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Court Martial
Part 2
Three days passed. Duncan and Blaine weren’t permitted to even see their troops, let alone talk with them. The captains were housed in opposite ends of the Keep to prevent them from making contact. Their platoon had been restricted to its barracks and two training fields. They ate at a different time than everyone else and they were kept under constant surveillance by court officials. Twenty-four hour personal escorts were assigned to Blaine and Duncan who ensured that while the captains were granted leave to roam the Keep at will, they made no contact, casual or otherwise, with anyone else. A blanket of secrecy covered the whole affair to the point where Grand-General Bowen contemplated issuing a general order prohibiting all public discussions of the event. His advisory council convinced him otherwise, pointing out that it was impossible to police the conversations of tens of thousands of people.
By the time Duncan received his summons to attend court on the afternoon of the third day, he could no longer stand it. The atmosphere around him was suffocating. No one who saw him was sure whether to view him as the man who saved a platoon of soldiers from certain death or the man who disobeyed orders and fled while his comrades fought and died.
He donned his uniform. It was a smoke gray outfit with a black weapons belt and boots to match. The crest of the Praetorship was sewn on the breast over his heart. Opposite the vulturn emblem were the medals and honors he had attained in his short career. With a dry cloth, he gave them one last polish: awards for gallantry and valor in battle, awards for tactical ingenuity, and awards for achieving his ranks faster than anyone else in the history of the Praetorship. Awards that could be stripped from him today.
He exited his quarters and met up with his escort. They mounted their steeds and trotted off to the courthouse, which was located near the center of the Keep. They threw cloaks over their uniforms to shield them from the light drizzle. The sky had been overcast ever since Duncan’s arrival and now the weather had taken a turn for the worse. As they rode they passed by large, muddy archery ranges and training fields. Proctors had their cadets out in full force despite the rain and they stopped their exercises momentarily to watch him pass by. It seemed as if everyone in Valor’s Keep knew about what was happening. In spite of the Grand-General’s gag order, word had gotten out.
Oddly enough, Duncan wasn’t nervous. An eerie quietude had descended over him. He thought of the soldiers who died at Ravelin. He thought of Jarren, whom he knew would support him regardless of the day’s outcome. He steeled himself for the worst. This was the moment of decision.
They reached the courthouse and dismounted. A private led their animals away while they entered. It was an unremarkable building that consisted of one giant room. At the front was a small stage with a long table and high chairs. Directly in front of those were two desks with accompanying seats. The rest of the room was filled with benches to accommodate about a hundred and fifty onlookers. This day, the gallery was full. Duncan’s escort led him in from the back of the room and the assembly quieted down. As the captain walked past, he noticed that his entire platoon was present, as were several ranking officers from the Praetorian corps as well as the Federate ambassador to the Commonwealth, his staff and the six provincial consuls.
Duncan’s escort led him to one of the desks and told him to sit. After a moment, Blaine entered with her escort and was told to sit at the other desk. The room grew completely silent as Grand-General Bowen entered with his four-member advisory council of senior generals in tow. The Praetorians in the gallery saluted while the commanders took their places on the stage. Bowen acknowledged the salute and ordered Duncan and Blaine to rise.
“Senior Captain First Rank Elliss Blaine, I’ll deal with you first since yours is the less complicated case. You have been absolved of all complicity in this matter.”
There was a noticeable sigh from her as Bowen continued. There was no reaction from the people in the gallery, who appeared to have been expecting this judgment.
“This court martial has determined that you were following your orders and serving the best interests of your battalion. The fact that Marshal Wallace was proven wrong does not make your initial actions against Captain Milius wrong as well. You and the surviving members of the eighteenth Federate battalion are to be reassigned for active duty in the Federated States at the earliest possible convenience.”
There were nods of approval and smiles of satisfaction at this pronouncement. This was what the troops had been hoping for.
The Grand-General now directed his attention to Duncan. “Senior Captain Third Rank Duncan Milius, your fate is a somewhat more complicated matter. As a ranking officer, it was your duty to ensure that Marshal Wallace was acting in the best interests of his battalion. Any disagreements that you had with him should have been made in private. As much as it was your duty to keep your commanding officer in line, it was also your duty — and his as well — to present a united front to the soldiers. I’m sure you’ll agree that there is a need for the soldiery to see that their command-level staff agree on policies that affect them. To do otherwise would be a negative influence and a detriment to morale.”
“I agree, sir.”
“I hoped you would. This breakdown in communication between you was partly responsible for the deaths of some seven hundred Praetorians, warriors for whom there can be no honorable burial, fighters for whom there can be no adequate memorial. It is the belief of this court martial that Senior Marshal Second Rank Corinn Wallace acted with malice and prejudice toward Captain Duncan Milius, particularly in the matter of Captain Milius’ background as a Teivan.”
There were murmurs of surprise from the gallery. The captain looked sharply at his Grand-General, who didn’t seem to notice. Duncan had hoped to avoid making his background an issue but he saw that it hardly mattered any more.
Bowen called for order before continuing. “This charge implicates Captain Blaine as well, though she made the correct choice in obeying the orders of her commanding officer. No one here is a seer or a prophet. You were proven right, Captain Milius, but you could just have easily been proven wrong. Marshal Wallace behaved negligently by ignoring the advice of a ranking officer whose prowess and analytical skill have been demonstrated time and again. It is the judgment of this court martial that Marshal Corinn Wallace be posthumously relieved of command.”
This was also met with approval from the gallery. There could be no other judgment for someone who led his troops to disaster.
Bowen cleared his throat before continuing. Duncan noticed his hesitation, and the mood in the room became more anxious. “It is also the judgment of this court martial that Captain Duncan Milius acted in the best interests of his troops when he ordered the retreat —” more murmurs “— and that his behavior was consistent with the best interests of the Praetorship.”
Duncan noted the disapproving glances directed at the Grand-General and himself. Bowen stood up and everyone tensed. “Does anyone here question this judgment?”
There was dead silence in the room.
“Because if you do, you’re missing a basic lesson here, a lesson paid for in blood, and you do not deserve to call yourself Praetorian!” He paused deliberately before continuing. “Prowess means nothing if your life is wasted on a lost cause. Where’s the honor in that?”
Bowen sat back down slowly, and he rested his hands on the desk in front of him. “Marshal Wallace should have known that the tide had turned against him, as any sensible commander would have in his place, but he was blind to that possibility because of the pride of Valor’s Keep. Captain Milius made the impossible choice that his commanding officer refused to consider. Is that not the mark of a competent officer? Is that not the mark of a good leader?”
Bowen’s challenging tone silenced the opposition for now, but Duncan knew that there were many people in the room who weren’t convinced.
The Grand-General straightened up and finished his remarks. “It’s a worthy lesson to understand that sometimes the most important part of knowing when to fight is knowing when not to fight, and the price of this lesson is a black mark that will tarnish the Praetorship’s honor for a long time to come. Do you agree with these statements, Captain Milius?”
“I do.”
“Do either of you have anything to add?”
The captains glanced at each other. “No, sir.”
“Very well.”
Bowen paused for a moment as he considered his next words. Grinning slightly in a way that almost seemed mischievous, he indicated one of the officers at the end of the table. “As you know, General Leyva is the commander-in-chief of our forces in the Federate. General, I believe we now have two command-level positions open, do we not?”
“Yes, sir,” acknowledged Leyva. “Marshal Reghan in Torinn Province has had to resign her commission due to a serious illness. That, along with Marshal Wallace’s death, leaves two openings for regional commanders in Torinn and Valandov.”
“Thank you, General.” With his elbows on the desk in front of him, Bowen clasped his hands. His advisory council watched him with knowing expressions, though two of them clearly disapproved of what was coming.
“Our resources are strained to their limits and we need the best people in positions of authority. Therefore, effective immediately, I hereby promote Captain Duncan Milius to the commission of junior marshal third rank. This promotion is conditional — Marshal Milius will have to submit weekly reports to the provincial governor as well as to General Leyva. Do you accept these conditions?”
There was complete silence from the gallery. The Grand-General was promoting a man — a Teivan — who ordered a retreat! Duncan himself was barely able to contain his shock. He expected reassignment or at best a commendation. But this?
“Yes, sir,” he stammered.
Bowen smiled. “Good. You will assume command of the Praetorian forces in Valandov Province. Your knack for innovation and your leadership qualities — not to mention your experience with Federate politics and grimals, and your heritage as a Teivan — make you the perfect candidate for this post. Your first mission is to finish what you started. You’re going back to Ravelin, and this time you’re going to finish the job.”
More silence. Bowen had presided over many courts martial in his career but he had never experienced anything like this until now. The tension was electrifying.
The Grand-General’s face darkened, and he looked directly at his new marshal. “Duncan Milius, this was not an unanimous decision. There are those who value a man who knows when to back down, but there are others who see cowardice in people who are unwilling to take risks. You will be judged by your conduct over the next few months. You have much to prove.”
Bowen’s gaze swept across the court room. He lingered on the faces of the soldiers who survived Ravelin with Duncan.
“Our new marshal leaves in the morning with a detachment of fresh troops,” announced the Grand-General. “If anyone in this room cares to join him, stand now.”
The survivors of Wallace’s battalion needed no prompting. Every one of them stood up. Looking back at them, Duncan was overcome with pride. He looked sideways at Captain Blaine who was also on her feet. She smiled at him and nodded.
Bowen’s eyes gleamed. “Considering the circumstances surrounding this case and in deference to our fallen comrades — for whom we are still mourning — we will forego the traditional promotion ceremony.”
He rose, and everyone followed suit. “We observe a moment of silence in their memory.”
It was a long, disquieting moment. Finally, the Grand-General looked up.
“This court is dismissed,” he declared softly.
The buzz of two dozen conversations immediately filled the room. The Federate ambassador, Blaine and a number of other people including two generals approached Duncan to congratulate him. He shook hands and thanked them all, though his mind was a whirlwind. He absently rubbed the scar that ran the length of his left cheek. Jarren and his foster-father were going to be proud.
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
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