(Flashback) Usurping Command

[Dane Regan]

Dane has this flashback/dream just after This post in "A nice change in scenery".

Demons were aggressive, horrible, mutilated creatures. But what truly made them terrifying was their intelligence - soldiers were never taught how to combat it. Demons coordinated their attacks with the sole purpose of maximising damage. It was disgusting; the cause was unknown, they just seemed to be guided with the aim - perhaps an intelligent one - of ending the world. Dane's world. Any form of self preservation was simply missing. They were offensive attackers, flinging claws and teeth at their opponents, aiming to tear and consume flesh. A small hoard could be devastating to an unprotected village.

And so, the borders could never be left unprotected. Many men were conscripted to hold the choke-points civilisation had fallen back to. But sometimes that wasn't enough. Sometimes they broke though. Sometimes they threatened further towns inland, ones presumed to be safe. Nowhere was, not really.

That's where the less trained militia came in. Being newer, fresher recruits, many still had a year or two before they'd find themselves in truer combat. Dane was one of them, much to his annoyance. He'd jumped on the military training bandwagon at a much younger age than required. Front-line combat was not something he wanted. He didn't doubt his ability, he just wanted to be the one giving orders, instead of the one taking them. Everything was too organised. All military regimes, and protocols worked like clockwork. Which would have been fine, besides the fact the many glaring assumptions and flaws in said protocols. Hence Dane's desire to change them from the inside.

Originally, yes, he just wanted to get an early edge at combat. Any advantage he could get would be useful given the likely chance of an early demise. But, over time, he developed his own methods. Better methods, of fighting and magic. In those particular cases, the system was wrong. If you were born with talent, you were trained until you fell flat or made it to the top. A swordsman was more useful than a poor caster was the logic that followed. Which was true. The only problem was, what happens if you get a swordsman who's also a bad caster? Someone like that: much more useful. 

"But it's not worth the effort." "Spending a day practicing magic is not as useful as a day honing the blade, for someone with weaker magic at least."

Which was flat out wrong. Magic was just theory, and mentality. You can practice both at once, particularly core magic - which everyone was gifted with, at least to some extent. It was sort of like a phantasmal muscle. It could be influenced by "thinking", or "willing" something to occur. Sort of. It was more complicated than that, but everyone had the capability, and most people uses it to a lesser extent accidentally - such as when you really want to succeed at a physical challenge. Anyway, it was simply will based. Something that was very easy to teach, and very hard to master. But even the slightest degree of skill was much more valuable than any military officer or court mage would ever let out.

Dane could never understand why. He presumed it was because they wanted to limit control of magic to the noble bloodlines. Even in war, people were selfish arseholes. Having a talented mage born outside of a bloodline would usually cause the individual to be invited inside the closed circle. Any magical knowledge was closely guarded.

Regardless of Dane's distaste for the system, there was little he could do. At least, there was little he could do at this moment in time. That said, he vowed to himself to at least prevent harm to those the battalion he was assigned to was meant to protect. If that meant butting heads with his commander, so be it. It wasn't his fault the guy was an idiot. Steve Ishmir followed the handbook to the letter. Every letter. Even if the handbook hadn't accounted to the very rare situation of being at a mountain lake in the middle of a thunderstorm and all common sense defied walking across the water in plated metal armour, he'd still demand it should the route be quicker. Which at one point it was. The lake itself was large and shallow. And the land surrounding it was as high as it, yet still flat. It was an unnecessary risk not worth taking, and there was no need to rush.

Luckily, nothing happened on that past endurance training mission. However, Dane had no confidence in the guy to make the right decisions in protecting the village they'd just arrived in. Still, he had two days to make a difference. But, he wasn't going to try anything rash without at least a tad more information. Which was exactly what Dane planned to obtain upon entering the commanders tent.

Nodding at the guard, Dane knew him as John Drake, he opened his mouth to talk to the commander. "What's the situation, sir? Last I heard the Demon's eta was two days. Do we have a battle plan?" he asked, gulping as Ishmir sneered at him.

"Why should I tell you anything? You are just a solider. And you will do as I say."

Great, Dane thought, he was drunk. As usual. He'd be sober tomorrow evening, Dane knew. He wasn't so irresponsible he'd drink on the eve of battle, at least. Still, in the morning he'd be hungover, and in the afternoon he'd start executing plans. And Dane didn't want him to start doing the wrong thing. If Dane was honest with himself, he'd admit he probably found faults in Ishmir's technique when there were none. He hated the guy's guts. He hated having to treat him with undeserved respect. Anyone can follow a rulebook. Dane was better than that. He could make and justify his own rules. Act on the spot. Think fast on his feet. This guy here was an insult to his existence. Age truly did mean little: he wasn't allowed to jump on the officer track until age nineteen at least. He was seventeen, a capable adult. He should be treated as such.

But he wasn't. So he had to deal with it. "I'm your impromptu second in command. I've been training with this squad for almost the longest. And I am one of the strongest combatants." And the only one who can use magic. "I have a right to know my future orders."

"Ah... an egotistical deserter. Get out of my sight."

Deserter? What? How did he come to that conclusion?

"Forgive me sir, but I don't follow. I do not plan to desert. Nor are any of my claims unfounded." Dane stepped forwards and looked down at the tactical map. "Any of the longstanding men will agree I am a skilled combatant. Though I'm sure some of the new additions won't know me well enough to form any opinion."

Ishmir growled and pulled the map off the table, scattering pieces on the floor. "If you had any brains, you'd know what I have planned. Clearly the best and most intellectual choice: you fool." He stood up and re-positioned the map, before continuing in a haughty voice, like Dane should be privileged to hear his explanation. "We will leave the village and march west, away from the Demons to the Griven Ford, and hold them back there. We cannot risk any Demons breaching through to the inner Kingdoms."

"And of the villagers?" Dane made his face look as calm as he could, trying to keep emotion out of his voice.

"The fools should follow if they know what's good for them."

"Have you not considered that, should we leave now, we will not reach the ford for a week, even longer if slowed down by civilians. The demons could catch up to us."

"Our men are not slow. And if the civilians have to run to keep up, so be it. 'Tis a fair plan." Drake interjected from the entrance.

Dane gritted his teeth. "Then why are we not leaving now." He stressed the last word.

"Because, you cretin, you soldiers can easily make it there in time. And I want a rest." Ishmir was infuriating. He wasn't wrong per se. Theoretically, the soldiers and the villagers could reach the ford using the standard figures for a civilian forced march pace. They had enough carts and horses. It was possible. And from some perspectives it may have even been a better option. Dane slowed his breathing and focused. Spells always calmed his mind, so he cast a simple, undetectable, muffle charm on the tent. No sound in. No sound out. It required just enough focus to keep him less occupied on his anger.

"You're risking lives just because you want a rest? No. I will not stand for this. Step down, or hold the town. The demons will come here. It's impossible that they won't. They don't care about who they eat. They just want human flesh, and thus they will drift towards this very village. Even if we are defeated, or they push past us regardless, our army's reinforcements would meet them just west of the ford on their scheduled march to the frontlines. If we stay, less lives will be risked. Holding a town is easier than holding a road. Demon hordes cannot coordinate in-"

"ENOUGH!" Ishmir interrupted. "You will not tell me how to do my job. I am paid to tell you what to do, and you will do it. We will follow my plan. It is the protocol. Don't presume to know tactics just because you read a few books, child." He paused. "Drake, escort this boy from my quarters."

Dane held up his palm towards Drake in a gesture to prompt him not to get too close. "No. I will not leave until you concede that your foolish following of the rules is needlessly endangering lives. Stop being lazy and think for yourself for once."

"Fuck you." Ishmir threw a punch towards Dane, and time seemed to slow down.

A slam echoed throughout the tent as Ishmir's body collided with the table in one smooth unnoticeable motion. Drake watched silently, beckoning Dane to leave now before things got worse.

"You will concede your command to me." Unfortunately, Dane believed continuing this was the very thing that would stop things getting worse.

Ishmir snarled, pulled himself up, and grabbed the sword conveniently (or inconveniently) placed by his side. "You may not be a deserter, but you will be permanently leaving my service for this." He swung it loosely at Dane.

Seconds later, the same blade was buried in his throat. His last words were correct. Dane did, indeed, permanently leave his service. 

Before even considering his actions, Dane looked up at Drake. Eyes locked for a brief second before Drake turned and yelled. "Traitor! Dane is a-"

He got no further before the same sword found itself buried in his back. He never got to leave the tent. And his voice met none but Dane.

I won't tell you what to think of this. Evil, greater good, rash emotional teenager. I didn't think dragging out a fight was the best way to do this, so I killed them off quickly.