Fourth Vector Ch. 30

Trevor thought the answer over for a minute before he nodded his head slowly. "I hope when that day comes that we'll remember our training. That we'll act like a proper army and kill them all," he replied. "It's the only sort of justice that I can accept for what they've done."

"I often wonder what will happen that day," she admitted. "How it will unfold and what the aftermath will be. Sometimes I don't like the places that my mind goes when picturing that day."

"You and me both," said Trevor. "Some days I think we are coming together nicely. Others I feel we are more of a ragtag group of outcasts than we are an army. Battle will show us what we've truly become. I just hope I'm not fooling myself and the army."

Nina reached out and put her hand on his knee. "You're not fooling yourself. These men are better led by you than just about anyone else."

"Better led byus," he corrected with a chuckle. "You're just as much in charge as I am."

Nina actually laughed. "If you still think that I'm just as much in charge as you, then perhaps you are a foolish man. Your biggest success has been stealing my men out from under me. It's no secret that you're the one actually in charge, Trevor. Even the men from Bushing, the ones that I've led since the beginning of the Movement, have come to respect your leadership more than they ever could mine. Zach has admitted much of the same about his own men. You may not like it much, but you're the man in charge now"

"That right there is what's scary to me," said Trevor. "Having all that weight on my shoulders. Sure, I'm used to being in the military but at the end of the day, I'm just a shopkeeper. I ran a grocery store in Amboy. How does that make me qualified to lead an army in battle?"

"A florist," said Nina quickly, while turning to look at him. "That's what I was before all of this happened. I had my own shop where I sold flowers."

Trevor raised an eyebrow. "Now that is surprising. I can't really picture you tending to roses."

Nina laughed. "I'm sure you can't. Not after all that's happened. But this same florist is the one who kicked all the Javans out of my valley. And this shopkeeper here is the one that took command of the Tyrolean army. You'd be surprised what you're made of when push comes to shove."

Trevor pondered that thought over for a minute. The fire cracked several times as the wood broke down, and every once in a while, he got a whiff of Nina—a lovely scent that had him subconsciously scooting closer to her.

"You know, it's almost funny," she said finally after those few minutes. "I think about what I might be doing if none of this had ever happened. If there wasn't any Movement. Oftentimes I think I would still be in that little shop off of third street in Bushing, none the wiser of what's around me."

"I'd probably be sitting in my back office ordering more product," said Trevor quietly. "Or trying to find decent help when it came to stocking shelves. That was always tricky when it came to younger kids. Most of them just wanted to get paid without putting in the work."

Nina started to laugh. "I had this young girl who used to work in my shop. She was my cousin actually but she was terrible. Her arrangements always looked like hell but I couldn't bring myself to let her go. How could I face my family after that?"

"So what happened to her?" asked Trevor. "Did she become a rebel too?"

Nina stiffened visibly. She shook her head. "No. The Javans killed her. They set fire to her house and she ran back inside to grab a few precious belongings. The house caved in while she was still inside."

Trevor felt the breath catch in his lungs. He touched Nina on the side gently. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head again. "It was only a year ago but it feels like another lifetime ago. So much has happened since then. That treatment of Bushing at their hands is what really put the fire into our Movement. But I wasn't the first leader of it. Did you know that?"

"No," replied Trevor quietly.

"My fiance was," she admitted. "Nick was a good man. He was honest and he was kind. Trusting too though, perhaps a little too much. He asked me to marry him three weeks before the Javans first came to Bushing and I said yes. He was enraged after what happened to our town and gathered the first rebels together to fight the Javans. He was really good at hunting them, making their individual patrols disappear without any sign or word of what happened to them. In fact, he was too good. The Javans figured out it was the work of one man operating alone and they set a trap for him."

Nina let out a long sigh and pushed a log over in the firepit. "That was the last time I ever saw him."

"He might still be alive then," said Trevor. "Back in those days, they weren't killing everyone in sight."

Nina shook her head. "Nick always wore a signet ring on his little finger. They sent back his hand with the ring attached and left it in the town square of Bushing. He's dead."

Trevor put his hand on her back. "I'm sorry, Nina. I really am."

She shrugged and looked at him. "I'm not even sure who I am since the day that I found that hand. For a long time, I was possessed by that rage that your men felt this morning. I had that need for revenge and I got it, many times over. I think that's how I earned my reputation."

"You certainly have one," said Trevor. "The Javans fear you more than anyone else in Tyrol, I think."

She smiled at that. "Not for long. Soon they will fear you more than they ever feared me. My need for revenge has gone away somewhat. It's to the point that I can barely picture Nick's face sometimes. All I see when I look back in blood and death. I have to wonder if I've become truly broken."

"You don't seem broken to me," said Trevor. "You seem like you have it together more than most."

"Maybe a facade, but that's all it is," she said. "That's why I gave you so much credit for how you handled yourself today. I know the rage that's inside Reese Bach because I've experienced it myself and let it take over. It's a hard position to come back from but it's a solitary one. There's no tranquility, only blinding anger until there's nothing left of you. It softly withers away the last bits of your humanity."

"I don't think that will be your fate," said Trevor as he pulled her against his side. She came willing, resting her head against his shoulder. "We can always start over again when this is all over."

She looked at him. "When we free Tyrol?"

Trevor nodded. "When we free Tyrol," he repeated with a firm tone of voice. "We can rebuild our towns. We can truly start over again."

Trevor cleared his voice before he continued again. "We can even start new relationships. Especially with those we care about."

Nina stared back at him. For a split second, her eyes flickered to his lips before looking back at his. Trevor watched as the slick flames danced back in those soft brown eyes of hers. He gently inched closer.

"Don't," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

Trevor hesitated. He looked back into those eyes to find some cause or reason. With all the death and devastation, was it so wrong to find simple human comfort in another's kiss?

He asked the only question he could think of.

"Why, Nina?"

She shook her head gently. "It's not right, that's why. You know this can't be."

He didn't know that. He wondered if he missed some obvious sign. For a brief moment, he went over every interaction he ever had with Nina. He remembered the longing stares, the way her eyes constantly sought out his. He remembered how she always seemed to be the one to come to him. Was he misreading her?

She pulled away after his lack of response. Nina pressed her hand against her mouth and whispered something that sounded like an apology. With that, she was gone, disappearing back into the night as easily as she'd came.

Only one emotion played out for him in that moment—frustration. Part of him questioned whether he'd damaged the friendly relationship he had with Nina irreparably. After all, they still had to keep this army together.

So why did he risk so much by attempting that kiss?

It was an answer he couldn't find easily. As the fire burned down to embers, thoughts of Nina were still present on his mind. Perhaps the reason she turned him down had to do with her own issues concerning the war. Perhaps it was a little bit of his own as well. Maybe they were too hardened and bitter to find something tender together.

Maybe Nina was right after all. Maybe they were too broken for a normal life?

*****

Across the ocean, Admiral Bancroft was being tailed.

It was early in the morning and the commander of the Javan Navy was on his way to the new headquarters building in Belfort that overlooked the city. Like every morning, he followed the same route from his home on the outskirts of the city to the naval building. He used the same driver and the same vehicle.

And now, he was distinctly aware that the car behind them had been following him since they turned off his street.

Bancroft had first noticed it yesterday, seeing the same dark green vehicle just behind them along the entire route. Today, it was the same one, and that's when he knew for sure he was being followed.

It didn't come as much of a surprise to realize who was likely having him tailed. Bancroft's relationship with the emperor had cooled considerably since the crown prince's mysterious death two weeks ago. Not that it could have ever been mistaken for friendly, but Bancroft was a pragmatist first and foremost, and therefore, he knew how to get what he needed out of the old emperor.

Not so much anymore.

Charles' behavior since the death of his son could be best described as erratic. The man was on a killing spree to justify anyone who might have had a hand in George's demise. At first, it was only the servants that handled George's personal quarters within the palace. They were bayoneted to death by the palace guards, all seventy of them.

That wasn't good enough for Charles, who postulated that any other members of the servant staff could have had a hand in the plot as well. They were all killed a few days later.

Anyone who had any type of grudge with George had become suspect, which made Bancroft particularly nervous that the spotlight would eventually come onto him. He tried to put those thoughts at bay. After all, he'd paid that assassin very well to do the deed and then to disappear. There was nothing that could link his hand back to the murder, and Bancroft reckoned it was only Charles' paranoia that was to blame for having him followed today.

Seeing as the tail wouldn't go away easily, Bancroft decided to ignore it. Even though his instincts warned him to get away from a likely follower, that would only make him look guilty or like he had something to hide.

And there wasn't anything to hide anymore, right? The assassin was long gone.

The car pulled into the usual spot at naval headquarters and Bancroft hopped out of the back and moved toward the door. In the interim, the following car stopped about thirty yards away, the driver clearly staring back at Bancroft. The urge to wave was strong but Bancroft resisted it and entered the building without any fanfare.

He wondered how long this was going to go on. If it was one of Charles' men, then what would be the end game? The emperor couldn't move against him. He was an essential asset to the navy, one that couldn't be easily replaced. Not to mention, if Charles really suspected that Bancroft was behind George's death, he would already be dead. So what could he accomplish by tailing him?

Bancroft wondered if the emperor thought he might catch him in the act. Perhaps he thought Bancroft was stupid enough to get caught doing something he shouldn't be doing, like paying off an assassin in public.

It's going to take a bit more than that to get one over on me, he thought as he entered his office.

Bancroft found Clark in the office that morning, already carrying a stack of papers that no doubt needed his attention. Ever since they had the confrontation about Bancroft's supposed role in George's death, Clark had been as reliable as ever. A lot less moody as well.

"Good morning, Admiral," said Clark cheerily. "I have good news to start the morning with."

"Good news would be most welcome right now," said Bancroft as he took off his cap and sat behind his desk. "Who's it from?"

"Admiral Reynolds keeps up his string of recent victories," said Clark, handing the dispatch over. "He's managed to raid the Ruthenian city of Vorogova on the coast. During that raid, he destroyed a good portion of their naval base with his guns and he also sunk another two cruisers and some lighter ships."

"Admiral Reynolds' star has been on the rise lately," said Bancroft with a satisfied grin as he read the entire dispatch. "I imagine a promotion will be in order for him very soon."

Clark nodded. "He's seems to have cleared up the damage to his reputation that he suffered at Aberdeen. He's now requested that we land troops on Ruthenia since he can secure a beachhead around the city."

"Tell Reynolds to hold his horses for the time being," said Bancroft. "The army and the marines are stretched a little thin right now with the Occitanian invasion and with the Tyrol rebellion. One of those will have to clear up before we can think about invading Ruthenia."

"Speaking of which, two more marine regiments are ready to give the oath of allegiance," said Clark with a noticeable downward inflection in his voice. "What shall I do about them?"

Bancroft knew why Clark spoke of them in that matter. All the newly commissioned regiments had sworn their oath of allegiance to Bancroft directly, not the emperor. Bancroft did it on purpose. He wanted a force that was loyal to him alone when the time came that he would need them. On the outside, he posited that since the marines were answerable to the head of the navy, it was only natural that they should take their allegiance to the man that filled that post.

Clark was one of the few that had objections about it, although he usually kept them to himself.

"The same procedure that we've been doing," replied Bancroft calmly. "They will take the oath to me like the previous regiments have."

If Clark thought any differently, he didn't show it.

"Will we be sending them directly to Tyrol like the others?" asked Clark without skipping a beat. "I imagine you'll want the extra manpower dealing with the Tyrol issue?"

"That will be fine," said Bancroft. "The sooner we can wrap up Tyrol, the sooner we can get this war finished. My hope is that all of our enemies can be brought to heel at once—Occitania, Ruthenia, and Tyrol."

"Speaking of the Occitanians, Admiral McKenzie sends word that his force is closing in on Chambery," said Clark while pulling out another dispatch. "He expects to engage what's left of their force today or tomorrow."

Bancroft nodded subtly without saying anything. The Occitanian operation was being cleaned up quite nicely. McKenzie had done a swell job of finding the remnants of their battered fleet and sending them under the waves where they belonged. With the Javan army advancing on land and the fleet at sea, it was only a matter of time until Occitania fell.

McKenzie would be the one to take their surrender, but in that moment, Bancroft remembered the man who should have taken it.

"Any further reports from the Fourth Vector?" asked Bancroft suddenly. "Has Easterbrook been found?"

Clark rummaged through his stack until he came to the dispatch he was looking for. "Nothing yet. Captain Barnabas is in charge of the situation and has sent out patrols to look for him but there's been no word on his whereabouts. Barnabas fears the man may be dead."

Jack Easterbrook may be dead. That thought sent a shiver down Bancroft's spine. Despite all the animosity with Easterbrook in recent months, Bancroft couldn't help but feel bittersweet about the man's disappearance. He was a royal pain in the ass and too big for his station, but at one time, Easterbrook was his protege. It should have been him leading the charge against the Occitanians, not getting himself killed by a bunch of savages.

What a cruel fate of irony it was. If only Jack had listened to him and joined his side, he might still be alive right now.

"Admiral Bancroft?"

Bancroft leaned forward in his chair as he was brought back to the present. "What was that Clark?"

Clark blinked. "I asked if you wanted me to pass anything along to Captain Barnabas in the interim? Didn't you hear me?"

Bancroft put his fingers in his eyes and wiped out the sleep. "Sorry, I just went someplace else for a moment. Yes, tell Barnabas that he's in charge of the task force until further notice. At this point, we can assume Easterbrook is likely dead and there's no reason they can't get back to their mission. Tell him to call off the search and not to waste any more time on the man."

Clark actually stared back at him. "Barnabas indicates his search hasn't been going on for that long. Easterbrook might still be alive."

"The mission can't afford to wait for one man," said Bancroft as he waved his hand. "Not even for one rear admiral."

Clark let out a heavy sigh as he wrote the dispatch down, not challenging it any further.

Bancroft swiveled his chair to look out his window. He spared one more thought for his one time protege but otherwise, he was going to move on.

Larger designs were now in the works.

*****

The sound of screaming filled the dark cell, piercing the ears of all of the men around. The screaming wasn't constant—it went in short, dramatic bursts, only leveling off once the iron-hot brand was removed from the captive's flesh.

The only two men that weren't affected by the screams were the torturer himself, a veteran of such treatment and used to the sounds of death, while the other was Emperor Charles IX of the Javan Empire, who now watched with grim satisfaction.

Every time the torturer made the prisoner squeal, Charles felt he was getting his vengeance for his son. After all, George wasn't without his flaws but he didn't deserve to die early by the hand of one so foul.

The iron-hot branding stopped suddenly, allowing the prisoner a chance to catch his breath. His head drooped to the side, and he spit out a wad of blood that splattered against the stone floor. This was Charles' moment, and he stepped forward to observe the prisoner.

"Are you ready to tell me now who paid you?" he asked in a calm voice.

The prisoner whimpered. He spoke no words, a clear indication that he wasn't willing to name his paymaster just yet. He was already in bad shape. Both of his eyes as well as all ten fingers had already been removed. His body was covered in his own blood, the results of the whipping that had occurred an hour earlier. And yet still, he wasn't ready to end his suffering.

Charles glanced at the torturer. "Continue. Try something a little more painful this time. We'll see how long our friend here wants to keep quiet."

The prisoner yelled and tried to move but he remained shackled to his chair. The chair was attached to the wall so it didn't budge, only exhausting him further. Charles could actually feel the prisoner's fear when the torturer started with the knife.

Truthfully, the prisoner deserved a swift death. He'd already admitted that it was by his hand that killed the crown prince, sneaking up on Charles' fat son and smothering him with a pillow. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like George's heart might have just gone out in the night, but Charles recognized the signs of asphyxiation.

After that, the call went out. Charles put his spy operation to work. They tracked down anyone who might have a vested interest in harming the prince, as well as anyone crafty enough to pull off such an assassination. That investigation brought Charles to an ancient sect of assassins for hire that could have pulled off the job.