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Interlude: Casting the Dice
In the decade and a half of war, he has served.
From the deserts of the east, to the tundra of the south, his men and women have followed him in service to the Empire.
Through those first few swift and victorious campaigns close to home.
Through the awful thrust and counterthrust across the sands, where the enemy’s resolve hardened.
And finally to the southern front, in the man-made hell of grueling city fighting or wide open tundra plains, where maneuver dominated.
And now, his soldiers argue in circles behind him. Thrown into chaos by the latest proposition. While he faces away, looking out the window, at his personal lance being worked over. Reloading the missiles. Fixing the scratches on the paint.
“She’s giving you one last chance to recant your position. Accept the order, be recalled to the homeland to stand trial, and take a demotion.”
The words are spoken at his back, from the black-uniformed man.
A cacophony of voices raise at that, voicing their objections.
“No!”
“Halfway through the campaign?”
“She’d be insane. We’re Winning!”
General Marik turns. Everyone falls silent.
“Everyone but Nero and Commissar Mica. Clear the room.”
Twenty-or-so pairs of feet shuffle to the exit, leaving through the one exit.
A nod sends the guard to follow them, and the door shuts, leaving the three inside.
His right hand, Nero, speaks his mind.
“That wouldn’t just be a demotion. The Empress is looking for an excuse to execute you.”
Brutally outspoken. Goes well with her piloting skills.
“An interesting theory. But, just a theory.”
The political officer speaks.
“This is direct. You can’t talk your way around this one, General. Refusing the summons is tantamount to treason.”
“Do you know why I keep you around, Commissar Mica? Because it’s not just because of your sparkling conversation.”
“I couldn’t hazard a guess. General.”
“Because of all the Internal Affairs staff I was offered, you were the only one to admit that you were there to spy on me to my face. I valued that. And I have valued your service these past few years.”
His face turns hard, the neutral countenance turning into an abject frown.
“For that service, I am merely dismissing you. Leave Army Group South. Return to your masters. Tell them I will not sacrifice all of my progress, the lives of my men, and the fate of the empire, for backroom politics. And remind them who held the east.”
