"Did… they keep the cigarettes in that ration?" De Graeft asked,

Rhone blinked wildly in reaction, De Graeft's lips curled as he worked to suppress a giggle.

"Oh, damn my staff, we offered Her Highness cigarette."

De Graeft couldn't hold it much longer but let out a short guffaw with Rhone joining in the light laughter as well.

"You know that their staff are going to spend hours poring over this. The cigarettes alone would be a debate: whether it was an oversight or an insult." De Graeft almost wished he could be there at the court just to watch them see a footlocker for the first time.

Setting down the inventory sheet, he leaned back in his chair half-turning so he could look out his window.

"For now, let's hope Her Highness finds our soldiers' simplicity as charming as we do."

The footlocker was delivered to the Palace Staff in the following days. The arrival of this box was met with bewilderment and borderline shock to the handmaidens and servants who weren't kept in touch with Cordelia's planned visit to the exercises. The footlocker was painted in steel blue, with the thinnest layer of varnish to prevent splintering at the minimum. Blackened brackets and a simple latch ensured it was both secure and unobtrusive. Simple, yet highly practical for a common soldier to store their worldly belongings in a single place and for ease of transportation. Atop the footlocker, painted white in neatly stenciled block letters, 'H.M. CORDELIA GI RANDGRIZ.' The Quartermaster Staff and Colonel Rhone added some final touches for the footlocker, enclosed was a soldier's world, the box delivered to a different one.

The footlocker was set before the main desk of the study, its sharp corners, and dull coloring contrasted harshly with the world that now surrounded it. The mere shape and color of the box attracted the attention of members of the Royal Staff. The word of 'some strange box for Cordelia' arrival spread as quickly as the latest gossip from the court among the servants.

Cordelia was alone in the study, seated at her desk with the footlocker set before her. The item looked as though it were a soldier itself, standing rigidly surrounded by the comforting atmosphere that was Her Highness' study, ready for inspection. The Archduchess paid a few seconds to contemplate the object, her eyes captivated by its contrasting features. Rigid, simplistic, yielding all signs of practicality over appearances or image. Standing from her seat, she picked up the envelope that came with the footlocker, slipping out two papers stapled together, her dark eyes examining each line with a calm, and inquisitive eye.

"To the Palace Staff,

On behalf of the General of the Gallian Army, we thank you all for the support and advice given in matters concerning Her Highness's upcoming attendance at the Army Maneuvers. My staff have received your royal tailor's dimensions and sizes, and we have put together two uniform sets that she will be required to wear.

Additionally, while this is a departure from well-established protocols of the nobility and especially members of royalty, our staff, including the General, must respectfully insist that Her Highness enclose only the necessities that may fit within the confines of this footlocker. Two canvas bags are included as extensions (located within the footlocker). Should the enclosed items remain unsuitable for Her Highness, she is at liberty to replace said items with her own, provided they fit within the footlocker and are durable for truck rides. This requirement will also extend to any members of her staff, personal guard, entourage, etc.

This request arises from the absolute military necessity of preserving critical cargo space during the exercise. We respectfully request your understanding in this matter. If additional footlockers are required for any accompanying personnel, please contact our Adjutant, MAJ Zeiler, as soon as possible to make proper arrangements.

My staff have taken the initiative to include issued belongings and some incidental items commonly carried by Gallian soldiers. As your loyal and faithful subjects, we are eager to have Her Highness witness Gallia's military and see the soldiers in their prime.

Kind regards,
Colonel Georg Rhone
Gallian Army Quartermaster

"Necessities. Cargo space." Cordelia echoed those words, them sounding so foreign to her lips and mind. Her eyes drifted back to the unassuming box, still awaiting for her inspection. If this was their world, she may have to step into it fully—without compromise.

She flipped the letter to reveal another document. It was neatly typed, organized, bluntly listing all of the items enclosed within the footlocker. At the bottom held a flourishing signature under the "Issuer," Colonel Georg Rhone. Even when delivering to Her Highness herself, the Gallian Army personnel still sense the need to annotate it in their own bureaucratic trappings. To the right of Rhone's signature block was a box, labeled "Recipient," her name, written in neat, block letters tucked at the corner of the box "FOR: H.M. CORDELIA GI RANDGRIZ" written in as a courtesy, expectant of her acknowledgement and signature.

Her dark eyes traced the lines of the items typed, occasionally pausing in curiosity, her dark hues flickering at some of them.

The listed contents of the footlocker were contained in a neatly typed, itemized list that resembled the typical document that a Gallian soldier would sign for during their recruit training. At the bottom, it had the flourished signature of General De Graeft, a tongue-in-cheek of the general issuing Cordelia the listed items.

Clothes, Associated Accessories

Field Trousers,.2x,

Field Jacket, Custom, Royal White Piping, 2x,

Patch, Custom, Royal Crest/RANDGRIZ FAMILY, 2x,

Undershirt 4x,

Leather field belt, 1x,

Utility Gloves, Black, 2x,

Boot Polish, 1x,

Socks, Wool 6x,

Insignia Badge, Custom, Royal Crest/RANDGRIZ FAMILY,

Field Cap, 1x,

Poncho, Gallian Blue 1x,

Smock, Blue, Camouflage 1x,

Sewing Kit, 1x,

-Needle set,

-Pin cushion,

-6x spare buttons,

-Thread Spool, Royal White,

-Thread Spool, Gallian Blue,

-Thread Spool, Black,

-Fabric Squares, Gallian Blue, 4x

Hygiene,

Leather Boots, Black, 1x,

Toothbrush, 1x,

Horsehair Brush, 1x,

Comb, 1x

White Towel, 2x,

Hand Towel, 4x,

Soap Bar, 1x,

Talcum Powder, 1x,

Hand Mirror, with cover, 1x

Mess kit,

Spoon, 1x

Fork, 1x

Canteen, 2x

Cook pot/kettle, 1x

Canteen Cup, 1x

Tea canister, Black Tea, 4x days servings,

Day Ration, Stew, Beef,

-Biscuits,

-Condensed Milk,

-Beef Stew,

-Cigarettes, 4-pack,

-Salt and Pepper satchets,

-Matches, wet weather,

Candy, Erla's Sweets 1x box,

Field Equipment,

Tarp/Sleeping Mat, 1x,

Bedroll, 1x,

Spade, Collapsable, 1x,

Canvas Bag, 2x,

Officer Kit,

Leather Satchel, 1x

Map Case, 1x

Field Binoculars, 1x

Rifle Bayonet, 1x

Helmet, Gallian Infantry 1x

Field Notebook, 1x

Compass, 1x

Stationary Kit,

Envelopes, 10x

Pencil, 3x

Stamp book, 1x

Cordelia sat back at her desk, the neatly typed list resting in her hands. The paper was crisp, the typed font stark against the creamy background of the document. Her eyes traced the first few lines, brow furrowing slightly as she absorbed the details.

Field Trousers, two, Field Jacket, two. With Royal White Piping.

She read in her mind. Pausing momentarily to gaze at the small numbers. Her mind flashed to her own wardrobe, overflowing with luxurious garments for every possible occasion. The comparative thought was almost jarring to her.

Cordelia scanned further, pausing momentarily at the expanded list of hygiene items. They were modest – 'Toothbrush, 1x. Soap Bar, 1x. Talcum Powder, 1x. Practical necessities, but so few. Her mind flitted to the bathhouses and the caches of perfumes and makeup of the palace. How different these lives were.

The Mess Kit drew her focus next. Tilting her head, curious at the name of 'Erla's Sweets' that stood out against the other objects so plainly named. A small comfort tucked into the starkness of their world. A simple touch of humanity among the practicalities, a reminder for a soldier on campaign that there was some room for a sweet.

She halted at the ration's listed contents. Her mind imagined the lavish meals and delicate dishes that her chef prepares for her through the day and the feasts of occasions that she attends. The items here starkly remind her thoughts that this is what a soldier needs just to survive and continue his function. Her eyes looked over the word 'Cigarettes.' A smile tugged the corner of her lips as she realized that the Army spared no compromise in showing her all that a soldier needed.

"A luxury too, I assume" she quietly whispered to herself. A soft smile gracing her lips at the thought of the General somehow allowing cigarettes to be offered to her.

Continuing down to the end, she noticed the tools, a spade, the rifle bayonet enclosed with the officer's kit. Reading such words that would have no place in her current location reminded her of the violence that soldiers face. The bayonet carried its weight in violence, as did the space, both were tools that functioned as everything a soldier would need.

Upon the final item she skimmed to be the Stationary Kit. Exhaling softly, she closed her eyes for a moment to recall some recorded letters in a textbook that her Royal Tutor read for her. The image of the soldier sitting in quiet moments between the battles she read about, penning a letter home, affixing the stamp with care.

Setting the list down gently, her mind was already swirling with emotions and anticipation to opening the footlocker. For a long moment, she stared at the footlocker again, its blue paint dulls under the study's warming light. The box felt a little heavier now, not in weight but in meaning. Cordelia realized that every item enclosed served a purpose and built a world, a world she was just beginning to understand.

"Your Highness, did they—Oh." Lady Valoise stopped at the doorframe, her blue eyes immediately noticing the footlocker that stood before Cordelia. Her lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line as she let out an exasperated sigh.

Cordelia, breaking her contemplation, glanced over her shoulder to see her Lady-in-Waiting Elise Valoise. Elise was the epitome of a Gallian Noblewoman, carried herself in practiced grace fitting for a Palatial atmosphere. Her blonde hair tied into a conservative bun behind her head, not a strand dare stands out of place, and her cerulean day dress with matching gloves tailored to perfection.

Elise's sharp gaze moved between Cordelia and the footlocker, her expression a study of controlled disapproval. It was as if the plain, utilitarian box were a blemish on the refined ambiance of the royal study.

"Lady Valoise." Cordelia greeted her with a soft smile, noticing her reaction to the footlocker, she flicked back to the chest that stood on her desk. "They delivered it earlier," she said with an even voice. "With it came a letter and inventory." She reached out for the documents on her desk, extending them toward Elise.

Elise accepted them, her gloved fingers gripping the parchment lightly, as if reluctant to touch anything associated with the crude chest. She scanned the letter quickly, her eyebrows twitching upward as her lips formed a pained wince. "Only the necessities?" she repeated, incredulity dripping from her line. She flipped the next page, her gaze landing on the meticulous inventory list. With a sharp inhale, her fortified noble image being breached by the Army itself, she turned back toward the footlocker, as though it were the one responsible for the offense. "The Army cannot be serious. This is…simply unfit!"

She quickly examined the list again as if trying to break an illusion placed on her. "Sewing kits? Rations? A-A single bar of soap? And…cigarettes?!" the pitch of her voice jumped sharply at the last word, breaking the usual composure of her blue blooded intonation.

Cordelia watched, amused by her Lady's indignation, she couldn't help but suppress a smile. "The cigarettes are optional, I'm sure."

Elise ignored the comment, leaning towards the footlocker with a mix of disdain and curiosity. "With only two pairs of…trousers." The word felt poisonous to her as she spoke it. Her brow furrowing deeper. "Do they expect you to dress like a—" she paused, catching herself, raising a gloved hand to her lips. "Apologies, Your Highness. I mean to say this is…unorthodox."

The Archuduchess rose from her seat, leaning towards the footlocker. "Unorthodox…yes, but perhaps appropriate." She said quietly. Her fingers moved to unlatch the box, her movements practiced and deliberate. "It is their world after all. A world I must understand."

Elise nearly flinched at hearing the metallic click of the latch being opened.

"Understand, yes," Elise replied, controversy written on her face. "But surely not live in."

A hurried pair of steps could be heard rushing towards the Study, emerging from the door was the Royal Tailor. His arms are full of a wooden tool case, measuring tapes dangling from underneath his arms. Monsieur Adler was a lanky figure, clad in a silken vest with an impeccably tailored pinstripe shirt with its sleeves rolled. Among the few members of Cordelia's staff with an incredible background in the industry, his works have always set the tone for the rest of Gallian nobility to follow.

"Milady," he greeted with a brief head bow, "I came as soon as I heard. Is it true? The Army has delivered your uniforms?" his voice exasperated from the sprint across the Palace to meet the two.

"They certainly did." Elise said flatly as she set the documents aside, the Adler blinked at the sarcastic tone as he noticed the footlocker. Entering the Study, "And what is…this?" he approached the desk, setting down his box and tapes to the floor beside it, his eyes examining the footlocker with some more curiosity compared to his peer.

"The delivery." Cordelia responded as she lifted up the cover of the footlocker.

The footlocker would open to reveal a wooden tray divided into two shallow compartments which housed many of the hygiene items. The contents slightly shuffled after moving in a truck remained tightly packed and organized. The Quartermaster's staff officers paid extra attention to this and assembled some items fastened together with rubber bands so that it still presented an ordered appearance. Underneath the tray once removed contained the larger items layered atop one another. The first sight would have been the neatly pressed and folded jackets that one lieutenant took to the effort of sewing the patches, stitched in white, affixed the proud seal of Cordelia's crest on the breast. There were no official military designs that involved the Royal Crest itself, so the Quartermaster's staff went through some effort to create one designed for Cordelia's uniform. The next item would be the steel helmet, its liner already fitted in place, at its fore was an intricately, hand-painted insignia of the unicorn in Royal White coloring. The boots were freshly polished, to a close observer, one could notice the deep thumbprints at the top of the pair as they were placed in the footlocker.

Beneath the footlocker's lid contained a small photograph that was held there by a single pin. It was a recent group photograph of a dozen Gallian officers to include Colonel Rhone standing off to the side. His stocky figure standing in contrast to the generally taller group. All smiles, standing together at attention for the camera, the group stood on the steps that led to the large doors of the familiar Gallian Army Headquarters. There were at least three Darcsen soldiers, though not officers, a part of this staff. Each wore a similar uniform enclosed in the footlocker, but their trappings resemble more of a staff officer compared to the common foot soldier with the lightest embellishments adorned such as field caps, refined hairstyle, and a few more medals that an officer fit for De Graeft's staff would have earned. Scribbled on the back was a small text written by one of the captains.

'Your Highness, we have put all this together for your use when you come and see us and the soldiers. This footlocker is what a typical soldier would keep at the barracks, much of it, they would carry on campaign. We hope you may appreciate the fewer and smaller things that we hold dear and carry around for weeks, months, and years at a time.

PS We always tell this to the recruits and younger soldiers. The socks are meant to be worn with the boots, as they are always made slightly larger. We encourage you to wear them for your next stroll to 'break them in', get them softened for comfort.'

-Your Loyal Servants, the Gallian Army Quartermaster Staff

"What is that stench?" Elise quickly shot, gently pinching the tip of her nose.

"Well, I believe that is boot polish, milady." Adler answered, a cautious hand picking up the tin from the tray. Holding it before his spectacle eyes, he examined it carefully. "And recently used." He added.

Elise bated her breath, as if limiting her exposure to the footlocker's aura. The sight of the neatly organized contents on the wooden tray was humbling and arresting. It left little space left for any personal items. Cordelia's eyes scanned over the tightly packaged items, the bar of soap and brush, secured by the bands, their placement seemed so precise it felt reverential.

"I don't understand," Elise murmured. "This… austere arrangement—how can they carry so little?"

Cordelia remained silent, her gaze exploring the footlocker further. A soft smile came to the Archduchess as she noticed the photograph fastened to the lid. Pulling the photograph from the pin it was held to; she brought it closer with Elise and Adler just over her shoulders looking at the subjects captured. Cordelia studied the photograph carefully, seeing the smiling faces of the officers with the senior Colonel Rhone stoically standing off to the side. The several Darcsens among them stood out to her—a quiet but unmistakable declaration of unity for this group. She turned the photograph over, reading the hastily written script on its back.

As she read the postscript, a quiet laugh escaped her lips, a sound that started both Elise and Adler. "They've thought of everything, haven't they?" she said, her voice warm but tinged with emotion.

Elise folded her arms, tilting her chin slightly. "It's charming I suppose. In its own…earnest way."

Placing the photograph on her desk, she reached for the footlocker to lift the tray to reveal the uniforms underneath.

"And what do we have here—if I may?" Adler leaned closer; his hands poised to pull out the field jacket. "Of course, Monsiuer." Cordelia acknowledged as she and Adler both reached in. The Tailor lifted the first coat, allowing it to unfurl before him, his eyes flitting up and down the jacket and gradually locking into the sewn-on patch. Cordelia held the second one, following her Tailor as she examined her own copy.

"Quite coarse…Compared to my usual designs. My… the pockets. Breast pockets with two more on the front panels. What more can they put in these?" Adler commented, his thumbs rubbing over the fabric as he held it.

"This patch," Cordelia set down the jacket atop her desk, her fingers grazing what she recognized was of her own. "They used my crest for this." She commented.

The Quartermaster officers crafted the patch, their care and consideration could have been seen as they did their best to follow the colors that matched the official one. It was simplified, lacking the typical flourishes seen on the full seal, but still made distinguishable.

"Lacking the…finer details." Elise said with her arms crossed as she critically eyed Cordelia's uniform laid on the desk.

"Aha. But look," Adler folded his coat and leaned over the other, his finger pointing along the edges of the stitching.

"These 'x' patterns…these were put together by hand instead of a machine. I assume one of the soldiers in the photo is responsible. One with steady hands…the precision of it tells me years of work led the sewer to produce something this…steady. A rather fine sturdy work, meant to endure." Adler commented as his finger traced the stitching, as if testing its strength. His comment left a hint of praise as he could not help but admire handmade efforts, especially the precision attended by the officer who made the addition. His head slowly nodded in approval of the craftsmanship that they applied to the uniform.

"They truly did put their hearts to this." Cordelia said as her hand traced the Royal White Piping on her jacket, feeling the only exception of soft fabric.

"These officers certainly know colors well. They picked out the specific fabric for Royal White." He said, a cracked smile as he looked at the jacket his held. "There is…a certain a beauty in its simplicity." he added as he refolded his coat to sit along the desk. "While utilitarian in nature. These still show who you are through more subtle ways. Quite a balance that these officers walked.

"At least the size appears right." Elise added with her arms still crossed as she stared at the coats, still controversial of their utilitarian appearances.

"Ha, and this. A far cry from what I usually work with but…it certainly still performs its functions." Adler exclaimed as he pulled the sewing kit, his thumbs opening the flap to see the items nearly seated in their straps and pockets, a finger tracing along one of the needles.

"They seem to know how to work with so little." Cordelia softly spoke as she examined the kit's contents with Adler. For a moment, Adler appeared as if he were reminiscing to his earlier days as a tailor, reliant on needlework and the precision his eyes offered instead of the sewing machine. The Tailor lowered the kit towards Cordelia as she took it into her hands to examine it closer.

Adler let out an audible hum as he lifted the boots from the depths of the footlocker, "Now these, I must say," settling them atop the desk, their thick soles producing a gentle thud as they landed.

"A fine polish applied and…seeing some of the previous handler's prints. They must have done this just before they sent this to us." Adler commended a thumb running across its slick surface to inspect its smoothness.

"Almost uniform in its application. Hands f

"Explains that…odor." Elise commented as she looked further into the footlocker, "Do they truly expect Your Highness to don these things?" a gloved hand reached inside to pull out the smock. Adler watched as the garb emerged, his brows perked as he reached to pull the remainder out.

"My, certainly a mark or two thicker than the coats. Certainly, for use outdoors. And this here," Adler's voice grew with fascination at the utilitarianism applied to such clothes, his spare hand pulling a part of the oiled raincoat over the locker.

Elise wrinkled her nose as the smock unfolded before her, its heavier, coarser fabric falling in sharp contrast to the elegance of Cordelia's usual attire. "I can't imagine you in this," she remarked, holding it at arm's length like one might handle an unpolished relic. Her blue eyes darted to Cordelia, disbelief flickering in them. "Surely this… this uniform cannot be appropriate for a ruler."

Cordelia tilted her head slightly, studying the smock now hanging from Elise's gloved fingers. "Appropriate?" she echoed, her tone measured. "Perhaps not by our courtly standards. But in the field, surrounded by soldiers who have sacrificed so much… perhaps it is."

Elise's brows furrowed. "And yet—" She paused, clearly struggling to reconcile the garment's simplicity with the weight of Cordelia's station. "And yet, it seems to strip away everything that makes you who you are."

Cordelia stepped closer, her hand gently brushing the fabric Elise held. "Does it?" she murmured. "Or does it remind us who we all are beneath the embellishments?"

Adler, still enthralled by the raincoat, spoke without lifting his eyes. "A pragmatic design, milady. The layering, the oiled surface—it's quite ingenious, really." His tone was studious, almost reverent, as he traced the seams of the garment. "The balance of function and subtlety here... It's a testament to their ingenuity."

Elise sighed softly, lowering the smock to the desk with an air of resignation. "I understand the utility, but does it have to look so… severe?"

Cordelia smiled faintly, her hand lingering on the smock before turning her attention to the boots. "Severe, perhaps. But every stitch, every seam—they carry meaning." Her fingers trailed over the faint thumbprints on the polished leather. "Someone took the time to ensure these were prepared with care. They may not be beautiful in the way we are accustomed to, but they were made with purpose."

Adler nodded, his voice softening. "Indeed, Your Highness. Even the most utilitarian work can carry an artist's touch. The polish, the stitching—there's pride in it."

Elise glanced between Cordelia and Adler; her lips pursed as though weighing their words. "Pride, perhaps. But I wonder—what does it mean for you to wear this? To shed the elegance that defines you for something so…" She hesitated, searching for the word. "So unembellished?"

Cordelia looked up, meeting Elise's uncertain gaze. "It means I stand with them, Elise. That I am not above their struggles or their sacrifices." She reached for the sewing kit Adler had set aside earlier, turning it over in her hands. The simplicity of the needles and threads felt grounding, almost meditative. "This is not about elegance. It is about unity."

Adler cleared his throat softly, his expression contemplative. "A ruler who walks among her soldiers and wears what they wear... It's not common, but it carries a certain power. A quiet strength."

Elise shifted, her arms uncrossing as she sighed. "If anyone can carry such a burden gracefully, it's you, Your Highness." Her tone, though hesitant, carried a glimmer of sincerity.

Cordelia smiled at her Lady-in-Waiting, the warmth in her gaze softening the room. "Thank you, Elise. And know this—I do not see it as a burden. I see it as my duty."

The raincoat draped over the footlocker caught Cordelia's eye, its utilitarian shades of blue blending with the polished steel of the helmet beneath. "Even this," she said, lifting the coat slightly, "is a lesson. A reminder that survival requires adaptability."

Adler gave a faint nod, his fingertips brushing the edge of the raincoat. "A practical garment for a practical mission. Though, Your Highness, if I may..." He adjusted his spectacles, his expression turning mischievous. "I might suggest pairing it with a sash. Just a touch of refinement, to keep the court from fainting."

Elise let out an uncharacteristic laugh, brief but genuine. "Perhaps even a small brooch, Adler. To keep some semblance of grace."

Cordelia chuckled softly, folding the raincoat carefully and placing it back in the footlocker. "Let us not gild the lily, my friends. These garments speak plainly—and so must I."

The room fell into a thoughtful quiet as the three stood before the open footlocker, each reflecting in their own way on the significance of its contents. Elise, with lingering hesitance, Adler with quiet respect, and Cordelia with a growing resolve.

The gentle knock at the door's frame was quickly followed by the arrival of Monsieur Paquet, Cordelia's personal chef. His white uniform and embroidered apron seemed almost comically out of place in the presence of the rugged footlocker. "Your Highness," he began, his voice rich and warm, "word reached the kitchens that you received a… delivery from the military?"

Cordelia turned with a small smile. "Indeed, Monsieur Paquet. You might find this interesting."

Elise, still perched near the desk, raised an eyebrow. "Interesting might not be the word."

Paquet approached with a curious tilt of his head, his sharp eyes scanning the footlocker. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the open tray. "Of course," Cordelia replied, stepping aside.

His hands, deft from years of handling delicate pastries and sauces, lifted the small can of stew and examined it as though it were an artifact. "Ha, beef stew, canned. A culinary marvel, I'm sure," he said dryly, squinting at the label. He placed it down carefully, his gaze landing on the accompanying biscuits and powdered milk. "And this? Biscuits and… condensed milk?" He sniffed the air as if he could discern the quality of the scent alone.

"Rations. I suspect these portions are to address supper for the soldiers." Pacquet commented as he brought the wrapped biscuits a little closer with his nose flaring.

"Even our servants are fed better…" he commented quietly as he looked at the plain packaging of the items before setting the biscuits down. His eyes examined the other items before him as he leaned to pick up the package of Erla's Sweets, his expression showing some light as he brought it closer.

"Ha-ha. Madame Erla's! This must be a popular choice of soldiers to keep some." Flipping the box in his hands to look at the colorful packaging, the only item to display such from the footlocker.

"Perhaps a break in the monotony of their provided meals." Cordelia said, smiling as she watched Pacquet pine over the colorful box.

"You know, Your Highness…" his eyes not breaking from the box of candy, "Such confections can do more than complement their meals. Perhaps remind them of someplace else besides a battlefield."

Cordelia nodded thoughtfully, her gaze lingering on the held box. "It's a small comfort," she murmured, "But sometimes, those small comforts mean everything."

"Do you think you can prepare these?" she added with an air of curiosity as she picked up the bundle of wrapped biscuits. She contemplated as she looked at the portion, the size of the can and the fixed number of biscuits that seemed to be precisely assigned to each soldier. Cordelia wondered, There's only a single pot and kettle. Do they eat right from the can? Would they have to make a fire?

The chef turned to Cordelia with a solemn expression. "I cannot promise miracles, but perhaps I can make these edible. Pacquet is…fascinated by this selection of rations. It's quite revealing how little these soldiers make do."

Cordelia chuckled. "If anyone can elevate these rations, it's you, Monsieur Paquet. But I suspect the soldiers find them more than sufficient."

"Sufficient is not the same as satisfying," Paquet replied, though his tone was light. He gathered the rations carefully, holding them as though they were priceless jewels. "With your permission, Your Highness, I shall take these to the kitchens. I am certain I can create something worthy of your tastes."

Shortly after Chef Pacquet departed, the quiet arrival of Madame Lesanne, Cordelia's private tutor, brought a contemplative air to the room. Dressed in a modest, but finely tailored dress, Lesanne's gray-streaked hair was tied neatly in a bun, and her spectacles rested now on her nose. She carried a small ledger under her arm and paused upon noticing the footlocker.

"Your Highness," she greeted, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity, "Lady Valoise, Adler. What are we exploring here?" as she approached the desk that was now covered with the items.

Cordelia bowed her head quickly towards her tutor as she looked back towards the footlocker. "A gift from the Army," she answered "We were just exploring its contents."

Lesanne stepped closer, her eyes lighting up as she caught sight of the Officer's Kit. "Hm, a field officer's kit," she remarked, adjusting her glasses. Setting down her ledger, she reached to lift the large satchel from the footlocker. Setting it down on the desk with Adler, Elise, and Cordelia around, she clicked open the latch to reveal its contents. Slipping out a folded map case, a pair of binoculars, a compass, and a field notebook. "Remarkable tools. Your soldiers rely on these to plan and navigate in the field."

Elise peered over Lesanne's shoulder, her skepticism melting slightly. "And they carry all of this with them?"

"Yes," Lesanne replied, her tone softening. "The military makes sure such objects serve their full potential. The map case, for instance, are…quite different from the atlas designs we are used to seeing around here." Her hands opening up the map case to pull out the rest of the map, her hands unfolding it to its full size.

It was a map of Gallia but it was different indeed. The country was divided into thin grids, there were no intricately drawn images of trees or mountains, but shades of colors, and lines of different varieties. Cities, towns, and villages were reduced to varying dots based on their size and population with Randgriz being the largest black dot. The lines were emphasized, from borders, roads, railroads, and rivers.

"See here—this margin contains the symbology. Each color corresponds to the terrain type instead of drawing it."

Cordelia leaned in, her fingers brushing the edge of the map. "A testament to their sense of strategy," she said thoughtfully. "Every line, every feature—they carry the weight of decisions that shape lives."

Her tutor nodded. "Indeed, Your Highness. And this "—she held up the binoculars—" allows them to see what lies ahead. A vital tool for surveying a battlefield or to prepare for one."

Elish sighed softly, her arms crossing once more. "I never realized how much thought went into something so…unassuming."

"Unassuming, yes," Lesanne said, setting the items back into the kit. "But profoundly important. This kit specifically is a window into the mind of a soldier, but for leaders, officers—a blend of practicality, a canvass for their ingenuity, and a means for their survival."

"These sorts of items certainly justify the number of pockets they must have." Adler lightly added as he picked up the notebook, mentally comparing its size so that it could have fitted perfectly into any of the coat's pockets.

Cordelia and Lesanne offered a soft chuckle as the Archduchess picked up the binoculars, it's finish was not blackened and so it glistened slightly in the sunlight from her study. "In their world, they must view it for what it is, plan for what it may become, and lives depend on what they see…through these or on such maps." She thought quietly in her mind.

"These are the tools of a leader," Cordelia concluded, "The officers not only see me as a figure but as their leader."

"Now this," the Tailor reached for the bayonet still held in its scabbard, "there is little to assume on this thing's functionality." Adler commented, twisting the blade in his hand as he noticed the clasps on one side of the scabbard. "This looks it can be fastened to the belt." His thumb briefly flicking the clasp before he extended the bayonet, the handle towards Cordelia for her to examine.

Elise's eyes widened at the sight of the weapon, taking a step back, her eyes shooting a glare at the Tailor as he handed Cordelia a weapon.

"Your Highness, must you—must you wield that? It's…barbaric."

Cordelia grasped the bayonet's scabbard, quick to understand how heavy it was, the weapon at least a foot long. Her thumb held back the release latch on the blade, her one hand pulling the handle to expose the blade some, it's blackened steel coming to sight for the staff to see.

Elise held her breath as she nervously glanced at Her Highness handling it, "Do be careful now…" she said as she furrowed her brow at the blade as if it was already glaring at her.

"A unicorn's head. I imagine a lot of the equipment they have has your sigil printed on it, Your Highness" Lesanne observed, her finger pointing at the simple, metallic stamp pressed at the base of the blade.

Lady Valoise crossed her arms, discomfort clearly written on her. "They could have at least spared you this addition. A ruler should not have to wield something so…crude"

"It isn't crude, Elise. It's another tool for soldiers—crafted with their care, just like uniforms and maps. Every item here serves a purpose for a soldier." Cordelia said, her eyes fixated on the image of the unicorn on the dark blade. Contemplating that her symbol is impressed upon many things, from stamps to tools of warfare.

"The Army certainly strove to ensure its…explicit functionality performs. Practical, yet with an air of dignity," Adler mused, inspecting the blade. "Though I suspect the soldiers may use it for more mundane tasks. A fine letter opener, perhaps? Or a most persuasive butter knife."." Adler remarked,

Cordelia pulls the bayonet completely from its scabbard, slowly turning it in her hand as she gazed upon the weapon. The group stood silent as they observed their Archduchess take in sight of the tool.

"Goodness." Elise whispered; her head turned away slightly as the sight of the black blade intimidated her. "It…doesn't suit you, Your Highness. To see you holding something so…violent—it's unsettling. You're meant to inspire, not wield."

Elise watched Cordelia handle the bayonet, the blackened steel catching no light, no ornamentation. It wasn't elegant, but it was... honest. Perhaps there was something noble in such simplicity, after all.

Cordelia slid the blade back into its scabbard, its latch clicking with an echo in the Study, setting the heavy object back on the surface of the desk. Cordelia's hand lingered on the scabbard. She had always been surrounded by symbols of power—crowns, crests, seals—but never one so starkly practical, so unflinchingly tied to survival. This was their world: not gilded halls, but steel and grit. Was she truly ready to step into it?

"These soldiers carry so little, yet everything they possess holds a purpose." she said, her voice steady yet tinged with emotion. Her hand extended towards the photograph of the staff officers, sliding it in front of her to see the mixed faces of the officers, some smiling, some stern, each carrying a story she could only begin to imagine.

"They've given us a world to see and touch. Inviting us to feel, even in this small way, what they endure." She murmured, a finger tracing the edge of the photograph. ""This isn't just a gift. It's a window into their world—and the burdens they bear."

The room fell into a contemplative silence. Even Elise, her earlier discomfort still evident in her posture, seemed to soften at Cordelia's words.

Cordelia looked up, her expression resolute as her gaze met Lady Valoise's. "Lady Valoise, please write to Colonel Rhone. Let him know we shall adhere to their provisions. We will honor their invitation and meet their requests in full. For this exercise, we are not distant rulers. We are their guests."

Elise blinked, hesitating for just a moment before bowing her head. "As you wish, Your Highness."

Cordelia turned to Adler, her tone shifting slightly, the firmness giving way to a note of practicality. "Monsieur Adler, can you prepare a fitting for me tomorrow using these uniforms? I'd like to ensure everything is ready."

Adler straightened, adjusting his spectacles with a thoughtful nod. "Of course, Your Highness. I shall have them prepared by tomorrow evening."

Lesanne simply smiled, "I'll help you, Monsieur Adler, I do not think your latest catalogs would provide much insight on how our soldiers wear these."

Cordelia allowed a faint smile to touch her lips. "Thank you."

Her gaze returned to the footlocker, lingering on its rugged surface and the neatly arranged contents within. She let out a soft breath, her hand resting briefly on the edge of the open lid. "Let us honor their efforts. This is a step toward understanding—a duty we must embrace."

The sunlight streaming into the study glinted off the steel edge of the scabbard and the polished surface of the binoculars. The items, so utilitarian yet imbued with care, seemed to carry the weight of the soldiers' trust. Cordelia straightened, her quiet determination filling the room.

"Tomorrow, we begin."

The study was quiet now, bathed in the amber glow of the setting sun. The footlocker stood alone, its steel-blue frame a stark contrast to the refined elegance around it. Atop it rested the photograph, the smiling faces of the officers frozen in time, a testament to the world they shared.

Cordelia sat before it, her hands resting lightly in her lap, her gaze drawn to the photograph. The weight of the day lingered, its conversations and reflections echoing softly in her mind. Her fingers brushed the edge of the photograph, tracing the outlines of the officers' faces, their stories just out of reach.

She opened the footlocker one last time, its faint creak breaking the stillness. The familiar scent of leather and polish greeted her nose as her eyes settled on the neatly packed items on the tray. Each item carried a story, a purpose, and a burden.

Closing the lid gently, she placed the photograph back atop it. Her voice, soft but resolute, broke the silence. "Tomorrow, I will walk your path."

The last light of the day faded, leaving the footlocker to stand as a quiet sentinel, bridging the world she had always known with the one she was determined to understand.