Fourth Vector Ch. 48

"I want to see how dedicated Ryan is to maintaining his position," said Trevor as he gestured to the Javan lines. "But I don't want to just attack his center. I want to move on the center and both flanks at the same time. I want Ryan to believe that every time he stops moving, I'm going to hit him with all the forces under my command. I want him to fear letting us close the gap between his army and ours."

Gavin chuckled. "You're going to drive the man mad if you keep this up. He might decide to give his pistol a blow job if he gets caught between you and Bancroft."

"Better him than us," remarked Trevor. "He's the one standing in my way of ending this war. If we can knock him out, so be it."

"I hate to be downer, but even if we knock out Ryan's army, there's still a larger army in the vicinity of Belfort," replied Gavin soberly. "We might even find that they reinforce Ryan's men when they get too close to the city. We might even be looking at being completely outnumbered by the time we get close."

Trevor let out a deep breath and nodded. "That's where we'll need help. Tyrol is practically dry of able-bodied men. That's where we'll need the forces of Jack Easterbrook. Or Jack Kincardine, as I guess he's called now."

Gavin nodded but said nothing else. Both men knew about the dispatch that had been received from their man in Lockhaven, the one where Kincardine agreed to an alliance against Bancroft and promised to land an army in the north. At face value, it was the best news Trevor had received since winning the Battle of the Wilds but it also caused several questions.

The first was how big of an army could he land in the northern part of Java?

The second was how soon?

An army too small and too late would do little to help Trevor's cause. Despite having the command of all the Fourthies, he didn't know how large of an army this could translate to in terms of numbers.

There was also the Javan Navy to take into consideration, which would dispute any passage across the ocean.

Trevor wanted to take the message at face value but the realist in him told him to be cautious.

"Where do you think the name came from?"

Trevor snapped back to reality and looked at Gavin. "What do you mean?"

"I mean he calls himself Jack Kincardine now," said Gavin. "Where do you think the Kincardine name came from?"

"Supposedly some kind of Fourthie heritage from the rumors in the camp," said Trevor. "For me, I couldn't care less what he chooses to call himself as long as he agrees to ally with us. Let's just hope this army he's bringing can be the difference-maker that we need."

"Aye, Trev, let's hope that's the case."

For the next ten minutes, the two men ironed out the positions for attacking the Javans before Gavin left to execute his orders. Once the man was gone, Trevor rolled up the map of his position and made his way over to the tent he shared with Nina.

His steps on the way there were slow and shallow, marked by increasing trepidation of arriving at his destination. In a way, it was incredibly ironic. He was confident and aggressive about facing the Javans and destroying what remained of their army.

But when it came to his woman, he was decidedly less certain.

Most of that stemmed from the fact that she was poisoned by one of Bancroft's men. The poison was meant solely for Trevor, and in a concentrated form, it would have likely killed him. However, Bancroft's man bungled the attempt, which caused the poison to be spread out to several people closest to Trevor, where the results weren't nearly as effective.

However, one of those results was the miscarriage of Nina and Trevor's child, a child that up until that point, hadn't been known to even exist.

For Trevor, the experience was numbing. He lost a child before he even knew he had one.

The worst part was Nina's experience. She had to deal with the terrible sickness that came from the poisoning and then the loss of her child on top of it.

The experience devastated her. Even after Nina recovered from the physical ailments, her emotional ailments seemed to only be getting started. She became more withdrawn and quieter, more apt to stay inside the tent than out of it. No matter what Trevor did to try to comfort her, she didn't want to hear about it.

"I don't want to talk about it, Trevor," she mumbled for what felt like the thirtieth time. "Just let me be."

Trevor hoped that by giving her some space, she would eventually begin to come around, but it seemed that the more days that passed by, the more sullen she seemed to become.

It took a turn for the worse as he finally arrived at their shared tent.

Nina was once more laying in their cot. She was laying on her side, her back toward him as he entered, and she didn't stir upon his arrival.

Ordinarily, Trevor wouldn't feel any qualms about slipping onto the cot to lay beside her but that had been a touchy subject lately. Nina hadn't wanted any kind of touch, not even from him.

Still, he loved the woman. Ever since he met her, there had been a real connection between the two of them, something that didn't come around that often. Any fear he might have felt about touching her was overridden by his love for her.

For that reason, Trevor rested his hand on her shoulder lovingly.

"Are you okay?" he asked in a mere whisper.

Nina nodded her head. Despite her answer, he knew she was lying.

There was very little that was right with Nina these days.

"Anything I can do to help?" he asked, ever the fixer.

"You can't turn back time," whispered Nina.

Her words tore at his chest. There seemed to be nothing that he could say or do to make the world right again.

Part of him wondered if the Nina he knew was gone, lost forever. Would he ever see the woman smile again?

He knew better than to offer any words of comfort. He would only be met with the same response as before, that she didn't want to talk about it.

It was a road he'd been down many times.

Trevor turned to walk away, at which point Nina called out to him one more time.

"Yes?" he asked, turning on his expectant heels and hoping for a change in her demeanor.

Nina had a hard time meeting his eyes, the fist sign that something was still terribly wrong.

"Do you think you could sleep on another cot tonight?" she asked quietly. "I'm just feeling like... like I need my space."

"You don't want to sleep with me?"

"Don't take it the wrong way, Trevor. I just want some time to myself. I just want my space."

Trevor thought her earlier words were hard to hear.

This was even worse.

"I can have another cot put in here if you like," he said finally. "To give you that space."

Nina nodded but said nothing further. Just like that, she turned away from him again, the conversation over.

Trevor knew better than to say another word at that moment, only because he knew it would be the wrong thing to say. He knew that miscarriages could rip couples apart, and he'd seen it with his first eyes back in Amboy with his next door neighbors.

He just never expected it to happen to him.

Trevor arranged to have the cot brought into his tent and positioned near enough to Nina in case she needed support but far enough away that he was giving her space. That evening when he retired to bed, it felt entirely foreign to be sleeping in a cot all by himself, especially when he could hear the sounds of Nina's soft breathing next to him.

Part of him wondered if this was the beginning of the end. Would he and Nina ever recover from this?

And why were they punishing themselves further when they'd already been punished enough?

He was smart enough to know that Nina took this as punishment as well. Especially when she started crying halfway through the night.

"Nina, are you okay? Do you need me?"

"N-no, Trevor," she sniffled. "I just want my baby. I just want my b-baby!"

She shirked away from his touch like he was a leper, making him feel awful.

There was no worse fate than this one. Even if he did manage to capture Belfort, was it worth losing the relationship he had with the only woman he ever loved?

His gut feeling told him no.

*****

A short distance away, another man had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach.

General Dennis Ryan of the Javan Army was once a man seemingly at the top of the world. At one time, he'd been considered one of the foremost generals in all of Java (if not the world). He'd been decorated for his skill and bravery many times over as well as recommended by enough of his peers to hint at his military prowess.

That all brought him to the pinnacle of his career when he was placed in charge of defeating the Tyrolean revolt.

That was when it all came crashing down around him. To be fair, the war had started off so well, and Ryan already had thoughts of what the victory parade would look like in Belfort once the rebel army was crushed.

And yet, the Tyroleans pulled one last trick from their sleeve. They defeated his army, rolling up his line like it was shoddy Ruthenian carpet. In the space of an afternoon, he went from the top of the Javan world to the bottom.

The retreat back to Belfort tested the limits of his mental capacity. Every time that Ryan saw a wounded soldier from the battle, he couldn't help but think about his changed fate. He fully expected to be sacked as soon as he reached the capital, but he vowed to do everything in his power to stay in charge of the army.

It was the only lifeline he had to the pinnacles of power, and his pride demanded that he do everything to keep it.

It had been the hardest act of his life to convince the Emperor that he still had the means to fight. The Emperor didn't call him out on it, thankfully, and allowed him to retain control of the army but Ryan didn't dare tell him that his loss had taken out a good portion of his confidence.

And yet, the Emperor seemed to figure that out on his own. He had to order Ryan to move his army forward, as well as to stop retreating once he had contact with the Tyrolean Army once more. History ended up repeating itself, and Ryan lost yet another battle to Trevor Downing and his lucky band of Tyrolean goat herders.

And now here he was again. He'd been ordered to stop the retreat lest he forfeit his job. That meant once again staring down Trevor Downing's men and hoping that his army could stand the test of another battle.

The only problem was that Ryan's heart wasn't in it anymore. He couldn't defeat Downing. Twice now he'd lost with superior numbers, and after the last fight, he didn't even have numbers on his side anymore.

For Ryan, any chance of standing up to Trevor Downing was mere fantasy. It was child's play, a make-believe story that was best suited for bedtime and not the battlefield.

Trevor Downing had bested him. He was the better general and it was futile to continue to resist. He was only delaying the inevitable.

Ryan couldn't lead this army anymore. He couldn't give them the victory they were seeking.

And the last amounts of pride, the only quality that kept him hanging onto his position, had finally evaporated like beads of water on a sunny day.

All he knew was that he needed to get out. He needed to get as far away from this army as possible before his mental demons got to him.

That was why Ryan was staring at a small bag that was placed on his cot. Inside the bag was a change of clothes and a few necessities, enough for him to start over as soon as he was away from the army. He would ditch his military fatigues once he was outside the perimeter. He hadn't shaved in two days, giving him a great start to growing the disguising beard that would help to conceal his identity.

He just needed to make a clean getaway first. Ryan needed to get away before it was too late.

Before Bancroft killed him for his failures.

That last thought was the most chilling. The cost of his career came with two failures on the battlefield. A lifetime of doing the right thing and ascending the career ladder had ended so quickly.

It might have been comical if it wasn't his life.

But what's done is done. It was time to go.

Ryan made his inconspicuous exit at a time when most of the men in his small camp were sleeping. The majority of the men there were administrative in nature, as the bulk of his army was settling down in their foxholes for the night.

His destination was already decided. He would travel lightly through the Javan hinterlands, making his way north until he reached Aberdeen.

No one knew him in Aberdeen. It was a place where he hoped to have the fresh start he so desperately needed.

Unfortunately, he never even made it out of his camp.

Almost as soon as he was out of his tent, Ryan felt eyes on him. He made eye contact with the offending pair, finding one of his underlines, Colonel Nelson, watching him with innate curiosity.

Nelson was one of those officers that Ryan didn't trust. He was a career man, the type that would do or say anything to get ahead. For that reason alone, he had no scruples about anything as long as it advanced his position.

At one time, Ryan could have considered himself as cut from the same cloth. It was too bad it didn't get him any further in life.

Ryan shuffled away from his tent as quickly as his feet would move him. He made it nearly thirty feet before he heard the familiar voice behind him.

"Going somewhere, General?"

Ryan turned around to see Colonel Nelson, who was now flanked by two soldiers on either side of him. Nelson was looking at him like an errant child about to receive his spanking.

"Out to inspect the lines," replied Ryan tensely. "I'm making sure our men are dug in to resist the Tyrolean threat."

Nelson's eyes narrowed. "If that's the case, what's the bag for?"

Ryan clutched it tighter. "What's it to you? You don't have the right to question me, Colonel. Remember your place."

Nelson smirked before he gestured to one of the soldiers. "Check the bag."

The soldier moved almost too quickly, yanking the bag from out of Ryan's hands.

"You give that back to me right now," demanded Ryan as his glare increased. "Or I'll have all of you removed from my army! Is this the way you treat your commanding general?"

The soldier searched the bag quickly. "It appears to be a travel kit, Colonel. It looks like the General here was taking all of his personal belongings with him on his... inspection."

Nelson's smirk only grew. "The Emperor was right about you. You are a coward, Ryan."

Ryan's expression softened. "Coward?" he whispered.

"The Emperor suspected that you would try to run rather than do your duty. He's placed me in charge of your person, able to remove you if it was deemed that you were no longer working in the best interest of the Emperor." Nelson chuckled. "And I'd say attempting to desert your post would qualify for that charge."

"I'm no deserter!" yelled Ryan, finding his confidence fleeing quickly.

Nelson scoffed. "Clearly." He then turned to look at the soldiers. "Handcuff him and keep him quiet while I get word to the capital. We're going to be needing a new general."

It was at this point that Ryan fell to his knees before Nelson. "Please, I'm begging you. Just let me go. Just let me get out of here. You'll never hear from me again. I don't have a place here but that doesn't mean I need to die. The Emperor will kill me!"

Nelson used his leg to kick Ryan back. "Don't you dare touch me, you defeatist coward! You'll be killed for the scum that you are! Do you really think I'd let you escape? You've led this army into calamity every time we've faced off against those Tyrolean rebels. It's about time you received your comeuppance!"

The handcuffs went over Ryan's hands a little too easily. He tried to keep begging for release, but a quick strike with the butt of one of the rifles ended any further protesting. For the time being, Ryan was placed in a small cage that was usually used for grave offenders of military justice or high value enemy targets.

And now here he found himself at the lowest rung of the army that he once led.

Ryan's career was over. Soon enough his life would be over too.

How had it happened so quickly?

He used to be such a good soldier too.

*****

Sarah was starting to grow a little impatient. Perhaps anxious was the right word for it, although she certainly had some agitation as well.

Like usual, it was in regard to Michael Bainbridge.

Sarah scoffed and turned to walk to the other side of the barn, her arms crossed under her small breasts while she paced. Even the very mention of his name gave her heart a flutter. She hadn't felt like this in... years, and the worst part about the whole thing was that Michael liked to pretend that she didn't even exist.

Maybe it wasn't quite that dramatic, but there was no warmth to him. No signs of emotion or that he even remotely did anything but tolerate her presence.

Sarah let out a sigh, one that was entirely too loud to escape notice.

And at that moment, the only other person nearby was Victor.

He made eye contact with her, long enough for those eyes to say that he'd heard her huffing but not long enough to question the reason behind. As a result, Sarah moved to the opposite end of the barn, where there was a small window that looked out on the rest of the farm.

They'd been here at this farm for nearly a week. A week ago, a good portion of their forces, as well as their former leader H, perished in a fight with Bancroft's men. To add insult to injury, Bancroft discovered their operations in the sewers under Belfort, forcing them to flee into the countryside.

That part hadn't bothered Sarah as much. She felt at home in the countryside, and she truly enjoyed the quiet that came from farm living.

What bothered her still was that they were still here. They hadn't run an operation since H was killed, nor were any being planned.

In fact, there were some whispers that both Michael and Victor had lost their nerve. That they couldn't strike back against Bancroft with their confidence now shattered.

Sarah didn't believe those whispers. She'd known Victor for such a long time that he didn't seem unmanned by the experience.

It was the same with Michael. Michael had gotten them this far, and he'd soon figure out another way to move forward.

Sarah just worried that Michael needed a friend to talk to. Someone who could listen to him and reassure any lingering doubts. She wanted to be that friend so badly but he still wouldn't let her in.

Sarah scoffed again, this time louder than the time before.

Unfortunately, it didn't escape Victor either. He dropped what he was doing and moved closer to her.

"Talk to me, Sarah," said Victor as he came to a stop near her. "I can hear you huffing over here. Did I do something to make you upset?"

She shook her head quickly. "Not you, Victor. It's just... you know."

A small smile formed on his lips. "Michael?"

Sarah felt tears sting her eyes. She looked away lest he see it. "Yes," she squeaked.

She felt his comforting hand on her back.

"Sarah, why do you trouble yourself with this? You know how Michael is."

Her head nodded rapidly. "I do know how he is. Stubborn? Of course. Emotionless? No doubt. His skull is so thick that I feel like I can never get through to him, and even if I did, he wouldn't care anyway." She growled low in her throat. "And yet..."

"And yet, you still care about him?" finished Victor.

The lump in her throat grew greater. She nodded and looked at her feet.

Sarah wondered if Victor would take the opportunity to chastise her, or even denigrate her misplaced feelings. He wasn't exactly Michael but he wasn't the most understanding person either.

What surprised her was what he had to say next.

"Michael hasn't been in a good place lately. This last week is probably one of the hardest of his life. He blames himself for H's death, and the deaths of the others. I believe that he's punishing himself in this way. I have a hard time talking to him right now as well. I think this is what he's doing to himself as if it would somehow atone for the lives that had been lost."