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Chapter 16 – Respect
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As Amber walked through the camp she spied the Ox Squadron heading elsewhere. It subtly made her feel vulnerable, knowing that there were only two squadrons protecting an area that was previously watched by four. But they had redistributed a lot of their forces throughout the sixteen-day battle; the Hornets were a few miles up North, and the Condors... actually she didn't know where the Condors were now.
It also made her wonder what Captain Bain was doing with his time since he was watching over a much smaller crowd. She promptly found said captain outside the command tent, and saluted him. “Sir! You asked to see me?”
“Indeed I did.” He looked into the tent and called out “Major! She's here.”
A moment later Major Detmold stepped out of the tent and into the light. Amber was still standing in a salute, but she clicked her heels again as if saluting the major.
“This way, Lieutenant.” And with that the captain escorted both of them to a tent across the field. The major's bodyguard hustled up to the tent and held up the flap. The three officers made their way inside; the major nodded at the bodyguard, who lowered the flap and stayed outside.
The tent was a small square area with a few crates in it. It made for a reasonably private area to talk. There was a single chair sitting in the middle. “Have a seat,” the major declared.
Amber quickly realized this was not the sort of meeting she expected it to be. She had been reprimanded plenty of times in her past life, and could tell that this was a disciplinary action.
After she was seated the major began speaking. “On the night of the airship raid, you already had your squadron prepared for an attack before the enemy appeared. Is this correct?”
Amber briskly nodded. “Yes sir, I expected there to be a forthcoming sneak attack, so I had my men prepared for battle.”
“So you believed there to be an incoming attack. Captain Bain, did the lieutenant report this to you?”
Bain responded, “No sir, I knew nothing about this until Amber made her call on the radio.”
The major looked back to Amber. “Is this correct?”
Amber's tone was a little softer. “Yes sir.”
The major continued. “But you were not the only ones prepared for the attack. Lieutenant Schaab and Lieutenant Galishoff tell me that you had informed them about the coming attack. Is this correct?”
“...Yes sir.”
“So it would be correct then, that you did not tell your commanding officer, but you did report this to the other squadrons who were under his command, correct?”
“...That is correct, sir.”
Major Detmold held a stern expression. “Bypassing the chain of command is not conduct fit for an officer.”
Amber felt the lump in her throat form quickly with that statement.
“Tell me, lieutenant, why did you not bring this to Captain Bain?”
Amber took a sharp breath before answering. “The evidence I had seemed far from incontrovertible; in fact my assessment was wrong. I expected the enemy to come in with planes, new planes designing for bombing. If I had something more concrete to share, I would gladly have done so. But as it was, well sirs, I only had feelings and ideas.”
“Regardless of whether you had concrete evidence or not, you still had something that motivated you to act. And it is your duty to report such findings as you have them, even if they are nothing more than 'feelings and ideas.'”
Amber stirred a little and momentarily looked away from her superiors. “Permission to speak freely, sirs?”
The two men looked at her with perplexed expressions. After a moment Detmold waved his hand and said “Go ahead, Darkwood.”
With a stern tone Amber replied, “Children are full of nothing but bad ideas. I can't believe they made an officer out of her. Is she the Kaiser's illegitimate kid or something. Those are not my words, but this is what was said when I first came to warn you about an incoming attack. Quite frankly, what reason did I have to suppose that coming to you over the same issue was going to yield better results?
“The reason I didn't come to you with my findings is because I lost trust; trust that my actions and judgment would be respected and heard, and not dismissed as childish notions. If you want me to act like an officer, then I expect to be treated like an officer, not like a child who has no business being out here.”
The room was silent.
Amber could feel her career ending within the silence. 'I jabbed too hard; I should not have made that last statement!'
Someone opened the tent door and simply stated “Major, it's time to leave.”
Major Detmold nodded at the visitor and then looked back to Amber. With a stern voice like an indignant father he said “I'm heading out on an assignment with Colonel Lindwurm for a few days. We'll talk more about this when I get back.” And with that he left.
Captain Bain stated “Head on back to your camp, Darkwood. I'll give you your next assignment when I know what it is.”
And so Amber left the tent and began walking back to the Raven's Nest.
Amber had a moment to think to herself. How would things have gone over if she had just gone directly to the captain? He could have given the order and all the squadrons would have been ready right then. He would have told the major and the major would have had the reserves prepared to evacuate. They could have passed the warning to the other bases much sooner. Would they really not have listened to her? They certainly had responded quickly when she declared they were under attack.
Amber let out a defeated sigh. The major was right, after all; she had gone off on her own, going over her CO's head, making yet another mistake.
'Even when I win I still screw up.'
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It was a big meeting, and the room was packed with much of the Army's top brass. Some extra chairs were brought in, lining a couple of the walls. Three large tables were brought together into a horseshoe shape in the middle. Smoke swirled around the ceiling from a dozen cigarettes. Erwin Greenfield didn't like meetings of this size; they felt less productive. But they did at least bring one advantage.
It was a tradition in the military that the person with the lowest rank served the coffee to the others. When Greenfield was promoted to General, he was delivered quite a slap to his ego in his first meeting where he suddenly found that he was now the lowest-ranked man in the room. He hadn't had to serve coffee since he last had children in diapers.
Even now, while he was no longer the most recent to be made a general, the other two men who were considered beneath him were operating in different theaters. And so, in most of his meetings, Greenfield was still the one serving coffee to his superiors.
And while Erwin didn't much like larger meetings like this, at least he wasn't the one serving everyone coffee.
The meeting started off quickly. Colonel Winkler gave a brief synopsis of the region, pointing out Bar-la-Sal on the map. It was nearly due West of Leukesia, although not the closest point to the Gaullian capital, given the slant the front made. Greenfield drummed his fingers against the table uncomfortably; he knew who was stationed in that region.
The colonel then introduced a Colonel-Second-Class Lindwurm, who directly oversaw the forward-operating-bases in that region. Lindwurm stepped up to the episcope that had been rolled into the center of the room. He flipped a switch on the device, and with a loud “clunk” the lamps inside began warming up. He called out “Lights!” and someone obediently turned off the lights in the room. The curtains were already drawn, so the only light in the room was what spilled out from the episcope, either from the vents on the side or the tray on the bottom, and of course from the image it projected onto the white screen at the front of the room.
Lindwurm slipped a paper into the tray and the episcope projected its image onto the screen: a map of the region in question. Rather than standing next to the screen to point, he stayed where he was and slipped a pen into the space above the tray and pointed with that. “This green line here is where the front was a month ago. On the 18th of last month we managed to take the enemy line, and they withdrew all the way to this red line.”
He went on with his presentation, describing the trenches they moved the reserves into, displaying pictures of them and their layout, pausing for a few questions. Evidently the enemy's reconnaissance airplanes had been dropping grenades on their reserves, which didn't result in many casualties but tremendously hurt morale. The dugouts in the trenches they took had thin ceilings that were vulnerable to the later bombing raid but provided good protection against the grenades that were the then-current concern.
“As I'm sure you know, one of the greatest advantages we have had in this war is our better ability to rapidly redeploy our reserves to counter an attack. The enemy is still using horses to move material, after all.”
'You're welcome,' Greenfield silently thought to himself.
“This attack, however, was targeted to try to reduce or eliminate our ability to rapidly redeploy our reserves, through a clever scheme to attack our reserves directly. It was very nearly catastrophic for us. They assembled a large fleet of airships and outfitted them with a mechanism to drop bombs at a continuous rate, allowing them to fly over a region and attack with a constant destructive force. Never seen anything like it; it's like they were rolling out a carpet of bombs.”
He slipped in an aerial photograph of a base where a wide line of shell holes was clearly visible. A low rumble of murmuring and whispers swept across the room.
“To get this fleet across the front without being noticed, they waited for a day with heavy cloud cover, and attacked at night. They flew partway, shut down their engines, and then let the wind blow them across the rest of the way, being neither seen nor heard in their approach. This, however, led to some irregularity in their coordination, which gave us an advantage.”
He returned to the map that laid out the position of all the FOB's. “The airships all arrived at different times. The first appeared here at 225, followed a few minutes later by some at the surrounding bases, and then 236 was hit further North, followed by its surrounding bases, and eventually every base you see here. Most were attacked within a 30 minute window, suggesting an attempt to have all hit at the same time to maximize the surprise. But by the grace of God, the winds led the ship heading to 225 far enough ahead to allow the other bases to prepare a stronger defense. 225 also turned out to be one of the most capable of holding their own without prior notice.”
He slipped in a photograph of some soldiers holding open a bag filled with canisters and a timer mechanism. “One of the first phases of this opening attack was that the ships deployed a squadron of air mages, and the fastest mage in each squadron was sent to destroy the communication center of that base, using a bomb like the one shown here.” He pulled the picture away and pointed at specific FOB's on the map. “This action was successful at 236, and partially successful at 229 and 238. The rest of the bases managed to repel this attack without sustaining any damage to their communication system, as they had time to prepare a sufficient defense.”
“Unfortunately, this is where the good news begins to wane.” He slipped a new photo into the tray, another aerial photograph that was closer to the ground and angled so it could more clearly show the destruction on one of the bases. It was riddled with shell holes and the dugouts were all collapsed. “About half of our bases now look like this. Even if the greater number of troops made it out safely, we still lost a lot of material. Beds, clothing, rifles, shovels... For the first few days we were down by somewhere between thirty and fifty percent of our reserve forces simply because they had nothing to fight with. Even now we are only able to operate less-than 90% of our troops.
“Initially our only defenses were the air mages on night-watch, which were mostly spread out patrolling the front. What few forces were near the bases were quickly overpowered. Even once the main force of mages were suited up and airborne, they were at a disadvantage for having notably less mana than the attacking forces.
“Our air mages took the heaviest toll. We lost nearly a third of them outright, including many fine soldiers who gave their lives taking down those airships before they could reach their targets. On top of that, another ten percent had their flight equipment destroyed, even though they survived the bombing. While we were able to resupply most of our infantry, these forces will take more time to recoup.
“By the end of the first night, we managed to take down sixteen airships, with five more that were seen limping home without any confirmation as to their fate.” He slipped in a photograph of an airship burning. “You might have seen some of these in the newspapers.” He swapped the photo out for one of a squadron standing in front of the burning frame of a crashed airship. In the center of the group was a pilot with pale hair who was substantially shorter than the others. Greenfield smiled.
Lindwurm glanced around the room. “Before I go on to the main battle, does anyone have any questions about this initial phase?”
Colonel Askin raised his hand. “I read an earlier report that said the courtyard shapes were used to make the targets visible from the air. But the airships were hiding in the clouds. How could they see through the clouds?”
Lindwurm nodded. “We believe they were using mana-lenses with an over-driven sensitivity. This would pick up the mana from grass, and the courtyard shapes would make clear holes in the mana being detected. There hadn't been major fighting in this region so the grass was still alive. ...Any other questions?”
General Voight spoke up. “Yes, Colonel, perhaps you could explain something to me. What I don't get is why the enemy bothered to carve out all these trenches we put our troops in, if indeed that was part of their plan. If they can fly their airships right out to our reserves, why even bother with a ploy? What advantage do they gain from us being in trenches?”
The colonel took a breath while he collected his thoughts. “...It constrains us, sir. If our reserves were camping in tents like we had been doing, the moment an airship appeared everyone would have scattered to the four winds! Escape would be easy and we could evacuate without suffering a single loss. But since we were in the trenches, we were constrained! It took us far too long to push everyone through those narrow corridors all at once. Even sounding the alarm took longer than it would have otherwise.”
Even in the dark Erwin could see the wave of motion as everyone registered the statement; heads nodded and demeanors changed. A number of people began making comments. “So we should move the reserves out of the trenches.” “No, we'd be too vulnerable to lighter bombing attacks; we just need to arrange a quicker egress.” “You're missing the bigger picture; this means we won't be able to raid them in the same way!”
General Kippenberger raised his voice. “Quiet! ...Write that down, we'll discuss that in a minute. But right now let's finish this presentation.”
Lindwurm nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He started grabbing the next image to place in the episcope.
General Hersch quickly spoke up. “Just a moment, if I may; I still have a question about this first phase.” He paused as the colonel looked to him. “Now, by all accounts this attack of theirs should have decimated us. We managed to repel it because the first base that was attacked managed to warn the others. My question is this: How? You said that the first thing they did was try to destroy our communications. How did they screw that up? What did this base do differently?”
Amid the shadows a few heads began nodding in agreement. Lindwurm stood in silence for a moment. “Yes, well, I think the one to talk to about that would be Major Detmold. He commands that very base, and I brought him with me today. Major, if you would?”
The lights clicked on and a major stepped forward. Erwin could see some nervousness in his eyes. “Thank you sir, and uh, yes, the enemy sent a runner – an air mage to destroy our communications tent. But as it was, we had a mage who was faster, and chased after the runner. I saw her take him down myself, though it was a close call.”
Hersch wasn't completely satisfied. “From your night patrol? Why was she close enough to be able to race this runner to your command center?”
The major's nervousness was already gone. “Ah, well you see sir, most of my mages were already prepared for battle; they were at the base ready to defend the reserves.”
“So you were anticipating this attack? What led you to this conclusion?”
Detmold slightly smiled. “A little bird told me.”
Greenfield cocked an eyebrow at the major. “A little bird? ...Would this little bird happen to be... a raven?”
The major's face was stunned. “I– how did you –”
General Greenfield gave a dry smirk. “Hmn, figures.”
Hersch looked across to Greenfield. “Her again?” He lightly shook his head.
General Kippenberger spoke up, “What's this about now? Did I miss something?”
Hersch turned back to face Kippenberger. “It's the same little girl who earned the Golden Valor Wings defending a valley up by the Norlan border.”
Kippenberger's face lit up. “Ah, her! Hm, quite the career she's setting up for herself; she's showing up at every major offensive!”
Major Detmold nodded politely. “Yes sir. Well, Lieutenant Darkwood, the girl you mentioned, had captured an enemy lieutenant. We weren't able to get any intel out of him, but his behavior made me suspicious of an upcoming attack.”
Greenfield asked, “Did you share this intel with the other bases?”
The major stiffened as he drew a breath; the nervousness in his eyes returned. “Sir, Lieutenant Darkwood didn't–” He stopped himself. Stoic as the major was, Greenfield could read in his demeanor that he had changed his mind about something, perhaps even feeling ashamed for what he had been about to say. “What I mean to say is: I did not have intel, sir, I had feelings. And if I was wrong it would lead every mage to have insufficient mana the following day. My suspicions were not strong enough to risk more than my own men. Some of my own men.”
A few heads nodded softly. Greenfield stated “Thank you.”
From there the presentation continued as the colonel reviewed the enemy's efforts to take back the line, the portions that were successful and the areas that were not, eventually showing where things ended up. Everyone felt like this battle was a victory for the Argan Empire, even though they gained very little.
After that the meeting went on to discuss what would become of the trenches being used to house the reserves, and what would be done to prevent the enemy from launching a similar attack in the future. As was common for meetings of this size, it went on far too long for Greenfield's tastes, with too much back-and-forth before things got decided.
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Major Detmold sat down on a small couch in the officer's lounge and let out a long, exhausted breath. It should have been a more relaxing occasion; he was far away from the sound of artillery, sleeping in a proper half-timber building, and had all the water he wanted at a simple twist of a knob. But the minor comforts could not keep his mind away from the front. The Gaullian aggression had come to a lull and it was possible that the battle was over, but after over two weeks of fighting it was hard to believe that the Gaullians had really given up, and were not merely catching their breath. He felt that he should still be there, in case something happened.
As he was sitting there, one of the generals approached him. “Major,” he said softly.
Detmold quickly stood up and saluted.
“No no no, sit down, sit down,” he ushered, gently waving his hands. The general sat down in the lounge chair across from him.
Detmold sat back down and looked over the general, trying to remember his name. Green-something; the horse guy. Greenfield, that was it.
Greenfield began speaking. “I wanted to talk to you, Major. Apart from all the meetings and reports, I just wanted to ask: how is Lieutenant Darkwood doing?”
Detmold was taken in by surprise. “Darkwood, sir? Ah, she's... She's doing well.”
Greenfield cocked an eyebrow and rolled one of his hands. “That's it? Just 'she's doing well?' ...Didn't you specifically request her for your regiment?”
Detmold was about to ask “How did you know?” but he stopped himself. Of course a man of his station could know, it was a question of why he would care to know. “...She took out a whole squadron by herself; who wouldn't want her? Honestly I'm surprised I actually got her.”
The general looked casually skeptical. “There's a number of commanders who wouldn't see past her age and would want nothing to do with her. There are some commanders who try to arrange deals behind closed doors to not get any women in their crew at all. Someone requesting her indicates someone who wouldn't have that problem; of course that request would be granted.”
Detmold glanced around the room and then whispered, “Is that what this is about? You need to find out who's arranging those deals?”
Greenfield's face soured. “What? Oh, god no!” His expression relaxed as he sighed. “Alright, I'll tell you what this is about.”
Greenfield leaned back in his chair. “I first met Darkwood when she was six. I was impressed with her intelligence and maturity, so I wrote her a recommendation for officer training and slipped it in her file. To make a long story short, that recommendation is what got her into the Army, despite my efforts to have her held back until she was older.”
The general leaned forward and his eyes softened. “So here we are now. She's nine years old and serving in the Army, leading her own squadron no less, and it's all because of me. And so with that in mind, Major, I ask you: how is Amber doing?”
Major Detmold slowly nodded his head in understanding, and then paused in thought for a moment. “...I have a few things to say that were not in my earlier report.
“The first day she arrived, she saw the state of the trenches and reported to us her belief that it was a trap. We dismissed her warnings. Critically, no one, including her, could account for why the enemy had not already sprung this trap. On the night of the attack she realized they were waiting for cloud cover. But instead of telling her CO, she went directly to the other squadron commanders and tried to get them to prepare for an attack.
“I later spoke with her about it, to ascertain why she went over her CO's head. She said she didn't have enough concrete evidence to give me. When I pressed the matter she admitted... Well you see, after she had first warned us a few days prior, many of my officers made comments which she overheard.”
“What sort of comments?”
“Things like 'children are full of dumb ideas.' And as such, she said she couldn't trust that her ideas would be received without something concrete to go with it.”
Detmold drew a sigh. “So how is she doing, you ask? Well, every soldier across the entire Bar-la-Sal owes his life to that lieutenant. And we couldn't give her the respect to hear her out.”
His shoulders tensed. “She told me, if you want me to act like an officer, then I expect to be treated like an officer, not a child. I can't begin to tell you how deep that cut me.”
The general rubbed his chin for a moment. “It may be worth knowing: you're not the first one to underestimate that lady.”
“Somehow I don't think I'll be the last, either.” Detmold held his tongue for a moment; he wasn't sure that voicing his concerns in front of a general would be wise, so he just thought to himself. 'How do I fix this? I can easily talk to all my captains and straighten them out, but how do I get her to feel that she is respected without her losing respect for her superiors?'
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Amber was told to have her squadron report to the command center, and to wear her clean uniform. When she arrived she found the space in front of the command tent was filled with troops, standing in a block formation. There was a makeshift stage erected in the front, built out of crates. Amber found a place for her next to the other squadrons. She was pleasantly surprised to find that Hornet Squadron had returned.
As the Ravens began forming up, she had a good look at all the mages. Since no one was wearing their cowls, it was the first time Amber had such a good view of the hair colors magic produced. In her past life, whenever she saw someone who colored their hair, it was always a bold and bright color; selected for the purpose of standing out. But the colors she saw here (mostly) had more natural tones. Of course there were some bold colors, like Nussbaum's candy-red, but there was someone else here with a red like desert rocks at sunset, and another with red like a very old and very dirty barn.
She recalled Nussbaum's statement about the hair reflecting a person's true character. That excuse didn't sit right with her; people were far too complex to be summed up with a mere color, not to mention how much people change over time. Was the old-barn-haired soldier supposed to have the same personality as Nussbaum, but less bold? Or that soldier with the leafy-green hair, was he just a brighter version of Mupia? She doubted it.
Once they were in formation they did not wait long. Major Detmold gave a short speech about how they were gathered to honor those who had saved the lives of all the men fighting here. Each of the air mage squadrons were called up to the stage in turn. Everyone invited to the stage received the Iron Wings medallion, and the Major read the names of those who were not present, whether they were killed or recovering in a hospital.
Raven Squadron was asked to the stage last. From the elevated position, Amber could finally see the scope of the crowd. Every captain in the base was lined up at the front of the crowd, and surrounding them was every lieutenant who wasn't preoccupied with other duties. And while there wasn't enough room for the entirety of the reserves to be gathered, as many as could fit were there, along with whoever else could overflow into the adjacent spaces and tents. And every pair of eyes was on Amber's squadron. (Except for Detmold's bodyguard who was diligently watching for signs of a threat.)
The major handed out Iron Wings to Ochsner, Berthold, and Mupia. He then read from his clipboard, “And we likewise acknowledge the contribution of Private Jochen Gering, who is recovering from his wounds.”
The major turned to the next page and reviewed his notes. He leaned in and quietly asked Sasha, “How do you pronounce your last name?”
Alaksandra replied, “Chernyavskaya.”
“Shernovska?”
“Chernyavskaya.”
He lightly nodded in understanding.
The major turned and called out to the crowd, “In recognition of their contribution to the battle, in particular for impressive marksmanship in the heat of battle, which marksmanship defeated an enemy airship, I award the Bronze Badge of Merit to Private Janik Albrecht, Private Alexandra Shernovska, and Lance Corporal Lukas Nussbaum.”
He retrieved the medals from the aid standing beside him and pinned them to the soldiers.
The major projected, “And lastly, for her vigilance and foresight in deciphering the enemy's plan, for leading a successful counter-offensive, and above all, for protecting the lives of thousands of Argan soldiers, it is my honor to award Lieutenant Amber Darkwood with the Silver Badge of Merit.” He crouched down and pinned the silver medal next to Amber's gold one.
The major stood up and stepped back. He saluted and the entire crowd joined in the salute.
Amber could feel her lip tremble, her throat tightening, and her eyes growing watery. It seemed a surprise to her; why had this ceremony affected her so? She didn't feel this way last time; what was so different about this award?
It didn't take much thought for her to understand why.
She blinked and let a few tears roll down her cheeks, accepting this moment of catharsis.
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Once the ceremony was concluded and everyone was standing on level ground, the crowd began dissipating and some strong-armed privates began moving the crates back to their places. A small crowd formed around Amber and her crew. It seemed that every one of the captains approached her to offer their felicitations and gratitude.
Lieutenant Meckler approached her once the people who outranked him had their fill. He gestured to the medals on her chest and declared “That's quite the collection you've got going there!”
Amber smiled. “At the rate I'm going, pretty soon I'll be carrying so much weight that I won't be able to fly anymore!”
“I'm surprised they only gave you a silver merit badge for what you did. Honestly it seems a bit lackluster sitting next to the Golden Valor Wings.”
Amber gently slid the side of her finger against the silver. “That's okay... I actually like this one better.”
Meckler raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”
Amber softened her tone. “This one I got for taking lives, but this one I got for saving them.” She turned to see Nussbaum standing nearby. “Besides, what's the harm in sharing some of the glory, right?” She jovially slapped his arm. “It's nice to have the aggregate of medals in this squadron be a little higher.”
Nussbaum returned the smile but didn't say anything.
Sasha was beaming. She looked down at her bosom once again. “I can't wait to tell my father about this!”
Nussbaum and Ochsner looked at each other and exchanged nods. Ochsner turned back to Amber. “Say commander, some of the boys and I were thinking, this constitutes as a special occasion, does it not? Perhaps even one where we could honor Jäger's memory?”
Amber smiled and nodded. “I can't imagine that we will have an occasion more special.”
The men chuckled knowingly. Amber glanced around for a moment and then looked back to Ochsner. “I'm not too familiar with wines, so I will defer to your judgment, Corporal; but do you think there is enough wine in the bottle to share it with a few more individuals?”
Ochsner blinked. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well, the other squadron commanders knew Jäger as well, did they not? I get the feeling that a gathering to honor him should include them as well.”
Ochsner gently nodded. “I see your point... I think we could extend our celebrations a bit.”
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It wasn't much longer before a group of soldiers made their way to the Raven's Nest. As they neared their destination Amber saw a number of workers digging sharp staircases into the trench walls, providing a quicker emergency egress in case of another nighttime raid. There was another crew moving timbers into position to form a bridge over the trench as well.
After passing through the doorway marked with the sign that read 'RAVEN'S NEST' the group began congregating in the common area while Amber went to her tent to retrieve the bottle of wine. She presented it to Ochsner. “I'll let you do the honors; I think you are the only one here older than this bottle.”
He chuckled, “Yeah, but not by much!” He pulled a knife out of his pocket and began removing the capsule. “Who here has a corkscrew?
Lieutenant Schaab produced a corkscrew from his pocket. “I came prepared!”
Ochsner inserted the tip of the screw, swung it up, and began twisting it.
Lieutenant Meckler stepped inside and looked around. “Oh! I didn't know you were having a little soirée.”
“It's alright; I don't mind your company. But you might have to bring your own booze; this wine belonged to the former Raven Commander, and they're drinking in his memory.”
Meckler cocked his head back. “I see; well that's alright, I wasn't expecting to drink tonight anyway.”
Ochsner pulled the cork out. It didn't make much of a popping sound. He looked inside the neck. “Uh-oh, I've still got half the cork in there.”
A few disappointed groans rippled through the soldiers.
Nussbaum spoke up, “I can fix that!”
With a flustered expression Ochsner handed him the bottle and the corkscrew.
Nussbaum removed the partial cork from the corkscrew and began carefully inserting the screw into the bottle at an odd angle. “I've seen my dad do this before.” He gave the screw a good number of twists. Soon he began slowly pulling a stained piece of cork out of the bottle. The room erupted into cheers.
Nussbaum handed the bottle back to Ochsner. The corporal raised the bottle and declared “Get out your cups, but before you take a drink, I want each of you to say something about Jäger.” He motioned toward Amber and to Albrecht. “Though I'll grant an exception to you two.”
“Just to him,” Amber stated, “I won't be drinking.”
A few disappointed moans spilled out in the room. Ochsner spoke in a pleading tone, “Oh come on, you've earned it!”
Amber held up her hand. “It's alright Ochsner, I don't drink alcohol.”
Meckler spoke up, “I've already tried to get her to drink, but it's no use. She only drinks the blood of her enemies!”
Amber smiled, “You remembered!”
Laughter bubbled up from the crowd. Ochsner playfully nodded, “Alright, alright. Lord knows, it's not wise to get on her bad side. Let's start at the bottom and work our way up! Sasha, hold out your cup and tell us something about Jäger!”
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The wine slowly made its way around the room, pouring into metal mess cups. Some of the comments elicited laughs, some elicited a sense of honor.
After a few of Jäger's former subordinates had made comments of admiration toward him and his heroic leadership, Amber looked to the corner of the room and noticed a look of pain on Meckler's face.
She moved close to him and asked softly, “Is something wrong?”
Meckler tried to brush it off, “Oh, just hearing these people go on about their commander, it's got me wondering what my men think of me.”
Amber paused a moment before speaking. “You know, I'm the only one you know out here who you can talk to as an equal. In fact, I suspect that's why you came here to begin with. You might as well say something.”
Meckler looked down, and stayed that way for a moment. “I lost 17 men,” he softly stated.
Amber looked over the young boy. She wanted to ask how many that was out of, but she quickly realized that this wasn't the right time to ask that. He wasn't even old enough to drink in most parts of America. Yet here he was, given the responsibility to protect a platoon of men, most of them the same age as him.
It was common to see movies and stories that told of a young soldier who had to deal with the stresses and horrors of putting his life on the line. But the tales about the officers and the stress and guilt faced by those who risked more lives than their own, those seemed to be in short supply.
Before Amber stood a boy who had learned of war in a classroom. He bore a scar near his temple that signified that he had learned resolve, but it hadn't taught him how to resolve the scars inside him. Some things could only be learned through experience.
Amber glanced over to the corporal and raised her voice to a normal tone. “Ochsner, give my portion of the wine to my friend Meckler here.”
Meckler continued, “I keep thinking about it; I keep trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
Amber set her hand on the young lieutenant's shoulder. “Meckler, to quote my favorite captain: it is possible to commit no mistakes and still lose. That is not a weakness, that is life!”
Meckler lifted his head. With a soft smile he said “Darkwood, I will never understand how you come up with the things you do.”
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The evening went on. After the memories of Jäger were all shared, Lieutenant Galishoff had asked Amber a simple question, “How did you know the enemy was going to attack?” He wasn't satisfied with the response Amber gave at first and pressed for a more detailed response.
And so Amber told him the full story, starting with her suspicions when photographing the trenches, telling the captain about her suspicions and getting rejected, how she captured an enemy lieutenant, and the mysteries that were raised the final evening.
As Amber concluded her tale the lieutenant sat there stroking his pencil-thin mustache. “So you really suspected something right from the beginning. I guess the lesson here would be to trust your first instinct.”
Amber shook her head. “Nah, that would be stupid. I didn't even have the full picture at first. If anything, I think the lesson should be how we all need to work together. We all need to let go of our first impressions and share what we have until we get the full picture. If there's a lesson here, that's what I'd want it to be.”
Galishoff chuckled and then smiled. The Dick Dastardly impersonator spoke warmly, “I must apologize to you lieutenant; I completely misjudged you when I first saw you.”
Amber smiled. “That's okay, I did the same to you.” She fist-bumped his shoulder.
Meckler laughed, “That's not the response I expected.”
Galishoff continued. “I can't imagine you judged me in the same way I judged you. After all, you are a bit... well let's just say, you're a bit smaller than who I expected to fill those shoes.”
Amber gave a wry smirk. “Well I could say the same for you; one would expect a large and towering man to be named the leader of the oxen.”
Galishoff's eyebrows furrowed. “...Oxen?”
Amber paused, “Did I get something wrong here? Aren't you the commander of the Ox Squadron?”
Galishoff frowned. “Auk Squadron! Not ox, auk!”
Amber's face twisted into a painful confusion. “Auk? What's an auk?”
The crowd fell into a fit of moans and shocked statements. “Shyne almighty...” “You're kidding right?” “Oh my...”
But then someone began laughing, and then the laughter carried. Laughter spilled from everyone, and even Amber, caught in a mix of embarrassment and frustration, found her mood to be lighter and chuckled at her mistake.
As the chortling subdued, Schaab cleared his throat. “It's a bird; it's a class of aquatic bird.”
Galishoff made some gestures with his hands. “The great auk, it's... a large bird; it's black with a white belly; it swims and eats fish.”
Amber's eyes narrowed. “I thought that was a penguin.”
Galishoff shook his head. “No, a penguin is a different animal, but they are similar.”
Nussbaum spoke up, “Penguins live at the South Pole; great auks live in the North Sea, all the way up into Redland. My grandpa used to hunt them for their down. Great auk down is really expensive these days, since it's normally imported from Norlandy.”
With the laughter clearing away Amber softly shook her head. “I really don't get how I never heard of this thing before.” She didn't want to press the matter, but she was silently annoyed. 'I could understand a nine-year-old never hearing about a particular animal, but how did I live 43 years in my first life without ever hearing about this creature? Why did I never see one in a zoo?'
Ochsner politely proffered, “Well commander, what can we say, you've lived a different life than the rest of us.”
Amber cracked a smile on one side of her mouth. “Yeah, you could say that twice over.”
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Despite the occasional oddity in conversation, the evening progressed enjoyably. The other lieutenants all eventually had to return to their own groups, and as the night approached Amber had to turn in for the evening. The nest continued in a jovial air as she left the group.
Alone in her tent, Amber undressed and neatly folded her clean uniform. As she placed it back into the chest of drawers, she paused a moment. The silver pinned to the tunic glinted slightly.
Amber smiled.
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Epilogue
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Cedric Weston flipped through the newspapers that the spy had handed him to take back to his commander. The one on top featured an image of a burning airship. He paused as he tried to translate the headline that accompanied it. 'Gaullian Sneak Attack Ends in Flames.'
It looked to be the hot topic as the next newspaper carried the same photograph with a similar headline, 'Gaullian Surprise Attack Ends in Failure.' The third newspaper carried the same headline.
But he stopped there; this next newspaper had a different photograph. Standing in front of burning wreckage stood a small girl, her hand raised with her fingers in a V.
Weston's teeth gritted together. “Darkwood... So that's where you are...”
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