1821 - The Battle for Palembang

15: A Million Faces

1821, Muntinghe's Town

Desperation had a face of steel. Desperation had a face of stone, a face of a raging gale at sea, the fury of volcanic summits.

Desperation had a million faces. And James Simpson knew them all.

This was not the first time Lieutenant James Simpson was faced against the insurmountable. And he knew, that the million terrors that struck the heart of men in these situations were no real and present threat; they existed merely as the lovechild of fear and anxiety, two things Simpson had learnt to face and overcome.

Or not.

Perhaps it was the amount of drinks he had which severed his senses before battle, his fear of death, his humane emotions. Perhaps, it was those long battles in the Old World, as experience always forges a steely mentality, or perhaps... only perhaps, and Simpson did not want it to be true, that his numbness to these fearful vices were caused by the loss of love that had created a void so deep, he may never find a way to fill again.

As he looked upon the open fields and the Sultan's soldiers marching against him, he remembered something. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes and he felt something stir inside him. That very beast that came. The cornered lion, the Caesar in every man.

He remembered the countryside trips, the soothing evening walks, how her eyes squinted and her nostrils tilted with that beautiful smile of white teeth, that beautiful mind, the soft kisses upon his lips, the sweet memories of good and sin both. James Simpson remembered something.

Where are you, Vera?

He remembered that once, he was a happy man... that thing, indeed the same animal of what those philosophers of old, Socrates, Plato, Aristoteles had put in timeless discourse that had echoed through the ages. That thing, indeed, to them, was the ultimate pursuit of life.

Once, happiness, meaning, that very damned thing, was his. But no longer. Then in his search for its recovery, he had killed to find meaning, he had hurt others to find meaning, he had travelled across oceans and alien, foreign lands to find meaning. But that seeping, intoxicating void he knew as happiness, meaning, and purpose he could never find.

Where are you, Vera?

Drunken nights of brawling and whoring, of being that poor, desperate soul, had passed. And here, now, in Muntinghe's Town, in the Dominions of the Palembangese Sultan, he was living life anew though still; that lost love still remained lost never to return, no matter how well was he a climber of Olympus, and no matter how much he challenged the Fates, he could never have it back. But he denied it, and he kept telling himself that she was not the reason of his plight, that she was not at fault. Perhaps she was not but she may as well was, for whatever memory that remained of her was a mixture of truth and lies and everything in between. Vera De Lany was at this point, a fabrication of the mind, and Simpson did not care. He still loved the woman, though these feelings felt nothing less than a burn that never healed.

James Simpson was a desperate man and it was killing him, but he did not care.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant Simpson?" asked Bimasena, snapping Simpson out of his train of thought. He stood next to him, behind the loose skirmishing line formed by their men amongst the brush.

"I am fine, my lord. Just some thoughts, swinging by." Said he. He opened his steel cigarette case and took a roll. He lit it with a match located at one of the leather pouches of his white crossbelt. He looked at the case, and only three remained, the third-to-last being put in his mouth, and burnt. He swore silently, then spat.

"The enemy comes closer by the second, lieutenant. When are we to fire?" asked Bimasena.

"On my orders, my lord... On my orders..."