A Career Change (Part1): A Pyrrhus Story

It was cold. It was cold, and something was on top of him. It was cold, something was on top of him, and his left eye was caked shut with blood. His head throbbed. Clearly this was not the best way he could think of to start his day.

Giving an experimental shove, he discovered that the thing that was on top of his was a body. Disgusted, he put his back into it and managed to partially free himself from the tangle, only to discover that he was surrounded by corpses. He turned to get a better purchase, and found himself staring into the lifeless eyes of Brill, one of his squad. As his head cleared a bit, he thought back to the battle of the day before, and to the conversation he had overheard the day before that. Somebody was going to pay for this.

“I am tired of you using my men as fodder for these damned regional skirmishes. You’re getting good men killed for matters which ought to be handled by the local authorities!” That was his Captain’s voice, thought Pyrrhus, and he sounded furious. No, he sounded ….nearly insubordinate. If the Captain wasn’t careful, he was going to end up reprimanded, or worse.

“I will remind you, Captain Strygos, that they are not your men. They are the Emperor’s men. Or the army’s men. Or failing that, my men. In short, Captain, they are only your men in the context of a chain of command, and one which you would do well to observe respectfully.” The commander, though measured in his response, was clearly irritated.

As it happens,” said the commander in a lower and more conciliatory tone, “I happen to agree with you. I don’t like sending men out on these brushfire operations any more than you do, but I have my orders, and you have yours. As long as these local savages insist on warring amongst themselves, and setting up little bandit strongholds, we’ll be out there cleaning up messes which should be handled on a local basis. And no amount of teeth-gnashing on our part is going to make that any easier.”

Pyrrhus considered what he was hearing, and ruminated on the last few operations they had been involved in. Sure, they had cleaned out the thugs they were sent in to control, but they were hamstrung in their ability to send a real message to the bandits who were abusing the local populace. On the other hand, if they used the kinds of tactics necessary to put down the robbers and criminals, what was to say that they wouldn’t create as many enemies amongst the locals, who were bound to get caught up in the fracas? It was a thorny problem, and one which frankly, he was glad wasn’t his to decide.

“Have your men down in the eastern valley in the morning. Rumor has it that there’s a warlord who has set himself up as a local chieftain. And be careful—he is reported to have hired some sort of mage, and is abusing the hell out of the valley folk.”

The Commander’s voice seemed to have some genuine concern, and his next words were nothing sort of shocking “Get your men through this, get rid of this particular piece of scum and his pet, and there will be a furlough in it for you and your men, and possibly some promotions to be handed around. Your men deserve a rest, and good squad leaders are in short supply. Now get the hell out of here, before I forget my manners.” That last was clearly for effect—it was more like the commander they had all come to know, and Pyrrhus knew that it would not do for either the Captain or the men to know that the Commander was genuinely concerned for their well-being. Before he could gather himself and walk away, the Captain came out the door of the Commander’s hut, and seeing Pyrrhus, spoke sharply. “Listening at windows, Pyrrhus?” Then he grinned, and said “Oh, don’t worry, I’m jesting—I imagine the first part of that was loud enough for the courtyard to hear, even over the smith. Hell, that might have been a part of my thinking.”

“What do you mean?” inquired Pyrrhus. He thought he had an inkling of the Captain’s mind in this matter, but he wanted a bit of confirmation.

“What I mean, Pyrrhus, is that if we are going to ask men to die for a cause, it helps them to know that their leaders, at least the ones that they’re closest to, are looking out for their interests, and not just using them as career fodder. And for an enlisted man, that is sometimes easy to forget. It would do you well to remember that, as you rise through the ranks.” Pyrrhus considered this. He thought his men knew him as fair, he hoped they knew him as honorable, but did they know that he cared about their safety. Did they know how it chewed him up every single time he had to send them into battle? On the one hand, he hoped they knew that they weren’t just an expendable commodity to him. On the other hand, he hoped that they never saw indecisiveness in him. Nothing was capable of destroying a unit’s morale quicker than thinking that their leader was uncertain of his decisions. The Captain continued. “You will, by the way. Rise through the ranks, that is. Provided, of course, that you don’t get yourself killed, or piss me off too fully in the meantime. Now—tell me about your squad. How are they holding up, and are they ready for battle?” “As far as holding up goes, they’re as fit as any squad in the army. I would trust my life to them in any battle you want to send us into. And as far as what I didn’t just hear, I can think of no better suited unit to send into this fray. Although for what it’s worth, I think this fray stinks. Why we’re here holding onto little scraps of the Empire is beyond me. I say if these local patches of scum want to throw rocks at one another, and steal each other’s sheep, let them.” “Thank you, Sergeant Pyrrhus, for your keen observations on local politics, and regional Imperial relations,” the Captain said, with a scarcely suppressed grin. “Remind me never to place you in a position requiring diplomacy. You will however, observe that we have our orders. Which in this case, means going out into the valley and finding out who the particular bully-boy is that has set up shop there, and further, what this whole mage business is.” “My squad is ready, Captain,” Pyrrhus said, with a clear pride in his voice. He was certain that his men were up to facing whatever this local threw at them, and wanted Captain Strygos to know that he had faith in them. “They’ll take on anything you point them at.” “Good. Handle this well, and we’ll see if we can’t help your career along. Your enlistment is up in a matter of days, as I understand it, and if you decide to continue gracing us with your presence, I just might be looking for a lieutenant. Have your men assembled on the field at first light, and we’ll set off.” With that, the Captain turned, and strode of. Probably headed toward the officer’s whore-tent, Pyrrhus thought with amusement. The Captain had better watch himself, or he would be one of the guys getting an anti-itch paste from the chirurgeon.

Pyrrhus stood and surveyed the destruction which surrounded him. The mound from which he had climbed was at least eight feet higher than the ground and composed, he noted grimly, almost entirely of men from the post where he served. A handful of the corpses were locals and fewer still were the bodies of the mercenary scum who had been serving Harux, the chieftain they had been sent out to deal with. That was to be expected, given the differences in the sizes of the two opposing forces. The dead were covering roughly 50 yards square, and from what he could see, the imperial forces must have killed most of the opposing men. It was that  other  bunch they hadn’t counted on, couldn’t have counted on that had dealt so much destruction, and from what he remembered, even turning on their own side. Pyrrhus gave an involuntary shiver as he remembered wave after wave of the damnable things overrunning his squad’s position.



The morning after his conversation with Captain Strygos, Pyrrhus assembled his squad on the parade field, as did roughly thirty of his fellow squad leaders. Craning his neck he could see similar assemblies on two other parade grounds. The Commander must feel this particular thug to be a significant problem to send out this large a force. If his calculations were correct, that would place most of the outpost’s resources in the field, with two other companies on patrol. Further, half of another company was down with the damnable fever which seemed to ooze from the land itself in this pesthole. It was good that things were quiet locally, for the most part, because this exercise was going to put the post in a position of vulnerability, at least until they finished this nuisance of an endeavor and got back here to guard the henhouse, so to speak. “Pyrrhus, are you going to join us, or are you too busy taking in the morning air?” Strygos’ voice brought him back into the moment, and with embarrassment Pyrrhus responded to his Captain’s chiding. “Sorry, Sir”, Pyrrhus said, with an intentional air of unconcerned joviality, “Just noticing the number of troops stretching their legs this morning. Nice to have company in the effort, though I hardly would have thought it prudent for what I hope will be a minor engagement” “Ordinarily I would concur, Sergeant”, Strygos spoke with clear impatience, “But the Commander obviously thought that strength in numbers was the rule of the day, since he was the one who set our troop assignments for the day. Since neither you nor I have reached the rank of commander yet, I suspect he has information which we are not privy to. Does that make sense to you, Sergeant?” The stress in his Captain’s voice, and particularly in the emphasis he placed on Pyrrhus’ rank made his intent clear—shut up and march. Pyrrhus hoped his men hadn’t picked up on the other stress in Strygos’ voice. He was definitely unhappy, though whether because of something he knew about the battle to come, the distasteful nature of the action itself, or because, like Pyrrhus, he thought that the outpost was being poorly defended as a result, Pyrrhus didn’t know. Nonetheless, his captain’s wishes were clear, and Pyrrhus decided that discretion, at least at the moment, was the better portion of valor. Right now that meant paying attention. “The objective is roughly twelve miles southeast from here, and the problem we need to address is a thug named Harux, who has set himself up a little kingdom, with the usual fringe benefits – rape, murder, and theft. Apparently this fellow’s men are particularly unkind to the local daughters. While ordinarily this should be a local problem, this bastard has himself a somewhat better than garden variety mage, which is why the local authorities have turned to us. Anyway, if our scouts are correct, this should be a relatively simple operation, after which, I have it on the best authority, we’ll be receiving a much needed furlough.” Strygos waited until the expected cheering was done then continued “Sergeant, if you’ll ready your men, and prepare to follow the scouts, we can get underway.” With that, Strygos turned and strode toward the collection of commanders gathered at the edge of the parade ground. Pyrrhus turned and faced his men. “You heard the Captain”, he said, keeping his voice as even as he knew how, “Squad — Attention -- On the march!” With that, they turned as a unit to follow the scouts.

The better part of a day’s march later they reached an area where the terrain began to become more rocky, with sparser cover. The hills on either side of their path grew higher, and closed in on them, forcing them to close ranks and form a narrower column. Pyrrhus hated the exposure the path created, but there was no other obvious route through these hills. After what seemed like an interminable amount of time, the path finally opened up onto a broad plain, surrounded by hills on the right, and faced with a sheer cliff on the left. Captain Strygos strode back along the column, until he reached Pyrrhus and his men. “We’ll make camp here tonight, and go and engage the enemy at first light”, he said.” For now, set up camp, and get some rest. The wagons should be along any time now with our supplies. Pyrrhus, see to it that the men are provisioned, and that they settle in for the night. Then get some rest yourself.” Pyrrhus did as his captain instructed, and soon the squad was fed and bedded down for the night.

The next morning, well before light had fully broken, Pyrrhus was awakened by a growing murmur and flurry of activity. He joined the assembling forces, and as he approached, he heard Captain Strygos say “Glad you’ve decided to join us, sergeant. Our host seems to have decided to bring the battle to us. I’m quite alright with that. I for one would rather not march and then fight. Besides, this seems like a natural place for a battle. The enemy is at the far end of the plain, and unless he’s got an army waiting in the bushes, we should be able to make quick work of the bastard’s forces. Our scouts say that he’s got no more than sixty men, and most of them seem to be locals he’s conscripted into service. With a little luck, and if your men are trained as well as I suspect they are, we may well be back at the garrison by evening.” Whether he was just saying it for effect, or he actually believed it, Strygos’ confidence buoyed Pyrrhus’ own spirits as he went back and assembled his men. By the first full light, all three companies were assembled on the field, and began to proceed toward the enemy. Topping a small the men caught first sight of the enemy forces, and a murmur began to filter through the ranks. The enemy was clearly both outnumbered, and outmatched in skilled warriors. They were facing farmers and a handful of mercenary scum. Pyrrhus began to think that even his captain’s confident assessment might be too pessimistic. Hell, if this was all they were facing, he thought, we may well be home before midday. The first wave of farmers was sent out, with a group of mercenaries behind them to make sure that they didn’t run from the battle. A figure, whom Pyrrhus assumed must be Harux, stood at the rear of the remaining fighters, surveying the events as they unfolded. Another figure stood on a rocky outcropping, surveying the battle, and apparently waiting for some kind of signal. Pyrrhus assumed that this must be the mage they had heard about. No matter – these charmworkers were rarely more than a nuisance. They usually caused a little bad weather, an occasional landslide, some unfortunate wind – nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Just as he had assumed, the first wave of the opposing force was met and mowed down. They were closer to the mesa where Harux and the rest of his forces remained now, and a sense of victory filled the men with general cheer. The smug bastard, Harux, was still at the rear of his forces, and didn’t look at all like a man who had just lost a fifth of his forces. And that mage remained on his ledge, perched like some damned pet bird, not really doing anything. Pyrrhus was growing impatient with the time it was taking to actually reach battle.

The men were starting to get sloppy with victory seeming to be already theirs, and Pyrrhus recognized that even if there was no real opposition in this battle, it was a bad idea to let them get into the habit of weakened ranks, so he barked at them. “Tighten those ranks, and keep the chatter to a minimum — we still have a battle to win here!” Another rank of farmers advanced, and was decimated by the imperial forces. This was no work for an army, Pyrrhus thought. This was a constabulary problem. And worse, the men who were doing the dying were nothing but a bunch of poor dirt scrapers who had run afoul of a local thug. Now his own men were nearly at the mesa. Suddenly Pyrrhus noticed that the pet mage was no longer still. He was gesturing purposefully, and some sort of energy seemed to surround him. Moreover, the whole of the battlefield was growing darker and, unless Pyrrhus was mistaken, colder. There it was, then – the mage must be a weatherworker. And yet, this chill seemed to be unnatural, as though the chill was in him, and through him. Pyrrhus felt chilled to the bone.

The air was suddenly filled with the sound of rumbling, and the very ground shook beneath their feet. Small mounds of earth began to grow among their ranks, if front of the, and worse, Pyrrhus noted, craning his neck to look around, behind them. From first one mound, and then another, skeletal hands, and skulls, whole corpses began rising. Further, the bodies of the men who had been slain began to rise and march toward them. He had been wrong. The pet mage of this Harux was a necromancer. Pyrrhus had heard of these traffickers in death and the dead, but nothing he had ever heard had prepared him for this event. Within a few moments, the entire force was surrounded and peppered throughout by living corpses, in various states of disrepair, and most of which were holding weapons of one sort or another. Gods – the hellish man was raising dead from what must have been centuries of battles in this place. From clubs to spears to swords, the dead were armed with implements of destruction of every shape and size, from a dozen different cultures or more. And they just kept coming, wave after wave of moldering corpses. Every time one of his own men was killed, it took but a few minutes and that corpse too would rise and use arms against their former comrades.

Surrounded by the dead and dying, and certain that his own time would certainly come at any moment, Pyrrhus began to focus purely on taking as many of these vile creatures out of the world as he could before he fell. He began to develop a rhythm, a pace, a cadence to the swinging of his Gladius, his grandfather’s Gladius. He wondered if he would see the old man soon, but continued to swing with the determined, measured pace of a dancer. He began to count, in his head, the number of those who fell from his sword, ten, then twenty, then thirty, always keeping the same measured rhythm to his movements. The swing of his sword became closer, more compact, and took upon it a greater conservation of movement. A singular peace began to fill him, a clarity of thought he had never before felt in his life. Even in previous battles, that moment when he felt most alive, nothing had ever compared to this. In that moment, he saw the whole of the battle before him, saw how they could defeat their enemies saw the dead falling before his sword. Forty, forty-two, forty-six, and then suddenly Pyrrhus felt a dull blow to the back of his head, the world went white, and then blackness enveloped him.

Pyrrhus remembered the battle fully now, and wondered what had taken him out of it. Clearly he had been hit, but why wasn’t he dead? And where had the rest of the companies gotten to? He began to make his way back through the valley which had led them to this damned place, and prepared to hike back to the garrison. His return was somewhat slower than when he was with his squad, and so it was nearly nightfall when his garrison came into sight. But what he saw was not what he had expected. The garrison itself was a smoldering wreck, and where the ramparts should have been fully manned, only a handful of archers and guards were at their posts. As he approached, he was challenged, and when he identified himself, he heard a quick exchange of voices behind the gate, and then a small unit of men came out of the gate, swords drawn, and proceeded to surround him and hold him at swords point. “How is it that you are at this gate, Pyrrhus – I watched you fall, and watched as you were piled with the rest of the dead.” Pyrrhus recognized Jenks, one of the soldiers from a neighboring squad, and a good man, if somewhat slow. “I fell, you idiot, but I wasn’t dead, though I will warrant that the fact that I’m wandering around is no longer any real proof of that.” Pyrrhus said. “The fact that I’m talking to you probably is, though, as is the fact that my head is throbbing from having been hit. I need to see the captain, and as quickly as possible.” Pyrrhus regretted calling the man an idiot, but Jenks actually seemed to relax and accept that Pyrrhus was indeed, not a wandering corpse, and further, just at the moment, civility was more than he could muster. “Strygos is dead. The commander is dead. That fool Marin is in charge, and as far as I can tell he has no idea what to do next. I think that the remaining men would probably follow a trained chicken if they thought it had some real idea of how to proceed. Perhaps you can talk some sense into our new….commander….” Jenks blunt statement was an immediate testament to how badly things must have gone after the battle of the dead. “Let this man pass!” Jenks called up to the gate, and the gate was opened long enough to let Pyrrhus and those who had come out to challenge him pass through. On entering the compound, Pyrrhus was astounded at the destruction he saw before him. The usual hubbub of the post was a bare fraction of its usual level, and those present were tending the wounded, putting out still smoldering fires, and patching holes in the colonnade. The commander’s office, though still intact, had clearly suffered in what must have been a blistering attack. Pyrrhus paused at the door a moment, then entered. Inside, he found Marin, an officer he knew to have been serving as a supply officer just three days ago. Now he was apparently the commander of the garrison. Pyrrhus cleared his throat. “By the spirits! Sergeant Pyrrhus, as I remember. I was led to believe that you fell on the battlefield. You were counted among the dead. How is it that you stand before me?” Pyrrhus noted that the man’s hand had slipped toward his weapon. He was also sure that he wasn’t well trained enough to draw the thing before being killed, if it came to that. “I fell, but I wasn’t dead, so let’s not get hasty…..sir… I am as alive as you are, if that’s your concern. What I would like to know is….what happened here? When I fell, the battle had been going on for what felt like a few hours, and then I was unconscious. When I awoke, there was a pile of bodies, but neither my fellows, nor the enemy was present.” As an after-action report went, it was awful, but it was, at least, factual. “Hours you say?” Marin’s voice was incredulous, “But that’s impossible. My sources tell me that the battle you took part in was very brief—a matter of minutes. And while you were off fighting farmers, we came under attack by wizards and……monsters.” At this, Marin went pale, but continued. “Whoever authorized your little foray to the south will be skinned alive if I get my hands on him. As for you, find out how many of you men reported back here and get them busy repairing this place. I fully expect another assault. We must defend the Empire!” Defending the Empire, as Marin had put it, was frankly, not foremost in Pyrrhus’ mind just at the moment. But he did want to talk to his men, and let them know that he was still alive. Then he had a decision to make, and it would not be an easy one. As he approached the barracks that housed his squad, Pyrrhus had a sense of unease. He had last seen his squad at the battle the day before. Now some were dead, and the rest had been through a second battle which Pyrrhus knew little about. He had hoped this reunion would be less grim, but now he wasn’t sure how to approach the men. As he opened the door, he was filled with an even greater shock. The barracks was almost completely empty. Only two of his men were in this familiar place. “Pyrrhus! We thought you were dead!” This was Jol, who at seventeen was one of the youngest members of the squad. He was quickly joined by Tass, an older soldier, but nearly as green to battle. “Yeah, I’m getting a lot of that today. Where are the rest of the squad?” Tass looked away, and Jol looked like he was ready to cry and spoke haltingly. “We’re all that’s left. Well, us and Mike, but he’s in the infirmary, and …” Jol’s voice trailed off, but it was clear that Mike was not doing well. Pyrrhus decided to change the subject. “well then”, he asked, “What happened here? The ….Commander … said something about the garrison being attacked by wizards and monsters, but that doesn’t make sense. When we saw the enemy there was only one wizard, and as for the creatures that were unleashed there, they didn’t seem capable of this level of destruction.” “That was just ONE wizard?” Jol asked incredulously. “I was sure that a number of wizards made sense, in light of what happened here. But you say just one?” “Yes”, said Pyrrhus, “If I’m not mistaken, the havoc on that field was caused by a combination of poor tactics on our part, and one necromancer.” “As for the monsters”, This was Tass, who continued, “we can’t get a straight answer from anybody. One fellow says they were seven feet tall, with four arms and gray, leathery skin. Another says no, they were the size of men, but had black scales all over. Still another says that the garrison was attacked by men riding dragons. None of it makes any sense. And Marin seems determined to try and keep the garrison intact, all to protect the Empire. Most of the men are ready to go home immediately, and what were saving the Empire from out here in weevil land is beyond me.” “While I understand the need for wilderness outposts”, Pyrrhus said, “I agree with you that this one has outlived its usefulness. We aren’t gathering vast quantities of food or resources from this region for the empire, and keeping a garrison here is costly. It seems that it may have just gotten a lot more costly. Perhaps I can help the commander see the logic there.” Pyrrhus doubted that anyone could actually talk sense into Marin, but for the sake of his men, he would try.

The next day, Pyrrhus once again stood outside the commander’s office, steeling himself for what he was sure would be an unpleasant encounter. Any way this went, it wasn’t going to end happily. Pyrrhus knocked, and then entered. “Sergeant Pyrrhus, again. What can I do for you this morning?” Marin’s tone was a bit less stressed than it had been the day before. Pyrrhus guessed that he had found a familiar sense of routine in the mundane details of command, but still, he found it nearly impossible to like the man. He really was an officious little prick.

<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">I need to speak with you about a few things, sir. First, I couldn’t help but think that with so few of my squad remaining, it might not be a bad idea if they were folded into another squad. It doesn’t make sense to keep a three person squad around. Second, I think you might wish to consider seeking several descriptions of the assault on the garrison before you submit your after-action report. From what I have heard around the camp, some of the men may have seen things which were different than what happened in this section of the compound. Third, I think you might consider whether you should propose to central command that the garrison itself be closed, and the men recalled to a more central outpost. I think it may prove too costly, both in resources and manpower, to continue here, when some of the locals clearly don’t want our presence. Finally, I am formally submitting my resignation as of today, with the completion of my enlistment.”

<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">Pyrrhus sped up as he delivered this collection of statements, with the last statement said at full speed, with hardly a breath intervening. Still, he could not help but notice that as he spoke, Marin’s face began to redden until finally, Pyrrhus thought the man was in danger of a brain fever. Marin’s voice quavered a bit as he responded, and he was clearly working very hard to maintain some level of decorum, despite being very upset. “Is there anything else on your mind Sergeant? Perhaps I should just resign my post and put you in charge, since you obviously have everything planned out, including our retreat from a gang of YOKELS!” Well, thought Pyrrhus, at least we can dispense with the fantasy that he might take this well. Marin continued “In response to your little list of suggestions, First, I concur. It would be foolish to maintain a three person squad, so you and your men can report to third squad as soon as this meeting is over. Second, I hardly need to muddy the report of what occurred. I saw the events unfold with my own eyes, and don’t need the cloudy memories of a bunch of grunts to tell command what happened. Third, you’d like me to suggest that we retreat after having our asses handed to us by a local thug? If you think I’m going to destroy my career, you obviously are still suffering the effect of the head blow you took on the battlefield. As for the last suggestion, I simply can’t afford to lose men at this point, even ones who are as full of useless suggestions as those that you’ve just made. So your request is denied.” The last was said with the conviction of a man who truly believed that he knew what he was talking about. “Well, commander, many of those things are up to you. As for you report of events, you can of course go with just your own impression of the events, but you might want to consider that things might not have been identical everywhere in the garrison. As for the idea of closing the garrison, central command will probably choose to do so anyway. I just thought that it might reflect well upon you if you showed the keen strategic thinking that had in mind the best use of the empire’s resources; This would make sense with your experience in supply—you have firsthand awareness of resource allocation. Finally, you don’t really have a choice in my remaining here. My terms of enlistment had me in service to the empire until today. This is my anniversary date, and I am choosing not to re-enlist. Since we are not at war, and I am not a conscripted soldier, I will be leaving the service. I signed up to defend the Dargothian Empire, not inflict myself on rural dirtscrapers. We got attacked because we are where we’re not wanted. We are not here sending heads or trophies back to the homeland. We are here defending the last gasp of Imperial overextension and I, for one, have had it. Now if you want to arrest me, and dedicate soldiers to guarding me, you can keep me here. Otherwise, I am leaving in the morning.” With that, Pyrrhus, without waiting to be dismissed, turned sharply on his heal and left the commander’s office. One more minute, he thought, and I would have been in the stockade for striking an officer. He strode off briskly toward the barracks. There he had his men pack their gear, marched them over to third squad barracks, where they were unofficially folded into third squad, and then he told the men that he was leaving the service. He was sorry to leave them like this, but the battle of the dead and its aftermath had left him questioning everything he had spent the last few years doing, the endless drills, the close order marching, the study of standard battle tactics—it had all meant nothing when the rules were changed on the battlefield. There, the only thing that had mattered was the relationship between his arm and his sword…and the beating of his heart. Finally, he led the men to the beer tent, where he bought several rounds for the house and several more for the newly amended third squad.

The next morning, Pyrrhus packed his gear and headed for the front gate, where he was met by the commander and a small force of armed soldiers. Well, here it is, he thought, this is where he shows off his new rank. Pyrrhus approached the assembled men, and came to attention as the commanders voice rang out. Sergeant Pyrrhus, front and center!” Pyrrhus responded almost automatically, moving until he stood at attention directly in front of the commander. “Sergeant Pyrrhus, have you been discharged from your duties in the Imperial Army of Dargoth?” “No Sir.” was the only reply Pyrrhus could muster under the circumstances. “And have you been relieved of your responsibility to the men of the Fourth squad?” “I have, sir, as you instructed, folded the Fourth squad into the Third, so as to make a more complete squad, but I have not officially been relieved of my responsibility for the men of the Fourth, sir”

<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">Damn training, anyway. Pyrrhus was responding precisely as he had been taught. Marin knew all of the right words to get the expected responses. Here it comes, he thought—I am to be denied discharge.

<p style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt">And then Marin spoke to a man at his left, whom Pyrrhus had not noticed a moment ago. It was Relk, the sergeant in charge of the Third, with whom he had been drinking the night before. “Sergeant Relk, do you stand ready to relieve this man of his responsibility for the men of the Fourth squad? Marin clearly had something up his sleeve, but what? Relk responded, “I do, Sir.” “Then do so”, Marin said. Relk stepped forward and turned to face Pyrrhus. Pyrrhus adjusted his stance to face the man, who then saluted him. Pyrrhus returned his salute. “Sergeant Pyrrhus, I relieve you of your responsibility for the men of the Fourth Squad, and officially accept them into the brotherhood of the Third Squad.” Pyrrhus responded with the formality of the official ceremony. “Sergeant Relk, I stand relieved of my responsibility for the men of the Fourth Squad, and deliver them into the Brotherhood of the Third Squad.” Marin spoke again. “Thank you Sergeant Relk. Now, Sergeant Pyrrhus. You have served the Empire well during the time of your enlistment, and that service is received by the Empire with gratitude. I am given to understand that your term of enlistment is ended, and that you have chosen not to re-enlist. Is this true?” Marin knew damned well that it was true, but Pyrrhus thought he knew where this was headed, and didn’t want to piss in Marin’s chow-bowl. “It is, Sir.” Marin spoke again “Then although the Empire jealously hates to lose a good soldier, it also recognizes a service completed. Sergeant Pyrrhus, I discharge you from your duties as a soldier of the Empire, and thank you for your service. The Empire is grateful for all you have done for her.” Then Marin saluted, and Pyrrhus returned his salute sharply. Marin spoke again. “Sergeant Relk, dismiss the honor guard.” Relk turned and barked at the assembly. “Honor guard, dis- MISSED!” and with that, the assembly broke up. Pyrrhus started to head for the gate, and Marin spoke again. “Pyrrhus—a word, if you would?” Pyrrhus paused. Might as well hear what the man has to say, he thought. “I have given some thought to what you said yesterday, and there may be some wisdom in your suggestions. It would indeed be wise to consider different views of the attack on the garrison. It also might be better if a suggestion to close the garrison came from the garrison, rather than from up the command chain. It’s a shame you’re leaving the service. You might have made a good junior officer if you could get over the little problem you have with insubordination. Still, you seem to know your own mind, and frankly, I have no doubt you’d have been a thorn in my side on your best days. Still, I didn’t want you leaving the service under bad conditions. As far as I am concerned, you served with honor, and you leave the same way.” He offered a hand -- an unusual gesture in the military – and Pyrrhus took it and shook it wholeheartedly. With a heavy pack, but a lighter heart, Pyrrhus turned and strode through the gates, and toward whatever the future held.

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