Crimson

A Done Deal

Now noon, we were going at a slow pace so that we are able to traverse the rubble safely and not to risk our injured to any additional harm. Eventually climbing out of a fallen building that cut through the street. Still walking over ruined bricks and other debris eventually we made it to our destination

About 25 yards away stood a tall barrier about 7 feet high, spanning the length of the street. Looking to be made of sandbags, debris, and concrete. As we got within 10 yards the barricade sprang to life.

“Freeze,” came a yell. Then out of nowhere, about a dozen rifles were pointed at us, ready to unleash hell at a moment's notice. “Identify,” came the voice again.

“Captain Robert Jacobs, 53rd Magic Ranger battalion attached to the 3rd infantry division,” I yell in reply. A monetary pause blankets the group as we wait for a reply. Finally, after what seems like an eternity the barricade shifts as debris is moved to make way for our group. Not wanting to let their hospitality go to waste we double time it through the gap in the barricade. As acting battalion commander I'm the last person inside the barricade making sure the injured made it in.

“Sir,” A young ensign comes running towards us, as I finally enter the camp proper. “Lt. Colonel Stocklen wishes to speak to you in his command tent.”

“Weathers,” I called.

“Yes, sir?” She asked.

“Take the injured to the infirmary. Once they’re situated, find a place to settle down at. I'll be back later.”

“Yes sir. It will be done.”

“Now, lead the way,” I sigh with unrestrained resentment. Following the ensign through the throng of soldiers going about their tasks. Most looked like they were a part of the logistical branch of the division.

As we approached the far side of the camp, we marched to what was the largest tent in the rear. Guarded by two heavily armed guards. Nodding to the guards the ensign lifted the flap of the tent, the ensign motioned for me to enter the tall tent. Inside was the last thing I thought would be in an army tent. Brightly lit with a full bar on one side of the tent and if I were to guess a king-sized bed towards the back corner. In the middle of it all is a large wooden desk with stakes of papers framing the man sitting behind it.

Reginald Stocklen, A very unassuming man. 5 feet 5 inches tall, pale skin with dirty blond hair in a greased over comb. He does not have the athletic body you would normally see in a career officer but one more suited to the office if you get my meaning. Walking to the front of the desk I stand at attention.

“Sir, Robert Jacobs reporting as instructed.” I say with practiced ease. 

With a bemused and condescending tone, he says, “Robert Jacobs,” Stretching out the words like they were not ever worth his time. “Joined the magic Corps at 17. Entering the entering ranger school at 19 graduating 4th in your class. Completing officer training at 20 and being assigned your first command as a lieutenant of the 3rd platoon, 2nd company 26th Battalion ‘The Doghouse’. Served in the Bermuda conflict, earning a promotion to Captain at the age of 23 for distinguished service.” He let out a sigh. 

“I can go on and on about the rapport you have gathered but at the end of the day your deeds are nothing short of incredible.”

“Thank you, sir," I replied.

“In fact, some may argue that it is too incredible.”

“Sir?” I asked confused.

“You see son,” rising from his chair. “While you may have done many remarkable things in these few days. You fail to see the bigger picture.” Now standing Infront of me. “Your little stunt has made people in power very uncomfortable,” He whispers not 2 inches away from my face. An oppressive silence hangs over us for a few gut retching moments.