Messenger as main character in story
In battle, delivering orders to squads on the battlefield until one day realizes that the orders are bad, starting to deliver alternative orders and the army starts to win
Turning point
The sun burned hot against the ashen sky as Cale sprinted across the uneven terrain. Dirt clouding behind him as his boots repeatedly reintroduce themselves to the dry earth. The hot smell of gunpowder sharp in his nostrils as he clutched the tightly rolled parchment in one hand, the wax seal already melting under the heat of his palm and the rapidly increasing solar glare. He didn’t need to open it; he knew the orders by heart before the ink was dry. "Advance to the ridge. Hold position until reinforcements arrive."
Familiar as an old friend, the words that direct death. Cale did not mind such a thing as a principle, they are fighting to win, killing is part of the game, but some words lead to our death, or rather theirs he corrected himself, I am not one of them. He could see his mother's eys stearing dagers into him, penertating deeply withoyut saying a word, until he uttered those few simple words. I am not one of them.
"Runner!" The shout shoke him off of his revere as he steered himself passed the small guarding force at the back and onto the southern slope. "Runner!" He repeated the shout himself this time, lifting up the hand caring the parchment as if it were the marker of a thousand suns.
Cale has delivered hundrads of those orders, to each front and each squad, he was faster than all of them, and they knew it. Delivering commanmds issued by men sitting in tents miles from the screeching chaos of the battlefield, far from the frontline. He had learned not to linger, not to look back, even thoguh he always did, always read the reports on what happens after he's done his job, after the orders were given.
But this.. The ridge was a death trap. Cale had seen the enemy’s cannons swivel toward it hours ago, their barrels poised like hungry wolves waiting for prey. To hold the ridge was to court annihilation. The information was all there yet the orders stayed the same.
He reached Captain Harlan’s squad, crouched behind a crumbled stone wall, their faces smeared with soot and exhaustion. Harlan, a stocky man with a perpetually furrowed brow, looked up as Cale approached, his expression a mix of hope and dread. Almost knowing what Cale was going to say before he even spoke, Harlan raised his hand and waved for the boy to approach. Advance to the ridge. Hold position until reinforcements arrive. The words felt like a weight in Cale’s throat, in his hands the words were heavy as a leaden weight
“What’s the word?” Harlan's bark did not echo so much as it resonated through the close by reaches of the battlefield as the surrounding soildiers's attention shifted promptly to the sound of the shout. Almost as if it was adressed to them. In a way it was, Cale realized, his words, the words coming out of his mouth, are going to decide wether these men live or die today, wether they ever see their families or not. Well not his words really, he is just the messanger. The commander, perhapse seeing the look on Cales face, motioned him to get into the nearby tent, a small canvas structure that smelled of sweat and old leather. The air inside was thick with the scent of oil and gunpowder, the light and sound of the world dimmed by the heavy fabric walls
Cale hesitated. For a moment, he saw it all in his mind’s eye: the squad breaking cover, sprinting up the ridge, the enemy cannons thundering to life. Harlan and his men wouldn’t last five minutes.
The parchment seemed to burn in his hand.
“Cale!” Harlan snapped. “The orders, boy!”
Advance to the ridge. Hold position until reinforcements arrive...
The words formed in his mind before he’d even decided to say them. "Move to the hollow to the east" he said, holding out the parchment as if it confirmed his lie. "The officers say it will provide better cover for a counter attack" he added, his voice rising in pitch as he spoke. Harlan’s brow furrowed as he took the parchment. "Counter attack?" he asked, his voice low. "Yes, sir. Cale stepped forward almost evenly, trying to surpress his exhaustion from the run up and the new rush of pure unadulterated fear running through his veins at the prospect of directly lying to the commander. Hesitating more than a little, he drew the map from the other side of the table, half eying the commander as he did so.
He cleared his throat. "The enemy lines consist of a cannon battery and a mixed infantry platoon" he said, tapping two close points on the map. "Because of the recent skirmish in the Redwoods" Another tap "They undoubtedly have had to send reinforcements from the ridge". "Undoubtedly.." The commander repeated, eying Cale.
Clearing his throat, he continued "And they were able to do so, because.." He trailed off, realizing he was about to say something that the commander may not like. "Because of the.. situation here. The conflict was short but long enough that they would refill the empty spot on the ridge before too long, and that's where the river line comes in. They have their central logistics there, and spare units" His hand hovered over the river where it parted with the nearby valley. The commander eyed him, then nodded slowly, a thinking look on his face as he fingered his chin. "In that case they would fill the ranks in the ridge with fresh units from the river line, and those would not only be fresh, they would be green" He looked straight at Cale as he finished his sentence. "Which may not be a big deal when maintaining their line, but it will be when faced with a full on counter attack" He paused, his expression growing more serious.
Cale noticed the almost eery quite around the tent, when he arrived the cacophony of soldiers, cooks, games, arguments, weapons was as intense as they come. But now, the camp around them seemed more muted. The soldiers did not know what was being said, but they did know that whatever it was, it will be what ultimately decided whether they live or die. I am not one of them. He heard the words again, reverberating through the corridors of his mind, I should not be doing this..
Cale was startled when the commander grabbed the parchment from his hand and moved to the drawer next to his bed, grabbing a small knife. "Counter attack.." The commanded repeated, slowly this time, almost as if to himself. Cale was sweating, his heart beating faster than it did on the run over, and his mind was racing. What was he thinking? The moment the letter gets opened the commander will know he was lying and Cale would be the one to pay the price, along with everyone else dying here just the same. "Commander!" Cale spoke up, a little louder than he intended. The commander looked up, his eyes narrowing, as if surprised to see Cale still standing there. A shuffle sounded and the tent flap opened, revealing an out of shape soldier with a scruffy beard and a tired expression. "Sir, do you have a minute?" The commander was about to answer but the soldier continued, "What we talked about in the morning regarding the supplies, it's worse than we thought. He eyed Cale as if considering him for the first time, thinking wether he should speak in front of him or not, then with a very slight shrug he turned back to the commander and continued, stepping further into the tent, carying the smell of sweat, dirt and slightly burned bread with him. "Taking into account the failed supply run yesterday and the day before, taking into account our current rate and considering the reduction you suggested we have at most a week until we are completely out of food and probably also medicine". His heart still beating like a frantic factory machine, Cale ralized he was also very hungry, and the smell of food wafting from the quartermaster did not help.
The commander nodded, his expression grave. "I see" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The scruffy quartermaster turned to the table, eying the drawn out map and the parchment, then eying Cale again. His eyes lit up "Did we get a word from command? Are they sending more supplies? Are we withdrawing?" He paused, the commander shook his head, and smiled slyly. "Not exactly" "How fast can you get the camp ready to move?" he asked, his voice low and steady. The quartermaster blinked, taken aback. "Move? Sir?" The commander rose to his full height, towering over the two other men, looking suddenly younger and more energetic than he did a moment ago. "Yes, move. I want to go before first light, we are to attack the ridge, we will take the eastern hallow, split and cordinate an attack down the eastern slope. If all goes well we should be able to push them off the stratigic highline and take the cannon battery in one stroke.
The tent fell quite. The commander verbalized everything with such confidence that Cale almost believed it himself, almost forgot that a minute ago this plan was all a big lie, a desperate attempt. Suddenly it sounded real, it became real, it was real. The quartermaster looked flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "I.. I can get the camp ready in a few hours" He stopped for a moment, "in four hours sir, we can be ready to move in four hours" his voice steadying as he spoke. The commander nodded, a satisfied smile on his face. "Good, then we have our orders. Cale, you will be my runner for this operation, Start by delivering the orders to the squads and make sure they are ready to move at first light." He folded the map and shoved it, along with the parchment to a large leather pouch siting at the edge of the table. "And Cale, make sure to tell them that this is a full on attack, not a retreat. We are going to take the ridge and we are going to win this battle."
[almost discovered but not] [discussion with a soldier in the camp] [dealing with another runner] [stealing the letter] [morning and moving to the hallow to the east] [counterattack works] [celebrating] [becoming surounded] [faking channel to recieve orders] [attacking the riverline and taking over enemy supply and information line]