Fourth Vector Ch. 48

"What do you want to do, sir?" asked Strange. "We've been following a course due east, shadowing the Fourthies as they make their way across the ocean but never moving into their path. How do you want to do this?"

Nick got out of his seat and approached the map of the ocean that he had hanging in his personal quarters. Marked in red was the general location of the Fourthie fleet and in blue was his own fleet, just to the south. He grabbed another color, green, to mark the supposed location of the transports, just to the north of the main Fourthie battle fleet.

After studying the map for a moment, Nick grabbed the blue marker and used it to trace a route that suddenly turned north, putting his entire fleet ahead of the Fourthie battle fleet but within striking range of the transports.

Nick looked over to see questions in Strange's eyes. "Sir?"

"We need to move at all possible speed," said Nick. "We need to get out ahead of the Fourthie battle fleet so that we can threaten those transports. We can only do that by achieving our maximum speed and doing it quickly before the Fourthie airplanes find out what we've done."

"I can give the order right now if you prefer," offered Strange. "But then you and I should really sit down and plan this out. We need to make sure we're on the same page tactically if we're going to do this. We might only have this one shot to get the transports and that will be it."

Strange was right. With them closing in on Java, their chances of finding the Fourthie fleet before it bunches up to make their landings was better now than any other time. Those chances only went down with time.

They had to strike now. They had to strike quickly.

"Give the order," barked Nick. "Let's see if we can frighten Jack Easterbrook."

*****

It always came down to moldy bread.

Major Harry Bergman was absolutely, positively fed up with fucking moldy bread.

The problem was that the only thing he had to eat in weeks was fucking moldy bread.

As an officer in one of the newest regiments of the Javan Empire, they were at the lowest rung in the supply chain. It also hurt their chances even more because they weren't front line troops either, who were entitled to the best of the best.

No, Harry's regiment was left in Belfort after the Emperor moved north. And all his sixteen-year-olds were allocated were the scraps of whatever was left over.

It had been nearly a week since the Emperor left for the north, leaving Harry's regiment alongside four others for the defense of the city. To the north, word of a Fourthie invasion was imminent, and the city of the Lockhaven was battening down the hatches in anticipation of such a landing.

To the east, General Zander had blocked the Tyrolean Army from getting any closer to Belfort, but how long that would last was anyone's guess. Many in the army didn't have a high opinion of Zander, for obvious reasons.

Like the colonel in charge of Harry's regiment, Zander had also bought his position with amble coin and undying loyalty to the Emperor.

"Useless bastards," growled Harry before taking another bite of his bread.

"I know you're not talking about me," quipped another major nearby to Harry. This other man, Paul Norris, was now giving him quite the serious stare, even if the slight smirk on his mouth completely betrayed his true feelings.

"Shut your mouth and keep eating," snapped Harry before tossing a piece of bread at Paul. Paul let out a barking laugh before tossing his bread in return.

The two men were as thick as thieves. Both of them had left their more veteran regiments to take over the newly formed 104th Regiment, and so far, both had regretted the move. There was just something about being around petulant and ill-trained youngsters all day that grinded on the nerves, and frankly, Harry was wishing he was back with his original regiment right now, who was traveling north with the Emperor.

The officers weren't the only ones grumbling either. Fights between the boys had to be broken up all the time, and the threat of martial discipline was oftentimes the only thing holding the entire regiment together.

"What I wouldn't give to be seeing some action right about now," grumbled Harry, using his boot to squash an insect in the dirt below his feet. He twisted it for good measure before looking back at Paul. "It beats sitting here in the city and starving."

Paul grunted. "I'd like to get through this war without getting shot to pieces. Or being eaten by Fourthies while we're at it. Those poor fools heading north? They're going to regret it when they hear the dreadful racket Fourthies make at night."

Harry gave him a questioning look. "What racket?"

"You've never heard? They make long howls in the night," said Paul, lowering his voice. "The majority of the howling comes right before they find someone to sacrifice, which they do by ripping out their throat. It's grizzly stuff, and that's why I'm happy to be in Belfort instead of facing them."

Harry's skepticism reached its peak. "You've never even seen a Fourthie, what would you know?"

Paul chuckled. "No, but I've heard all the tales my mama taught me. I know what they're like."

This time, Harry picked up a small clump of dirt and launched it at Paul, hitting him across the cheek.

"You motherfucker," retorted Paul, picking up his own clump and doing the same. "See if I save your ass if the Fourthies come trying to eat you!"

"You're a fool, don't you know that?" replied Harry. "One of the reasons why we're both sitting here in the city still."

"Well, if I'm a fool, that makes you one too, Harry. Because we both made the same decision."

Harry sighed. "I guess you have a point there. Brightest thing you've said all night."

Even though their fortunes had never been lower, it was about to get much worse. As soon enough, the colonel's deputy made his way to their campfire. The man was one that Harry would love to punch. The deputy had an arrogance about him at being the official messenger boy of the colonel, and his haughty tone had many in the regiment wishing to frag him the next time they did live fire training.

The deputy smirked as soon as he saw both Harry and Paul. "You don't salute me when you see me now, do you?"

"You have the same rank as we do, Travis," growled Harry. "I'm not saluting fucking nothing."

Travis shook his head, uttering a slight tsk-tsk. "The colonel will hear about this. I can assure you of that."

"The colonel has more problems than two majors with too much time on their hands," said Paul. "Now what do you want? This can't be a social call."

Travis smirked with only half of his face, a look that mixed humor with indignity. "Colonel Roberts has decided that we'll be doing another hike into the countryside tomorrow. This one will be ten miles in length."

Paul sprung to his feet. "Again? That's the third time this week!"

"I suppose the colonel will be the one telling my men too?" added Harry. "The last time I told them, they nearly lynched me."

"You're responsible for your own men as officers in the Javan Army," said Travis coolly. "So you will tell them. I'm also to inform you that rations need to be cut once more. The state granaries are now running low."

Harry's head leaned back as his eyes rolled. "Now he's done it. He's really going to get us killed by a pack of raving teenagers."

"For what possible reason are our rations diminishedagain?" demanded Paul.

Travis shrugged. "The same reason as before. The Tyrolean force has occupied a good portion of our most productive farmland. Most of it is now feeding their men instead of ours. We can only give what we receive, and we're barely receiving anything."

"Belfort's on the sea," said Harry. "Send some men out with boats and bring us fish."

"Every available option is being looked at but for now, you'll make do with what you're given," said Travis with all too much satisfaction. "If you have any problems with that, I'm sure the colonel would love to beat you into submission."

With those final words, Travis finally left, his chin held up like always.

"One of these days, I'm going to strangle the life out of that man," vowed Paul. "And the colonel too for what it's worth."

"Things only continue to get worse and not better," said Harry acidly. "I'm so tired of this bullshit."

"You and me both. But what the hell could we do, Harry? We're stuck in the army for the duration of the war. Nothing we can do."

Harry shook his head. "This is all Bancroft's fault. All of it."

"The Emperor? How so?"

Harry raised his hands. "All of this! Things weren't this bad under the last Emperor. Java herself has been invaded by the Tyroleans. Now we have Fourthies coming our way! Occitania and Ruthenia demand too much of our resources for the occupation! And Bancroft gets crazier by the fucking day!"

Paul used his hand to gesture across his throat. "Not so loud with that. If the colonel hears you, we're both dead men."

"Oh, fuck the colonel," growled Harry. "I'm fucking done with this bullshit. No food, no respect, and shit gets worse by the day. I swear to god I'd kill the colonel and Bancroft myself."

In a way, Harry was very lucky at that particular moment. He was lucky because he was heard but not by someone who would rat on him.

Instead, he was heard by friendly ears. The last remaining battalion commander in the regiment, Major Bryce Itaki, made his way over to the campfire.

"I take it you two heard the latest news coming from that kiss-ass, Travis?" asked Bryce, keeping his voice intentionally low.

"You mean the news about how we keep getting fucked over and over?" asked Harry. "Because in that case, we've heard the fucking news."

Bryce nodded. "This is beyond ridiculous. All of us joined the army because it was a respectful occupation. Now we can't even get decent food and we can't fight at all. Most of the men are talking. The other officers are talking too. Captains all the way down to lieutenants. All about a way to end our suffering."

"End our suffering?" asked Paul. "How would we do that?"

Bryce looked around as if to ascertain whether anyone else was listening. Satisfied that no one was, he leaned closer. "How much do you boys hate the colonel?"

"Enough to want to stab him with my bayonet repeatedly," whispered Paul.

Bryce nodded quickly. "And the Emperor? He's not blameless in this either. Java's condition has only worsened under his watch."

"I'd give him the same treatment with my bayonet," vowed Harry.

Bryce smirked. "Good. Then it's time you two were welcomed into the fold. We have an idea for how we can start taking our lives back."

Neither Harry nor Paul were that shocked as they listened to what Bryce had to say. On the contrary, they were agreeable to his proposal and they gave their fullhearted support. Their support soon gave the other officers what they were looking for--strength in numbers.

And once they were sure of what they were planning, the action was swift and merciless.

That evening, Colonel Roberts was dragged out of his tent, alongside his trusty deputy, Major Travis (who had managed to lose all of his swagger). The rage that had been building amongst all of them came out in full force that evening as generous rope was soon procured for Roberts, Travis, and anyone else who wouldn't renounce Roberts' command.

"Fuck Bancroft! Down with the Emperor!" became the bywords for the men of the 104th Regiment that evening.

As was such, a grand total of fourteen men--nine officers and five soldiers--were found hanging from the trees by morning. Their only crime was staying loyal to an emperor who had lost the respect of the people.

The 104th Regiment's mutiny was nearly complete. After they renounced Bancroft, they had to set up a new allegiance, one that would safeguard their attempts to stay alive.

To that end, all three majors left in the regiment, Harry, Paul, and Bryce, were put in charge. Not one of them took the colonel's sole place, but power was shared between the three of them. In the meantime, runners were sent out to the other regiments in the city, inviting them to join their rebellion.

For now, the 104th Regiment became loyal to the city of Belfort. Vowing to protect the city and better the conditions for citizen and soldier alike, the flame of rebellion soon spread out in the heart of Bancroft's capital city.

By the end of the day, another regiment had joined them.

Their chief complaint? It wasn't Bancroft or endless war so much as it was another offense that was much more grave.

It was the fucking moldy bread.

*****

Michael had never seen Victor sprint so fast. He watched from the second floor of the farmhouse as his friend rushed across the abandoned field of wheat just to the north. It was a small miracle that he made it through without stumbling or twisting his ankle in a hole dug by a ground critter but the fact that he took such a risk was indicative of the importance of the message he had.

He was struggling for breath by the time he made it to Michael, clutching his chest like someone who'd just run a marathon.

"News from Belfort," said Victor breathlessly. "There's been a mutiny!"

If Victor didn't have Michael's attention already with the sprinting, he definitely had it now. Michael turned to face the man fully, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"A mutiny? Of whom? And why?"

Victor held up a finger as he grabbed a cup of water, downing it just as quickly as he filled it. As he caught his breath, he looked back at Michael.

"The regiments guarding Belfort. The ones that were left behind after Bancroft moved north. Two of them have rebelled! They've moved to the outskirts of the city and set up defensive positions in case the other three regiments left decide to attack them. But my spies in the city say that the other three regiments might join them!"

That was incredible news indeed. Michael's spirits had been buoyed upon the news that Bancroft was moving north toward Lockhaven, taking a good portion of his army with him. That had been more than a week ago, and Michael was already starting to plan operations within the city now that there wasn't a soldier on every corner.

The only problem was that the regiments he did leave behind were guarding all entrances into the city. There were also guards posted into the sewers even still, making that route unavailable to them. Getting them into Belfort was one question they still hadn't answered, even if the prospect of doing so seemed better than it was before.

But a mutiny made for all kinds of options previously unavailable to them.

"Which regiments?" asked Michael. "And what are their positions?"

"They're along the southern road," replied Victor quickly. "One directly north of us at the south gate and then one positioned just to the east of there. My contacts have scoped out their positions, and it appears they're ready for a fight. Barricades are being thrown up in their sectors just in case the other regiments decide to attack them. All of Belfort is in an uproar and a delegation barely managed to escape in order to beg Bancroft to bring his army back."

"He's not liable to do that," said Michael, shaking his head. "Not with this much at stake. Jack Easterbrook approaches in the north with a mighty fleet. He'd be the bigger priority to Bancroft than two mutinous regiments."

"True, but mutiny spreads quickly, Michael. Today, there are two regiments. Tomorrow, it could be the entire Belfort garrison. A week from now? It could be the whole army. The most beautiful part of the whole thing is that they've issued a proclamation about why they did what they did. Their grievances are long, but most are centered around the deteriorating conditions of Bancroft's rule."

"So I'm guessing war, famine, loss of liberties and traditional freedoms?"

Victor nodded. "You nailed it. The interesting part is that they haven't declared a leader yet. Nor are they following any one man. The officers in charge seem to be playing this hour by hour, and most are unsure of what they're going to do. Will they just stay in Belfort? Will they join the other side or take up another cause?"

It was that last statement that set Michael's brain aflame with thoughts of possibility. These regiments in Belfort were without a leader or a cause. Why? What cause could they be waiting on? There were plenty of causes to join, especially if they were opposed to Bancroft, but that could be more an indicator of their leaderless position than anything else.

The rebel regiments needed a leader.

And very swiftly, an idea began to form.

"What if we gave them another cause to join?" whispered Michael. "One that would be worth their commitment in terms of blood and purpose?"

Victor shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

"You said those regiments are looking for a leader. Someone that they can fall in behind. Bancroft sacrificed his role as that leader by his mismanagement of the country." Michael took a deep breath. "What if I can be that leader they're looking for?"

Victor put his hand against his brow. "You think you'd get them to join the rebellion? By all intents and purposes, it seems like they're already there though."

Michael shook his head. "Not a new rebellion, but maybe a retooling of our own? What if I could be that new leader for them? I do have a claim to the throne after all."

Realization seemed to hit Victor like a sack of bricks. "You would declare yourself emperor? You would try to win their loyalty as a rebel emperor?"

"Not as the rebel emperor, but as the rightful emperor," replied Michael. "My family has had claim to the throne for a long time, and it was only Bancroft's usurpation that toppled them. I have more claim to the throne than he ever could. Why not see if we could replace him?"

"Michael, that's a lot different from leading this rebellion. Think about what might happen if you won. You'd be the leader of the entire Javan Empire. We're but a mere band of thirty odd people. You'd become the leader of twenty-one million people almost overnight."

Michael couldn't help but find the idea exciting yet terrifying at the same time. On one hand, it was exciting because it was one real, legitimate avenue toward deposing Bancroft and restoring his place in the world. He wouldn't have to just be a rebel leader any longer. He could be the emperor that the Javans needed in this age of uncertainty, war, and famine. He knew the plights of the common people much better than Bancroft did, or even his great-uncle did.

He had the chance to make real changes to the Javan people and better their circumstances.

On the other hand, it was completely terrifying. Suddenly being put in charge of so many different people, factors, dreams, and ideas was daunting to say the least. There was the constant threat of failure--that through his own failure he could hurt many times the amount of people than just himself.

There was also the lust of power to think about. The last several Javan emperors had all been power-hungry demagogues, with no end in sight to their abuses of high office. Even now, Michael felt the tremble of what unlimited power could look like, and it scared him.

Would he be cut from the same cloth as his great-uncle? Would he turn into another Bancroft?

Such thoughts by themselves could have been enough to steer him away from the path before him.

But something stayed Michael's hand.

It was optimism. The chance to do something good for the world instead of continuing to mire it in all this endless killing and darkness.

Michael took a step closer to Victor. "I could be the leader they need. And in doing so, we could cripple Bancroft in ways that we only dreamed of until today. We could take his capital city from him. All his supplies would be gone. He would have no one as well as no way to feed and supply his army. This could be the killing blow that we've been seeking."