Horrible Harvest

I smiled and exited the tent just as the captain returned with Mr. Stockton’s unit of escorts.

“Where do you think you’re going, corporal?”

“Got business, sir.”

“I’ve not dismissed you. A unit has been dispatched to the lake. They’ve orders to intervene by any means necessary to save our men from any further indignities.”

I kept my pace.

“Do not take liberties with me, Mr. Tennyson. I order you to stop. The general is our priority. You obviously are of some import to him.”

I stopped and let out a huff of air. “I ain’t shit to him. Sir. Mr. Miller ain’t got a care for nothing that don’t benefit Mr. Miller. I’ll give myself over for whatever the army says is to come my way, but I got things that needs doing, Captain, sir. You talk on faith sun-up to sun-down. Gotta ask you to invest a bit of it in me right about this now. You brung me here because I was a Miller man. That means I know my away around all this here lunacy. Cut me lose so I can beat it down, sir. Honor and military code ain’t the way to go here. I can promise you that. Ain’t no reasoning to be done on this here day.

Captain Docherty studied me. Silent. Confused. Thoughts passed from one side of this noggin to the next. A second or two passed before he sighed and said, “War is messy, soldier. One loses track of who owns triumph and who owns treachery, but one thing is clear. Tragedy holds fast to both pursuits. It cannot be avoided when men die and kill as they sprint towards either conclusion. I do not know your plans, and I will not stop you. You are granted the faith you requested, but know this, you own the tragedy that is to come. Whether you commit treachery or find triumph. You are stepping outside of my command, and when you return, you will be subjected to the tenets of military code. Understood?”

“Understood – Captain, Sir.”

With that, we went are separate ways.