Waves rushed along the length of red flags whose silver lions bore a small crown, offering it to the skies, which had become a bleak, grey canopy, misting the earth, which had turned to mud. The army encampment's morale had been completely depleted. The puddles and coats of water strewn across the ground reflected the faint glints of steel from swinging swords and the plate armour of cavaliers as troops scurried about under the orders of their officers, who, flustered with reports clutched beneath their arms, flitted between commanders. In a congregation of middle- and high-ranking soldiers, calmly spoken and focused men, adjutants of the high command dispatched runners as they received a steady stream of messengers. Although they were given an answer to their previous question, ten more would arise to take its place, but they did not falter in their efforts to resolve the crisis at hand. Mud soiled their greaves and boots as the army elites gathered around, standing shoulder to shoulder, with their hands on the pommel of their sabres. Frequently, they had to make room for their comrades to leave and for those advancing to join the meeting. Everyone was focused on the situation, depicted on a map on a sturdy hardwood table the length of a small rowboat. The canvas had roads clearly lined and contours marking the inclines of hills, spots of forests dabbed in ink, and marks of marshlands spoilt by a smudge of pencil lead. The officers of import, donned with metal-tipped rods, pointed out their opinions under the steady gaze of their men, who added to their seniors’ plans or explained tactics of their own. While many nodded in agreement with their conservative strategies, a minority did not.
Pointing at the chess piece-like blocks on the map, the brigadier reaffirmed their situation. “We are expecting an onslaught of Confederates in the coming days, but I have made prior preparations by stationing our batteries here, on these ridges.” He explained how he had already coordinated his forces to overlook the centre marshland, and, raising his voice, he jolted his comrades awake with his fiery confidence. “If they dare, which we are certain they will, our cavalry shall cut them down in the hole we have dug for them.” While his words carried some weight as an advisor, many did not seem entirely trusting of his plan.
The advisors, worried about the wet ground and rain, looked at each other, then to the sky and ground. A sensible soldier would understand that cavalry would struggle with too complex a manoeuvre on mud, rendering batteries immobile as well. Tentatively, they lowered their heads and asked the smoke of their cigarettes to counsel them, but all it did was clot their minds. An elder stood at one end of the table, believing that he was wiser than his compatriots because of his experience, and he laid his hand out flat on the map with a commanding presence. Shaking his head, he blew out a ring of smoke from his pipe and pointed the stem at his younger comrade.
Even when he addressed the man of a lower rank, he maintained a cordiality that the other may not have been willing to show. “Brigadier, please do not mind my asking, but perchance, do you remember how many the Confederation, no, the Rus, has fielded?” All eyes turned towards him when the elder reminded everyone in his presence.
The arrogant brigadier frowned, trying to understand what his older comrade was leading to. “Over eight million on our front alone.” He hesitated for a moment before responding.
There were some whose smirks seemed like they were mocking the brigadier, but they have forgotten that ever since the council convened, they had not said a single word that had helped their cause. However, one had the courage to finally speak up. “And you expect us to hold out against even a fraction of that?” A third general gestured at the map, the ash of his cigarette breaking in the wind. “Might I remind you, brigadier, we hardly have four million!” Annoyed by his arrogance and naivety, he slammed his hands on the table and erupted in an outburst that created a chain reaction of arguments.
“Order now, order!” Tapping his baton on the table, the colonel beside the commander’s seat had to step in to stop the meeting from devolving into chaos.
The bickering ceased, and the officers of high command adjusted their uniforms and fixed their collars awkwardly, clearing their throats and calming themselves with tobacco and herb smoke. When the brigadier attempted to speak again, his commander moved forward, silencing his subordinates with that single action.
The troubled and weary man held his fists together, ashamed of his incompetence, and finally spoke, but his words were not what his subordinates had been waiting for. “Twenty armies and one hundred corps… what are we supposed to do but turn over and let ourselves be crushed under the boots of the invaders?” The general of the army dared not say anything less that could give rise to any more overconfidence than his brigadier had demonstrated. “What are the Westerners waiting for while our children die by the thousands?” Muttering to himself, his morale appeared more wounded than his troops.
The plumes and feather hackles of his subordinates’ hats fluttered in the breeze, surrounded by war waggons chained together, defended by elite troops keeping an eye on what was going on outside the assembly. Soldiers lazed around with their horses and machines beyond the meeting, their hearts broken by two and a half years of endless war with no sign of victory in sight. Every day was the same, meaningless, until one morning when the silence was broken by clattering hooves and the soft churning of soil beneath its shoes. The warhorse neighed and fell into the hands of a stable boy when the rider pulled on its reins. When the messenger dismounted in haste, he was granted passage after showing his seal. The messenger marched up to the high command and paused at the end of the table, facing the general, who only noticed him after he clicked his heels and saluted.
As sweat poured down his face, his throat dry, having travelled far, the messenger reached out with a letter in his hand, intended for the general and his officers. “Warneńczyk just issued his retreat, and our allies are following suit.” The young soldier paraphrased the contents of the message as the general’s colonel marched towards him, relieving him of the letter and dismissing him.
“Ridiculous! That’s over seven hundred leagues away!” The headquarters erupted into panic as a lieutenant general shouted out in disbelief.
When the colonel returned to the general with the letter, the commander raised his hand. “So be it. If it means for our compatriots’ success, I will happily sacrifice this broken body of mine.” Slumped over an arm of his chair, the general declared his intent.
His subordinates hesitated, unsure whether they were determined enough to risk their lives, but they understood that they had to respect their duty as soldiers, as well as their need to honour themselves as warriors. Every man present was reminded of the chivalry stories they had heard since childhood, but their expressions did not lie. Misfortune had been a common occurrence, and they seemed more certain of it than victory, but they knew that if they did not fight, the possibility of victory would vanish. Thus, the engine of war restarted, and the stalemate that had existed since the beginning of the Calamity was broken, but the Aelon, the League of Nations, would soon realise that their lack of sense of defeat was only a postponement of the inevitable outcome of their festering wounds.506Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRnTR3bnjtb
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