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Chapter 11 – A New Crew
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Amber looked out the window as the train chugged its way through the countryside. The faint reflection of her own face reminded her that she was still in the body of a nine-year-old, and she began to wonder how seriously anyone was going to take her, even if she did wear a officer's uniform.
Her mind drifted to a memory of watching a documentary about a particular lieutenant in the US Marines during the Korean War, a man by the last name of Lee. In an era of common racism, he was an Asian man who won the respect and admiration of the men who served under him. She wondered if she could be like that. Could she win over her men if they saw a genuine fire in her? A strength of character that coerced men to follow her into battle?
Maybe, but it would be a tall order. Taller even than she was in her past life.
Amber looked over to her fellow passenger. “Hey Meckler, what kind of leader do you think I will be?”
Meckler looked up from his book to face her. “What's this about now? Why would you be asking me?”
“Well, sometimes there are things others see in us that we can't see in ourselves. I'd like an outside opinion. What kind of leader do you think I will be?”
Meckler gave a casual smirk. “I think you'll be an exceptional leader.”
“I'm being serious,” Amber declared with a small wave of her hand.
“So am I. Look at what you've achieved; how many people can do that? You won that medal, for one. Hell, just the fact that they let you into the Army at your age says a lot about you. I'll tell you one thing: if I ever came across a girl your age on the enemy's side, I'd surrender right then! No one is getting into that position without some serious skill to back it up!”
Amber gave a polite smile. “Not everyone sees it that way, though.” She took a slow breath. “When I was going through basic training, they had me lead a small team as part of an exercise. They didn't follow my orders. I lost my temper and had to get forceful with them.”
“Well, maybe that's because they hadn't seen you with that.” He pointed to the medal hanging on her chest.
Amber looked at the medal. “I forgot that I was still wearing this. I don't want to wear it out on the front.”
“Why not?”
“You haven't seen what it's like out there yet. Living in the trenches is incredibly dirty.”
It was a half-truth. Dirt wasn't her concern, truthfully she was just eager to get rid of the damn thing. 'I feel like Hester Prynne; branded with this cursed symbol to tell the world of my crimes.'
“Well,” Meckler spoke up, “perhaps you ought to wear it for your introduction, at least. Let your subordinates get a good look at it before you put it away.”
Amber nodded; it was sound reasoning.
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Captain Cedric Weston walked through the Army's offices with his composure intact; the nervousness he felt could not be discerned by any outward appearances. Oddly he felt less nervous now than he had while he was stuck at home recovering, despite the fact that he was now facing the very moment he had been anxious about.
He simply wasn't sure what opinion any of his superiors had of him after having lost an entire squadron. General Hudson had redeemed him to some respect; at least now they knew his story to be true. But even if the top brass believed that a single child soldier had done it, it still happened under his command; he lost an entire squadron.
What would his next assignment be? Would he be scourged? Punished, demoted, and pushed to the side? Or would he be forgiven? Assigned with the same accolades, and given a chance to advance his career?
He had requested that he be given a lieutenant to serve as his vice-commander, to replace Julian Reuben. Truthfully he would be fine with a sergeant, or even a competent corporal who might be due for a promotion after a sortie or two. But requesting an officer was a litmus test to see where he stood. If they revered the work he accomplished already, they would give him a lieutenant. But if he were being scorned for his failure, he would be given a corporal.
He spent the last week at home, fuming and worrying. But now that he was about to meet his moment of truth, he wasn't even a quarter as nervous as he was before. But he was still nervous.
The door opened and Colonel-Second-Class Ernest Rye looked out to the lobby.
Weston stood up straight and saluted.
“Captain Weston!” Rye called out almost casually. “Has the doctor cleared you to return to service?”
“Yes sir!” Cedric replied.
“Excellent! Step inside.”
Cedric went into the colonel's office and closed the door behind him. Rye sat down at his desk and grabbed one of the folders sitting there. The morning sunlight was breaking through the window to where he was seated, and the light made his orange hair particularly vibrant; more fiery than its normal red.
“We have your next assignment ready,” he stated. “We're giving you command over a new squadron. Your new call-sign will be 'Whirlwind.' You'll have a day and a half to get acquainted as you see fit, but your boat leaves tomorrow at fourteen hundred. Make sure you're ready to depart by thirteen-thirty.”
Cedric nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Rye opened the folder and folded back the top cover. “You requested an officer for your vice-commander. In light of your previous successes, we have accepted your request.”
A soft smile crept across Cedric's face. “Thank you, sir. What is his name?”
Rye double checked the paper. “Sub-Lieutenant Blomgren.”
“Sub-Lieutenant?” Cedric repeated, “you're giving me a woman to be my vice-commander?”
Rye handed the folder to Weston. “You should be honored, Weston! She was one of the top students at the academy; all of her instructors gave her glowing reports.”
Weston thumbed through the papers pinned to the folder. Sub-Lieutenant Sofie Blomgren. Private Isaac Damours. Private Jacob Hunt. Private Gerard O'Kenny. Private, private, private... Not even a private-first-class.
“Sir... Do none of these men– none of these people have any combat experience?”
Rye's composure was relaxed, but somehow he was impossible to read. “I'm afraid not. Best we could do on such short notice. All the experienced mages are already in the field. But we've given you a good bunch; I think only two of them are conscripts.
“Look at the bright side, Captain: fresh minds aren't tainted by some other commander's way of doing things. You get to mold this crew into just what you want them to be. You've just got...” he looked over to the clock on his wall. “...twenty-nine and a half hours to do it. Plus whatever you can squeeze on the boat ride.”
Weston drew a small breath and softly nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
Rye nodded back. “Dismissed.”
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Amber bounced uncomfortably in her seat on the bus. But she had a hard time calling the vehicle a bus; it was quite unlike anything she had ever seen called a bus in her old life; really it was just another truck, but the bed was lined with benches for people to sit on, and there was a roof overhead where their packs were stowed. Really just an archaic predecessor to a proper bus.
The benches were wooden, which made them particularly uncomfortable whenever they went over a bump, and they had been driving over rough trails for the last fifteen minutes. She felt like it was an odd juxtaposition to be traveling under such circumstances when earlier she was riding the fancy officer's car on the train.
But then she remembered how the regular enlisted were traveling; they weren't in a bus but just shoved into the back of a truck, a real truck, as tight as they could pack them with everyone standing up, like they were shipping literal cattle. Compared to that her wooden bench was opulent.
It seemed like a waste to only transport the officers in this bus-truck, as there was certainly enough room for some of the regular soldiers; it was only her, Meckler, and another lieutenant who were going to this particular location. There was also a captain, but he got to sit in the cab of the bus-truck. Such was the privilege of rank.
The truck-bus slowed down, and turned slightly as it parked.
“Are we there?” Meckler asked.
“I wouldn't know.” Amber replied.
The captain got out of the cab and Amber took that as her cue to disembark from the vehicle. The entire convoy was stopped. She jumped up to the roof of the bus, grabbing the rail that lined the roof with her foot sitting on the sill of the window. From that vantage point she could see an encampment of white tents just a stones-throw past the convoy.
“Yeah I can see the tents; looks like we're here.”
The captain called up to her, “While you're up there do you want to grab my bag?”
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Once they had gathered the supplies they were soon greeted by a major by the name of Detmold, who was the authority for that forward-operating-base.
Behind the major was a mage with hair the darkest color of purple. He had a carbine slung over his shoulder. His collar and cuffs were colored like an NCO, except they were black; rank equivalent to a lance-corporal, but given a specialized duty. Even if Amber didn't know what the markings on his uniform indicated, the way he stood close behind the major was a dead-giveaway that he was the major's bodyguard; a battle mage who stayed close enough to protect him with his shield. Amber had seen the same thing on the Northern Front.
Major Detmold expressed how pleased he was to have Darkwood among his ranks. It made for a more casual and warm reception; Amber certainly wasn't greeted by Major Brandis when she showed up in Tanfax, although he did show up to verify her orders and her records, as there was a big stir among the officers to find a little girl among their ranks.
Amber wondered how much of this new reception came from her reputation and how much came from being an officer; if she were still a private would this man have the same casual and welcoming tone? But it didn't take long before she noticed that he wasn't giving this same attention to Meckler.
After a bit of conversation and recounting her “adventure” in Tanfax, she spied a group of mages approaching them. They paused while an officer at the front of the group continued toward them.
Major Detmold turned to face the group. “Ah, here they are now! Lieutenant Darkwood, this is Captain Bain.” Salutes were raised. “You will be reporting directly to him.”
Major Detmold turned toward the group of mages and raised his voice. “Raven Squadron, form up! At attention!”
The squadron of mages quickly formed up into two lines of three. Amber lightly smiled. Raven Squadron. It was a good call sign. So these were going to be the men she was in charge of.
When they were all at attention and saluting, the major continued. “Ravens, this is Lieutenant Darkwood; she will be your new commander.”
Meckler stepped to the side, giving Amber a clearer view of them. There was something oddly pleasing about seeing them; something that right away filled her some sort of sense of pride. It wasn't just a crew, it was her crew. She felt a bit excited to meet them. Five staunch men and one woman.
Amber stepped forward and returned the salute. “At ease.” She kept her posture firm and shifted slowly as she looked at them, hoping her medal would glint in the sun.
Front and center in the group was a lance corporal. With a confused face he blurted out “Is this some kind of joke?”
'Oh god dammit.'
Major Detmold asserted himself before the the soldier. “This is no joke, this woman has already proved herself against the Norlans on the Northern Front. She's earned her position and you will respect that.”
The soldier tried to keep himself firm in the standard military fashion, but Amber could see the man squirming inside. The others in the squadron seemed to have some uneasiness in their eyes as well.
The debate inside the lance corporal reached a boiling point. He turned directly to Major Detmold and declared “Sir, I will not take orders from a child!”
Amber quietly exhaled. 'Why must everyone learn the hard way?'
The major began to cut in to the Lance Corporal, but Amber had already seen how to deal with this kind of defiance, and so she politely asked to take over. The major consented and stepped to the side.
Amber looked at the lance corporal for a moment, and realized she'd need to give an order first. She thought one up. “Lance Corporal, take my flight equipment to our squadron's bunk.”
He straightened his back and looked down at her in an authoritative manner. “No.”
Amber locked her gaze with the defiant lance corporal. In that moment she realized she was engaged in a proverbial mensur duel with the man; not one of blades but of wills, and the first one to flinch would lose.
Of course, the lance corporal thought he would win; he thought he was facing a child. And in some certain way, Amber was glad for the opportunity; it gave her the chance right here and now to dispel the myth that she was a mere child.
And so the two stood with their wills standing straight and their resolves planted firmly on the ground.
Amber tried to keep her face stoic, but she knew what was coming, and she couldn't help but let some of that creep through her expression. “Tell me, Lance Corporal, is Amber Darkwood gonna have to choke a bitch?”
The lance corporal's pride also crept through his expression. “Just try it,” he declared.
Amber lifted her hand for him (and everyone) to see, and held out her thumb and forefinger as if she were grasping something invisible. Her eyes and her orb began glowing, and with her telekinesis she reached into his windpipe, and squeezed.
Instantly the lance corporal's face gave way to shock. He soon began making stuttered gagging noises, followed by vain attempts to get more air by pulling his collar away from his neck.
Everyone around them began looking on with concerned and confused faces. Amber let the lance corporal make his choking sounds for a moment, and then began to gently pull her grip closer to the ground. Like a horse with a bit in his mouth, he followed his head in the same direction. Amber pulled firmer, leading his head down more until he at last fell to his knees, continuing to gag. The people around them looked on with shock and fear.
Amber boldly declared “You may not have respect for the chain of command, but you will have respect for me.” She released her grip and instantly he gasped and began coughing.
In a raspy voice he gasped “Yes ma'am!”
She looked up to the rest of the squadron. “Does anyone else have a problem taking orders from me?” No one said anything, they just looked on with ghastly faces. “Yes I was born nine years ago, but the brass wouldn't have put me in this position if I didn't have the huevos to back up that authority! Try to understand what that means without having to learn the hard way!”
The lance corporal started to get up, but as he did he paused, his eyes transfixed on Amber's chest and the medal hanging there. He stared in blatant shock. He finished standing up and coughed again, his eyes looking away from her as if in shame.
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Weston found his new squadron in the field outside the barracks. The sub-lieutenant was chewing out one of the privates for an unkempt uniform. She had a moderate Scandian accent, either Swedish or Geatian, but it wasn't thick enough to make her words unclear. Weston decided that a uniform wasn't important enough to waste time on right now.
“Atten-tion!” He hollered out. The soldiers quickly formed a line and stood to attention. “When I call your name step forward. Sub-Lieutenant Sofie Blomgren.”
Blomgren stepped forward. Her hair was a pale-red-brick color, the only one in the bunch who had used enough magic to have their hair change color. She was stout enough so as not to look dainty, and tall enough to only be the second-shortest person in the squadron. She had a face that wasn't bad, but also seemed unlikely to get married. But then again, Cedric never was very pleased with the faces of Caucasian women.
“Your call-sign will be Whirlwind-Two.” Weston went through the names in the order they were in the file. “Damours.” A young man stepped forward. “Your call-sign will be Whirlwind-Three.”
Once Weston had confirmed that the whole squadron was present and accounted for, he tucked the folder under his arm and addressed the troops. “I am Captain Weston. I served two tours of duty in Africa. Already in this war, the squadron I previously commanded managed a total of twenty-seven confirmed kills without suffering a single casualty.” 'Damn that twenty-eight.' “I am not just a man who demands excellence, I am a man who demands cunning. It is not by strength alone, but by being cunning that we will defeat our adversary.
“Before we go any further, I need to ascertain your skills so I can see how best to implement you. Does anyone here have any natural talent with radios?”
No one said anything.
Cedric wasn't surprised. 'I'm never going to find someone like Ward again.' “Any natural talents with illusions?”
No response.
“Any natural magic talents of any kind?”
No response.
“Alright; we can still manage. I want to see who can make the best illusions. Everyone summon a decoy.”
All the mages complied with the order. Cedric looked them over one by one and took notes on a small pad of paper.
“Alright, dismiss your decoys. All of you go over to that tree and make an illusion of it.”
The troops began hustling to the tree he pointed at and then began pacing around it with their hands on their orbs.
'Not even one soldier with a month of experience. They couldn't even pull one man from another squadron?'
Illusions of the tree began appearing. Few of them looked acceptable.
'And a woman in my squadron. If they gave me an all-female squadron, I could handle the laughing behind my back. But this? How the hell are the men going to concentrate on anything with a woman running around?'
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Before the Raven Squadron went to their bunk they took a detour to the command tent where Amber picked up her paperwork for her squadron. She also reviewed maps of the area, and received her first assignment: Captain Bain wanted updated photographs of the enemy trenches in one sector.
From there she let Corporal Ochsner take the lead to show her the way to their quarters. The walk took long enough that Amber had time to think.
'I thought this medal was supposed to earn me respect. I guess winning admiration from cadets is easier than experienced soldiers. How am I supposed to earn respect now?'
'Lieutenant Lee won the respect of his marines because of his grit and determination; he proved himself by showing how tough he was. That's not what I did at all; I just went Dark Lord on one of my men! Trying to command them through fear like some sort of supervillian.'
'Is that really who I am? I choked Bronner because I was genuinely angry. This time I was just trying to show off.'
'But what was I supposed to do? The soldier had defied me; he wouldn't allow me the chance to prove myself. It was his fault for being so defiant. ...His fault? – no, it's counter-productive to blame others. What could I have done differently?'
In her mind's eye she was back at the convoy, standing before the defiant soldier. She needed a chance to prove her ability, but that couldn't be done there, she'd need to prove herself in combat. Show her grit, show her tenacity.
“Give me one week,” she said. “One week to prove to you and everyone what I am capable of. If seven days from now you still don't think I can lead this troupe, we'll make a transfer, no questions asked.”
“Fine, one week,” the soldier replied.
The fantasy Amber imagined ended with them shaking hands.
She silently sighed. 'That's what I should have done.' But instead of being a strong leader, she had now marked herself as an angry one. Was that really who she was? Perhaps so; it was easy to be angry; she had a lot to be mad about. She soured inside; 'That's not the leader I wanted to be.'
They soon entered a region where dugouts lined the trench walls particularly frequently. Amber noticed the nearly-jovial tone of chatter coming from the small bunkers along with the occasional sound of cards slapping. It was evident that they were in the personnel quarters for the reserves, but it felt a little odd to Amber; in Tanfax the reserves had all stayed in tents. Were they close enough to the front that getting hit by shells were really a concern? She paused and glanced inside one of the bunkers; it wasn't very deep and wouldn't survive much artillery fire. But it did offer some protection, so it didn't seem too absurd. 'Perhaps their concern is bombs from aircraft. They're still just throwing grenades out from the cockpit, so this would protect them from that.'
As she came around a corner she saw some soldiers erecting wooden braces along the walls and corners on the far side of the corridor, and there was a soft sound of shovels piercing dirt coming from around the bend. But before they reached the construction zone Corporal Ochsner turned into a doorway; there was a canvas flap draped over the far side of the doorway which he held open for Amber.
Amber stepped through and was genuinely surprised at what she saw. It was a large rectangular area that was carved out like a trench, forming a small trench courtyard. There was a tent roof covering the enclosure, propped up by poles as needed. It looked like they were inside a tent, except for the dirt walls.
There was a canvas partition running the length of the enclosure. On the larger side there was a common area made up of some benches, chairs, and a table. On the other side of the partition she could see a couple beds. There was another partition in the rear.
The corporal flatly stated “These are the quarters for Raven Squadron, ma'am.”
Amber lightly smiled. “I guess you could call it the Raven's Nest.”
The corporal paused and then slowly nodded. “Yes ma'am, we can do that.”
Amber looked back at the corporal. “Why did we dig out a courtyard just to put a tent top on it?”
Ochsner replied, “We actually found several courtyards like this in the trenches we took from the Gaullians. We don't really know what they used them for; some kind of common area surrounded by bunkers. We decided to turn them into quarters for the mages; it gives us a nice spot to launch from, and its easy to find from the sky.”
He walked into the room with the beds and Amber followed; when she got a good view she saw that one bed was sitting apart from the others, in a corner along with a writing desk and a wooden chest. “This was Lieutenant Jäger's bunk... Uh... I suppose you'll be sleeping in the ladies bunk, though.”
The corporal stepped back into the common area and moved to the back. The rear partition had a couple panels rolled up. Past this the courtyard was open to the sky. There was another smaller tent here on the left, set up as close to the large tent as the guy lines would allow. On the wall opposite of that were wooden racks where the flight packs were stowed; the packs were hung on bars with cubby holes above and below, just like the racks she had seen in Tanfax. There was also another doorway to the trenches, opposite of the one they had come through.
The corporal held up the door flap to the smaller tent and Amber stepped inside. There were two beds, but enough room for four. The female private from her squadron hustled in and stood by her bunk at attention as if this were an inspection. Amber faced her. “Are the two of us the only women in this squadron?”
“Yes ma'am!” she replied.
“Then it sounds like this is my bed.” She swung her pack off and set it on the mattress. She looked over to the lance corporal who had been following behind her. “Set my flight equipment over there.” And then facing the corporal she said “Get the new additions settled in their bunks, and then have everyone line up outside.”
“Yes ma'am,” he nodded and the two men left.
Amber sat down on her bed and looked around. She took a long, slow, breath. This was her home now. It was a mental reset Darren learned in his late 20's. If she didn't take this break to set a new mental association, she would feel uncomfortable and lost. And so she mentally zeroed herself in her new home.
She looked over to her new roommate. “Jeez, at-ease already; no one told you to stand at attention to begin with.” She started to thumb through the personnel files the captain had given her, but she stopped and looked back up at the private. “I take it someone else used to sleep here.”
The private nodded. “Her name was Bruckner.” There was an accent in her voice.
“Were you close?”
“We were good friends.”
“My condolences.”
The private tilted her head with a confused expression. “How please?”
“It means I'm sorry; I feel your pain. I've lost good friends too.”
The private's face turned to a worried expression. “But you're so young! You should not be losingk friends already!”
“Unfortunately, there is no minimum age for death.”
Amber recognized the private's accent. The languages in this world were not identical to the ones in Amber's first life, but just like the world map and histories, there were similarities. And Amber had heard the private's accent far too many times in movies and television to not recognize it.
The private was Russian.
Amber spoke with a cautious tone. “How did you come to be in the Argan Army? We are at war with Ruthenia.”
The Russian private pouted. “I am not Ruthenian! I am from Livia!”
“Ahh,” Amber nodded her head, “so I'm guessing you fled Livia during the civil war?”
The non-Russian private nodded. “Yes, my family left on a fishingk boat and landed in Kaisberg.”
'Ask her to say Nuclear Vessels! – No, dammit, be respectful!'
“And the empire granted you asylum?”
She tilted her head with a confused expression. “How please?”
“Your family, they now live in the Argus Empire?”
“Yes, they are non-citizens. I joined the Army the day I turned 18 so I can have citizenship.”
Amber felt intrigued by the private's history; she relished the chance to hear her perspective of the events that led to Livia becoming part of the Ruthenian Empire. The official story of the Livian Parliament “voting unanimously” in the midst of a civil war had always sounded a little suspect in her ears.
The corporal's voice sounded just outside the tent. “Commander, we're ready.”
Amber motioned to the private, “Go take your place in line.”
The private hustled outside. Amber stood up, slipped her papers under her arm, and took a sharp breath before stepping outside.
Five soldiers stood in a line, shoulder to shoulder, with the corporal standing in front. All six stood at attention and saluted.
Amber returned the salute. “At ease. This isn't an inspection; I just want to get to know the men I will be serving with before we hit the skies. ...Let's start at the top.”
Amber stepped in front of the corporal and flipped to his file. “Hugo Ochsner. Corporal. Vice-commander of the Raven Squadron.” 26 years old. His hair was the color of desert dust; it almost looked natural. He had a thick mustache that looked like it was made from the bristles of a push-broom.
“How long have you been in the military?”
“Since I was 19, ma'am.”
“Any civilian career? Or are you military for life?”
“Oh I'm a lifer, ma'am.”
“Nice.” Amber was about to ask him about his family; if he had a wife and kids, how old his kids were... But she paused. It felt disingenuous. Earlier she had publicly choked one of these men, and now she was going to act all buddy-buddy with them? She wanted to be friendly, but... 'I guess now isn't the time for that. Not anymore.'
Amber swallowed her reservations and walked over to the line of soldiers. The first up was the lance corporal who had defied her earlier. He had candy-red hair. “Name?”
“Lance Corporal Lukas Nussbaum, ma'am.” His voice was still a little raspy.
Amber found his file. 24 years old. “So what has your career been like?”
“I joined the Army when I was 18, served for two years, decided not to re-enlist. When the war started, they offered me a promotion if I re-enlisted. It sounded better than waiting to be conscripted.”
“So what did you do in your civilian life?”
“I work for my father's mercantile company.”
“So your family owns a store?”
“No ma'am, we sell and distribute to stores.”
“Ah, you're the middle-man.” Amber casually nodded. She stepped over to the next soldier in line. “Name?”
“Private Elrico Mupia, ma'am.”
Amber quickly found his file. The man was clearly African, and she had assumed he was from Hura like the other African soldiers she had met. But as she looked through his file she noted he was actually from Khoeka. He was 19 and his hair was an olive-green.
“So why did you join the Army, Mupia?”
“Two reasons. I t'ought it would be good for me; help me to become a stronger and more capable man.”
“Be all you can be. I respect that. And the second reason?”
“So I can gain citizenship.”
“Ah, the same as the lady over there?”
“Yes ma'am, in fact we went t'rough flight school toget'her.”
Amber nodded with a polite smile and stepped over to the next soldier.
The next soldier was the woman Amber was speaking with in her tent. Her hair hadn't finished changing into its magical color; she had read that sometimes the change was slow and gradual. It was still a common brown down to the middle of her ears, and from there down it was a soft white. Her uniform wasn't made to show off a woman's figure, but Amber could tell that the lady carried higher caliber rounds than most women.
Amber found the only file marked as female in her stack. She stared at the name with some consternation. “Okay, how do you say your full name?”
The private promptly produced her proper name. “Alaksandra Vsevolodovna Chernyavskaya.”
Amber stared blankly at her papers for a moment. “...How about I call you 'Alex' for short?”
“Sasha.”
“I'm sorry?”
“The short-name for Alaksandra is 'Sasha.' Everyone just calls me Sasha.”
Amber nodded. “That will be easier to call out in the heat of battle. Sasha it is then.”
The next in line was one of the new recruits. His hair hadn't changed to it's magical color yet; it was very dark brown, nearly black. “Name?”
“Private Jochen Gering, ma'am.”
“So you just got out of flight school; tell me, did you enlist or were you conscripted?”
“A bit of both, actually. My number came up in the draft, but I wanted to finish school first. I struck a deal with the recruiter where I enlisted but wouldn't have to report until after I graduated.”
Amber frowned within herself. 'I thought we didn't conscript people still in school...' “What plans did you have for a career, had the war not gotten in the way?”
His eyes rolled around for a bit. “I'm not quite sure, really. Maybe something in finance? I'm pretty good with numbers.”
Amber nodded. “Invest in gold, as soon as the war is over.”
She shuffled down to the last soldier in line; he responded before she asked. “Private Janik Albrecht, ma'am.”
Amber looked at his file. “Seventeen, huh?”
“I heard about you during training.”
“Come again?”
“Every step along the way, someone would ask 'aren't you too young?' But then someone else would say, 'they let that Darkwood girl in, and she's much younger!'”
Amber felt her stomach tighten. 'That is not the kind of influence I wanted to have...' She began to remember all of the newspapers reporting about her. How many children took that as a sign that they could enlist? With the precedence she had set, anyone could get in if they just thought they could.
This kid was 17; certainly a 16-year-old could get through. What about a 14-year-old? There have been some kids who were reasonably mature at that age. What about 12-year-olds? Playing Xbox Live had taught Darren how many 12-year-olds thought they were mature enough to have sex with his mom; how many of them thought they could manage a real war? Just how many boys did she just send to be slaughtered because of her precedence?
While Amber was caught wondering about the floodgate she opened, Private Albrecht continued speaking. “You're a tough act to follow, you know that? Baum, Mangold, even Colonel Friesinger came by to tell me how much better you were than me. They kept threatening to hold me back until I was 18 if I didn't improve.”
Amber cued in to his words again. “I'm sorry what was that?”
“They almost kicked me out until I was 18; I had to be better than everyone else before they'd let me through.”
Amber nodded in understanding; and felt her concerns beginning to be appeased. With a wry smile she declared “Well don't think you've made it past the hard part just because you've made it this far. The only easy day was yesterday.”
He replied with enthusiasm, “Yes ma'am!”
Amber stepped toward Corporal Ochsner. “Vice-Commander, it seems that I was given the file for one more soldier who isn't here. Would you happen to know anything about this?”
Ochsner responded promptly. “Lance Corporal Viktor Berthold, ma'am. He's away on leave; he's due to arrive back here in a couple days.”
“Ah.” 'Boy he's going to be in for a surprise.'
Amber stood in front of her squadron and placed her hands behind her back. “As for myself, my name is Amber Darkwood. Two days ago I was promoted to lieutenant. Before that I served in Tanfax.” She pointed at the medal on her chest with her thumb. “I was awarded this medal after I defeated an entire enemy squadron by myself. That's seven killed, one wounded and captured, and one that escaped, also wounded.”
She began slowly pacing in front of the soldiers. “I have a power level of 114. Before I even knew what magic was I had an efficiency rating of 85; when I was last rated it was 92. I am the most powerful mage in recorded history. I joined the Army for one reason: without my help the Empire will lose this war. I'm here to stop that from happening; I'm here to win the war.”
She glanced to her left. Some soldier had pulled back the curtain by the doorway and was peering inside. When Amber looked at him he quickly jumped back out of sight.
She called out to the group, “Alright, we've got orders to take some reconnaissance photos; everyone saddle up! It's time to ride some clouds!”
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On the way to their objective Amber had everyone stop so she could give a proper demonstration of her powers. She positioned herself in a spot where any rounds that missed her would land on the enemy's side of the line, and then gave Nussbaum the honor of trying to shoot her. After several missed shots she let a few others try before explaining what she was doing. This was followed up with a little practice on the battle formations they would use to make sure that missed shots didn't hit any of the other squad-mates.
Once they reached the section they needed to photograph, Amber had Gering operate the camera while the others kept watch for enemy mages. While they were busy Amber hovered next to the vice-commander as he privately shared his assessment of his squadmates. He gave glowing remarks about Private Mupia; he was a good soldier who wasn't afraid to push himself, and was reasonably intelligent. The absent Lance Corporal Berthold was described as a competent man on the battlefield, and a good friend to all his squad-mates. Ochsner declared that Nussbaum was a bit of a mixed-bag; he was usually quiet and level-headed when they were on the ground, but rather aggressive on the battlefield. He felt a little surprised at his opposition this morning, but only a little.
“And that just leaves us with Sasha. Private Sher-nov...kovitch, whatever it was. What's your assessment of her”
Ochsner let out a defeated sigh. “Well, she follows orders. You just... gotta keep your orders simple. Use small words and point a lot; she's not too bright.”
“Is it that she's not bright, or that she just doesn't know Argish very well?”
Ochsner frowned a bit in thought, then he shook his head. “Nah, I've seen her, when something unexpected happens, she just looks all around like she doesn't know what to do. When the enemy shows up she has to be told what to do. And she'll do it; she'll follow orders. But don't expect anything until then.”
Amber felt a little disappointed. Usually people who were speaking a second language were rather bright, but she had met exceptions to that rule.
Gering's voice came over the comm. “That's all of them, commander.”
Amber stared down at the trenches below with a concerned expression. “Ochsner, do these trenches look any different to you? Compared to the maps we already have?”
“Uhh, not really? I don't think I was looking that closely.”
“Well I was. I studied them carefully to make sure I didn't show up in the wrong spot and screw up my first assignment. And I don't think they've changed at all.”
His voice sounded unimpressed. “Okay, then I guess they haven't dug any new ones.”
Amber switched on her comm. “I'm going to check something real quick; keep watch for another minute.” She descended quickly and landed on the corner wall of where the trench-line zigged before it zagged again a little further down.
A small group of Gaullian foot soldiers scurried backward from her while uttering startled statements. But Amber's focus was on the trench itself. It was well-constructed; there was a latticework of wood boards across the dirt walls, and the corners and upper-edge were reinforced with some extra planks. But it didn't tell the full story she was curious about, and so she jumped down into the trench.
As she was staring at the wall, debating about whether it would reveal anything to tear down part of the latticework, one of the foot soldiers readied his rifle, aiming it at Amber. Amber gave him a sideways glance. “I wouldn't do that, if I were you.”
Undaunted, the soldier began stepping forward.
Amber sighed. 'If he gets close enough, he can just stick his barrel past my shield.' She thought for a moment to just unsling her rifle and point it at him; yell “Back off!” and he'd get the idea. But he was already close enough that he might be able to leap forward faster than she could pull her rifle off of her shoulder. Maybe. So she hatched a different plan.
With a telekinetic push she leapt next to the soldier, grabbed the barrel, and yanked the rifle out of his hands. Before he could even question how a tiny girl could have the strength to pull so fiercely, she raised the rifle like a club and struck it down against the wall with so much force that it split the stock and shattered several planks in the latticework.
Amber was struck with a moment of clarity: 'I should NOT have done that with a loaded weapon! I'm pointing the muzzle right at my belly! God that was stupid!'
Amber quickly hid the look of morbid-realization on her face and slowly turned her head toward the soldiers with an intimidating glare. Even in the wake of her shock, if there was anything Amber was good at, it was an intimidating glare; an expression of “I am so done with this crap” came very easily to her face. The Gaullian soldiers cowered away from her, and she casually tossed the broken rifle to the ground.
Amber returned her focus to her original point of interest. She peeled back the broken planks and used their leverage to pry up a small section of the latticework. It was clear what sections were covered by the wood and what wasn't; there were long rectangles where the dirt was dryer than the rest of the wall, not to mention the shape of the latticework was clearly pressed into the soil, complete with soil that had oozed onto the top edges of the board, although it was dry now. In one of the upper sections a night crawler was flailing around to keep his wormy body away from the light. The backside of the boards were all wet and stained with mud.
“Ochsner, how long ago did we advance to this point?”
Ochsner's voice came over the comm. “Almost a week ago.”
Amber began ascending into the sky. “These trenches don't look like they were dug a week ago.”
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As they flew over the trenches they were using to house their reserves, Amber noticed how the land here had plenty of grass. There hadn't been fighting here; the enemy had yielded this land when they retreated, and now the Argans were stationing all their reserves in trenches that the enemy had dug and then given up without a fight. Amber continued to feel uneasy about this set up.
Raven Squadron landed in the empty space in front of the command tent, and Amber led her troops inside. The tent was lit by nearly a dozen kerosene lamps, almost half of which were placed over the table in the middle. It was still light outside, but the tent flaps were closed during planning meetings to keep the breeze from blowing papers about. She quickly found her CO, along with just about every CO in the regiment, standing around the table with maps strewn all over it. Amber spoke up, “Sir, I have the photos you requested!”
Captain Bain looked up. “Excellent! Alan, take them to the dark room and have them developed!”
“Yes sir!” A man presumably named Alan hustled over to Gering, took the camera from him, and departed out of the tent.
Amber called out to the captain, “I'm afraid there's been no recognizable changes from our old intel.”
His tone was almost casual. “Good, that means we won't have to adjust our plans.”
Amber paused for a moment, looking over the group of officers who were pouring over the details, trying to determine the most effective way to distribute their troops. 'I should be in that group; this is what I'm here for. I'm the top-tier strategist who knows more about this war than anyone!' But there weren't any lieutenants in this planning meeting, let alone a lieutenant second-class. There were a few first-classers standing around the back of the tent, waiting to be told to fetch coffee or some documents, just like Alan was off developing photos. But only the major and those directly beneath him were actually making plans.
Amber gritted her teeth together, but it only reminded her that one of her baby teeth was loose.
There was a lull in the planning where no one said anything; it seemed like an appropriate time to speak up. “I think you should know, sir, the enemy's trenches appear to have been placed some time ago; it appears they've had this area prepared and waiting for us.”
Captain Bain turned back to face Amber. “And where are you getting this from?”
“I took a closer look at their trenches, sir. They were made too well to have been dug in the last week. I do believe they prepared this point in advance to contend with us.”
“That's quite normal, Lieutenant. They have defensive lines going back for hetches so they have a place to fall back to.”
Amber had to silently admit that it made sense, but it still didn't sit well with her. “But sir, they didn't fall back to the trenches we are occupying now, they went back even further. They deliberately yielded ground to us so that we could be here, and they would be there. Doesn't that sound like a trap to you?”
Major Detmold slipped off his reading glasses and looked toward Amber. “And just what sort of trap do you think they have laid, miss Darkwood?”
The major's demeanor seemed to tell Amber that she was one wrong word away from him being done with her. She decided to get straight to the point. “The courtyards, sir.”
Detmold raised an eyebrow. “The courtyards?”
Amber knew something was suspicious about them because she'd never seen them before. No history book nor documentary about World War One ever mentioned such features, and the Gaullians wouldn't have dug them without a reason. But Amber couldn't just tell him “I never heard about these when I studied this war in high school.”
“We have all our reserves gathered around these courtyards they made. They know right where they are, and you can spot them some distance away.” The explanation came to Amber's mind as she was saying it. “They know right where to drop the bombs.”
Major Detmold was not amused. “We've been here for a week. If they could hit those courtyards, then why haven't they done so already?”
Amber didn't have an answer to that.
One of the captains spoke up. “I would have bombed us that first night; when the troops were all still tired and the command was still moving in.” Several heads nodded in agreement.
Detmold continued. “Lieutenant, the reason they yielded these trenches to us is because the trenches they kept for themselves have better defenses. You've seen them; they have nearly a dozen redoubts every hetch, and they are going to be very challenging for us to take. But they never finished digging those redoubts in these trenches before we breached their line.”
The same captain spoke up again. “It was smarter for them to move back to where they did. They were going to lose this land to us anyway, but now they can save their troops for where they will do the most good.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Detmold said, “it's good to have an eye for these things, but you'll need to refine that talent as you grow up.”
Amber let out a defeated sigh. “Yes sirs, I see your point. I just don't see why they would finish digging a courtyard when the defensible positions aren't ready. It doesn't sit well with me, sir.”
The major finished the conversation. “You're dismissed, Lieutenant. We'll send someone by with your next orders in the morning.”
Amber hid the wound in her spirit. “Yes sir.” She turned around and ushered her squadron outside.
Once she was outside and the flaps were closed, she paused for a moment and could faintly hear the conversation inside; the seasoned veterans misjudging how good the hearing was on a child who had been around far fewer battlefields. “Sheez! I can't believe they made an officer out of a little girl!” “She's got some spunk, I'll give her that, but children are full of nothing but dumb ideas.” “Is she the Kaiser's illegitimate kid or something?”
Amber decided she didn't want to hear anymore, so she took off into the skies. Once she was up about 500 feet she looked down. She could see it now, there was a strong-point carved into the trenches just in front of the camp. A squarish shape like the walls of a fort with the front raised to a point; positioned to slow advancing troops while easily allowing reinforcements to come in to defend the line.
The pattern made for a small redoubt to help defend the line. She never noticed it because it was on the wrong side of the trenchline – unless you were fighting the Argans, of course. And now that she could see the fortified shape, she could see the same pattern repeating down the line, except those ones weren't finished yet. Had they all been finished and properly connected it would have made a notable defense that would have slowed their advances.
With another defeated sigh she began flying toward the Raven's Nest while her squadron followed behind. 'Not a good first impression for my troops, and not a good first impression for my bosses. What a day.'
After a moment of flight she could see the Raven's Nest; it was easy to spot even from a far distance. That courtyard shape mocked her. It seemed so obvious from the sky that it was part of some enemy plan, but there was just nothing to back that up with.
She began to recall how in the first year of World War One, most of the tactics were described as 'improvised.' And of course, no one would bother to record the improvised tactics that didn't work. So if someone had tried digging a courtyard for some purpose, it could have easily fallen into the forgotten aspects of history. Maybe some officer wanted a place for all their troops to line up for inspection, or maybe they just wanted a place to play soccer. Maybe there was some idea, improvised and forgotten. It was just a dumb plan that probably didn't even happen in Darren's history.
Amber painfully exhaled as she accepted that she put too much stock in some inconsequential detail. This was the period of the war that nobody cared about nor studied. There were no tanks, planes weren't dogfighting, there was no gas, and soldiers didn't even wear metal helmets yet. She had hedged her bets on knowing more than anyone else on a subject she knew almost nothing about.
'What a day, what a terrible first day.'
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